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green earth, with all its flowers, was now visible beneath his feet. A hundred gardens blossomed--a hundred hedge rows ran across the meadow and up the sides of the hills———the dark grove of sycamore, shading the village church on its mount, stood tinged with a glitter of yellow light———and from one extremity of the village to the other, calm, fair, and unwavering, the smoke from all its chimneys went up to heaven on the dewy morning air. He felt all this just by opening his eye-lids. And in his gratitude to God he blessed the thatch of his own humble house, and the swallows that were twittering beneath its eaves.
Such, perhaps, were some of the feelings which Allan Bruce experienced on being restored to sight. But faint and imperfect must be every picture of man's inner soul. This, however, is true that Allan Bruce now felt that his blindness had been to him, in many respects, a blessing. It had touched all hearts with kindness towards him and his wife when they were poor———it had kept his feet within the doors of his house, or within the gate of his garden, often when they might otherwise have wandered into less happy and innocent places———it turned to him the sole undivided love of his sweet contented Fanny———it gave to the filial tenderness of his children something of fondest passion———and it taught him moderation in all things, humility, reverence, and perfect resignation of the Divine
