I could throw myself down on the grass at the foot of the great trees, and looking up into the deep, distant sky, indulge my own wondrous imaginings.
I did so now.

I cast myself panting on the turf, and turning my face downward instead of upward, clasped my hands over it, and the hot tears gushed in scalding streams through my fingers, till the pillow of earth was all wet as with a shower.
Oh, they did me good, those fast-gushing tears! There was comfort, there was luxury in them.

Bless God for tears! How they cool the dry and sultry heart! How they refresh the fainting virtues! How they revive the dying affections! The image of my pale sweet, gentle mother rose softly through the falling drops.

A rainbow seemed to crown her with its seven-fold beams.
Dear mother!--would she will me to go back where the giant pen dipped its glittering nib into the deep blue ether?
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