Up from the dewy grass sprang a meadow-lark with a burst of melody that thrilled the listening air; then loud, and sweet, and clear, was heard the warbling of a nightingale; the mountain brook, swinging its censer among the rocks, began to chant—in lower, deeper tones; meanwhile, that wanderer, the wind, passing, with nimble fingers touched the keys of the forest-organ, and the towering pines and sturdy oaks and yews quivered and throbbed as he played accompaniment; then caroled in chorus countless millions of birds—even the tiny insects took to humming as they rioted among the golden rays, and the wild beasts and every living creature, encouraged, lifted their voices in trial; from the cloud-mass, above the far-off horizon, came the thunder’s rumble; the river, leaping the cliff, roared in rivalry; quick followed the heavy voices of the great billows as they came surging upon the beach. Oh, grand and mighty music did they all make together in that glad morning of the world. The sunlit heavens leaned over, breathless, to hear it, the purple valleys, lifting, fondled it as they climbed, the speechless hills caught it up, and in envy hurled it back again, note by note, till the whole earth was wild with sound and deafening reverberation, and “Cease, cease, my children!” Dame Nature cried aloud, “lest I render you voiceless, every one, and there be no more music forever.” But failing to make herself heard, she unrolled the great cloud that lay coiled above the horizon, and drew it like a veil across the sky. Immediately there was silence—silence unbroken for a moment’s space, when “Ha, ha, ha!” giggled the mountain brook, unable to restrain its mirth; “Ha, ha, ha!” repeated a bright-winged forest bird; “Ha, ha, ha!” flew swiftly back from the hills. “Hush, irreverent ones!” spake Dame Nature in anger; “listen, while I pass sentence upon you! Thou, mountain brook, who hast dared to break silence by thine ill-timed laughter, laugh on, forever and forever: thy song is taken from thee, and thou shalt have thy fill of merriment! From thee, too, bird of the brilliant plumage, is taken the power of song: henceforth thou shalt find voice only to mimic the folly of others. And you, ye hills, will I fetter and bind, that ye no more astonish the world with your envious wrath. “As for you, my obedient children, ye are all musical, each in his own way; and now will I assign to you places in my choir. Thou, wandering wind, shalt be my organist; and ye larks and nightingales, who are my pride and joy, and all ye merry little birds, the melody is yours; and ye surging billows, and muttering clouds, and roaring cataracts, to you the base belongs. “Sing on, now, my children; sing on, and practice well, that ye may know your parts when, by and by, I call upon you for a grand and glorious anthem that shall fill the world with wonder.”