1 1 o Up in the Morning Early. 



faint streak of daylight lacing the east is eagerly 

 looked for and anxiously watched as it expands and 

 kindles, and finally transfigures the sky, but, if at 

 last sleep comes not with benignant dawn, the fever, 

 the weakness, or excitement, keeps such an one from 

 true enjoyment of the sights and sounds which really 

 mean, if they are effective, invitations to go forth 

 and join in it. To be really seen, it must be actively 

 seen, in healthy spontaneous outflow of energy, though 

 with that " wise passiveness " which Wordsworth cele- 

 brated, and which the gypsy woman, of whom we have 

 heard, must have meant when she said that she did 

 not care for words as she looked on the glorious sights 

 of nature, but rather loved to " let it quietly soak in." 

 To " let it quietly soak in " is the one condition of true 

 enjoyment, and of true insight and observation too; 

 and, unless you observe the old rule "early to bed," 

 you will certainly not gain either the profit or the 

 wisdom promised, however early you may get up, 

 because you will not rise refreshed and vigorous, 

 keenly observant and healthily sensitive to sight and 

 sound and movement, but you will be languid and 

 dull, or morbidly irritable and restless, unable even 

 to sit still — proofs of the effort your early rising has 

 cost you — and the sharp searching air of the morning 

 will penetrate you and trouble you, whether frankly 

 acknowledged or not, because even in summer just 

 before sunrise the air is at the keenest ; and to be 

 uncomfortably conscious of this is simply to spoil the 

 finest of the feast. This is a very important point, 

 often — very often — overlooked, especially by city folks 

 when they are spending their holidays in the country. 



For the world begins to wake very early on a summer 

 morning. Even by half- past two o'clock, or very shortly 



