religion." "We are for making the most of the present world," he wrote. He had not any gloomy forebodings as to the things that may come after death. His London Journal, as Frank Carr so well states, "breathed such uniform gladness and hopefulness that every page is pervaded with an odor of homely sanctity, as of hidden violets."
And again: He "noticed the flowers when their timorous splendours peeped through the snow at the first impulse of life in the dark earth, and when, afterwards, as a mantle they spread their glory over garden and field; greeted the birds, from the lark's early carol, and the arrival of the swallows, until the woods became vocal with multitudinous voices."
As to Hunt's religion, by the way, there has been much discussion. I have Leigh Hunt's copy of a volume bearing this long title: "The Mystical Initiations; or, Hymns of Orpheus, translated from the original Greek: with a preliminary dissertation on the Life and Theology of Orpheus," containing this ob
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