In our desire to show him all the glories of the
spot, we carried him out at once, up the hillside, leaping across the
brook, gathering pennyroyal and Indian posy as we went, past the sheep
and on and up, until he, laughing, said: "Look here, I can't follow
thee; besides, I think I've seen more of this life than thee have, and
it isn't all so new to me! Come and sit down here; I'm tired." We sat
a while overlooking the wonderful panorama, the winding river, the
hills and fields all green and radiant, listening at times to a
mountain stream which came with wild and solitary roar from its solemn
home among the farther heights. Presently we returned to supper; and
afterwards, sitting in the little parlor which looked towards the
sunset on the high hills far away, his mind seemed to rise into a
higher atmosphere. He began by quoting the last verse of Emerson's
"Sphinx:"--
"Uprose the merry Sphinx,
And couched no more in stone;
She melted into purple cloud,
She silvered in the moon;
She spired into a yellow flame;
She flowered in blossoms red;
She flowed into a foaming wave;
She stood Monadnock's head."
He talked long and earnestly upon the subject of our spiritual
existence independent of the body. I have often heard him dwell upon
this subject since; but the awful glory of the hills, the dark and
silence of our little parlor, the assured speech touching the unseen,
of one who had thought much and suffered much, and found a refuge in
the tabernacle not made with hands, were very impressive.
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