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Benson, Arthur Christopher, 1862-1925

"The Silent Isle"


Pleasant, too, is the return home when one swings in at the familiar
gate; and then comes the quiet solitary evening when one recounts the
hoarded store of delicate impressions. Then follow hours of dreamless
sleep, till one wakes again upon a bright world, with the thrushes
fluting in the shrubbery and the morning sun flooding the room.


LVI

It was by what we clumsily call _chance_ but really by what I am
learning to perceive to be the subtlest and prettiest surprises of the
Power that walks beside us, that I found myself in Ely yesterday
morning--the first real day of summer. The air was full of sunshine,
like golden dust, and all the plants had taken a leap forward in the
night, and were unfurling their crumpled flags as speedily as they
might. I came vaguely down to the river, guided by the same good
spirit, and there at the boat-wharf I found a little motor-launch
lying, which could be hired for the day. I took it, like the Lady of
Shalott; but I did not write my name on the prow, because it had
already some silly, darting kind of name. A mild, taciturn man took
charge of my craft; and without delay we clicked and gurgled out into
the stream.
I wish I could describe the day, for it was sweeter than honey and the
honeycomb; and I should like to pour out of my stored sweetness for
others. But I can hardly say what happened.


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