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‘ [384] until the landscape has human figures as good as itself. Man is fallen; Nature is erect.’ 1 As I turned once more to the calm blue sky, the hazy autumnal hills, and the slumberous water, dreamtinted by the foliage of its shores, it seemed as if a shadow of shame and sorrow fell over the pleasant picture; and even the west wind which stirred the tree-tops above me had a mournful murmur, as if Nature felt the desecration of her sanctities and the discord of sin and folly which marred her sweet harmonies. God bless the temperance movement! And He will bless it; for it is His work. It is one of the great miracles of our times. Not Father Mathew in Ireland, nor Hawkins and his little band in Baltimore, but He whose care is over all the works of His hand, and who in His divine love and compassion ‘turneth the hearts of men as the rivers of waters are turned,’ hath done it. To Him be all the glory.,
Boston and New York, Houghton, Mifflin and company, 1888-89.
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