The Story of a Dewdrop

The Story of a Dewdrop, by J. R.
Macduff

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Title: The Story of a Dewdrop
Author: J. R. Macduff
Release Date: November 14, 2006 [EBook #19809]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
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The Story of A DEWDROP.
[Illustration]

THE STORY OF A DEWDROP
J. R. MACDUFF D D
WITH FOUR COLOURED ILLUSTRATIONS
LONDON MARCUS WARD & CO BELFAST
1881

FOREWORDS.
To Charlie.
A Dewdrop is a small affair; and the world would not be the least
interested, nor a bit the wiser, by knowing how I come affectionately to
dedicate the story I have written about it to you. I may tell you it was
one line of eleven words, read one night from a musty old volume of
last century, which suggested it.
Everybody must have their play-hours and moments of recreation. I
think I have gone back to other and more serious work all the better
after writing a page or two of what follows. I am happy thus to have
had my little holiday along with you in this ideal region of quaint
conceits.
Shall we hope that others may share our pleasure?
Let us try.

List of ILLUSTRATIONS.
The Procession of the Queen of the Morning (p. 41), Frontispiece.
The Bird-talk and its surroundings, 14

The Nightingale and the Dewdrop, 19
The Ascent of the Million Army, 53

The Story of A DEWDROP.
CHAPTER THE
FIRST.
Three birds of very favourable repute in these regions met together one
evening--a Thrush, a Lark, and a Nightingale. And all for what purpose,
think you? It was a queer one--to hold a solemn conference about a
DEWDROP!
Yes, it must be allowed it was an original thought which brought these
three feathered friends thus into council; and a pretty talk to be sure
they had about it.
They selected, as an appropriate time for preliminaries, the close of a
bright day in early summer; just when things in outer nature were
looking their best. The snowdrop and crocus had long ago hid their
faces to make way for more ambitious rivals. That always pleasant
season was a great way past, when you see the drowsy plants (after
being tucked up--it may have been for weeks--in a white snowy
coverlet), first roused from their sound winter sleep, yawning and
stretching themselves, and rubbing their little eyes, and looking;
wonderingly about them, saying--"What! is it now time to wake up and
dress?" The tree foliage was approaching, if it had not already reached,
perfection; all the mosses, too, looked so green and fresh; and how
prettily the various ferns were uncoiling themselves among the rocks
and shady nooks by the stream; while on this particular occasion the
very Sun seemed to have coaxed his setting beams into the production
of most gorgeous colouring. Belts of golden cloud were streaking the
western sky; such long trails of them, that it was impossible to say
whether the great ball of fire, which gave them their glory, had actually

gone down behind the horizon, or was just about to do so. At all events,
it was unmistakably sundown: though the scene was far removed from
northern latitudes, it might be designated by the familiar Scotch
"gloamin'." The groves, and dells, and hedgerows, which had kept up a
goodly concert the livelong day, were now silent. Their winged tenants
had, one after another, slunk to their nests, with very tired throats. They
had left, apparently, all, or nearly all the music to the aforesaid brook in
the dell. A stone's-throw higher up the valley, this latter, fed by recent
rains, rattled in gleeful style over a bed of white and grey pebbles--the
tiny limpid waves chasing one another as if they were playing at
hide-and-seek amid the sedges, king-cups, and rushes. But it had now
reached a quieter spot where, however, it still kept up a gentle, soothing
evensong, a lullaby peculiar to itself, as if it wanted to hush the little
birds asleep in their varied leafy cradles. The very cattle, that had been
seen lying lazily out of the heat under the beech-trees, had ceased their
lowings. In fact, Nature had rung her curfew bell, and the sentry stars
were coming out, one by one, to keep their night-watch.
* * * * *
Let