He stopped. He looked up into the sky, and watched the clouds floating
in the blue. He glanced at the sun flaming in golden magnificence. His
eyes fell on the hoary stems of the giants of the forest. He saw
the trailing arbutus, the delicious herald of warmer suns and softer
winds, creeping to his feet, and raised his hands to heaven and
repeated the lines of Milton--

These are thy glorious works, Parent of Good,
Almighty, thine this universal frame,
Thus wondrous fair; Thyself how wondrous then!
Unspeakable, who sitt'st above the heavens,
To us invisible, or dimly seen
In these thy lowest works: yet these declare
Thy goodness beyond thought and power divine.

He stooped down and picked a few bunches of the arbutus, and put them
in his bosom. "Faith loves flowers," he said, "and the sweetness and
whiteness of these are types of herself."

He was now quite calm, and realized fully where he was. It is strange,
he thought, how I came hither. I am like Philip, whom the Spirit
caught away.

He continued his walk, striving to drive away the gloomy ideas, which,
in spite of his resistance, threatened again to master him. With his
eyes bent upon the ground, he proceeded some distance, when a slight
noise attracted his attention. He raised his eyes, and discovered
the cause. Five or six men were approaching, bearing, between them,
something on some boards. Mr. Armstrong stopped, and, as they came