Meadows and woodlands lay quiet under the old, sweet marvel of a June night.

In the wide monotony of the flat lands, there sometimes comes a feeling that the whole earth is stretched out before one.

To-night it seemed to lie so, in the pathos of silent beauty, all passive and still; yet breathing an antique message, sad, mysterious, reassuring.

But there had come a divine melody adrift on the air.

Through the open windows it floated.