In love of home, the love of country has its rise.
In love of home, the love of country has its rise.
Mr. Arthur Clennam took up his hat and buttoned his coat, and walked out. In the country, the rain would have developed a thousand fresh scents, and every drop would have had its bright association with some beautiful form of growth or life. In the city, it developed only foul stale smells, and was a sickly, lukewarm, dirt-stained, wretched addition to the gutters.
To be shelterless and alone in the open country, hearing the wind moan and watching for day through the whole long weary night to listen to the falling rain, and crouch for warmth beneath the lee of some old barn or rick, or in the hollow of a tree. . .
It is not easy to walk alone in the country without musing upon something.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories