Anti-slavery bugle. [volume] (New-Lisbon, Ohio) 1845-1861, 1848-11-03
MISCELLANEOUS.
From Tie Union Magdsine.
The Bitter Morning.
BY Mns. JANE c. CAMPBELL.

least, can win them, when
"There's gold upon the mountain-brow-
There's light on forests, lakes and meadows;'
No dallying with the drowsy god
when rosy-fngered Morning faire,
Weary of old Tithone's saffron bed,
Has spread her purple robe through dewey
aire -
mono; they at least (the poets VIZ mcan.)
are up with the lark-how else could they
write such glowing and glorious descriptions
as this -
when the armament quiyers with daylight's
young beam,
And the woodlands, awaking, burst into a
hymn,
And the glow Of the sky blazes back from
the stream"
There, dear city reader, does not the blood
! Jingle more warmly through your veins -
are not your pulses bounding with a quicker
thrill !-do you not wish for wings, to flee
away TO the woodlands of your " own green
forest land" and see
=" How Nature paints her colors-how the bee
Sits on the bloom, extracting liquid sweet"
And it is glorious 10 watch the first uplift-
! lhH VI ANlHuA . thitdll llOll ~ iIO lbl sh1
to see the lazy mists slowly creeping from
the waters edge, and curling up the noun
tain side-the sun p%eering forth from "cloud-
land, gorgeous land" and sending iris-robed
messengers abroad, ia herald his joyful COM
ing. One more quotation, dear reader, only
one, from the many which Morning has spi-
ri,ed from the Past. Hear what he, who,
like Chrysostom, was called the golden
niouthed-hear what Jeremy Taylor says Of
early dawn:
"But as when the sun approaches towards
the gates Of morning, he first opens a little
eye of heaven, and sends away the spirit of
darkness. and gives light 10 a cock, and calls
up the lark 10 mathis, and by-and.b by gilds
the fringes of a cloud, and peeps over the
eastern hills, thrusting out his golden horns,
like those which decked the brows of Moses
when he was forced TO wear a veil, because
himself had seen the face of God; and still
while a man tells the story, the sun gets up
higher, till he shows a fair face and full
light"
Heaven bless us, what a rhapsody Not
a word about heavy showers, that might damp
enthusiasm-not a whisper of wet grass, and
horrid snakes, and such like discomforts, that
piH sometimes tone down a morning picture.
Well, even under such circumstances, a light
heart can laugh, and a light foot can run, and
the shower will pass, and the snake glide
harmlessly under the old log, and then you
can forth again to The ramble.. A word here
to lady readers. Never attempt d walk in
the country before sunrise, unless provided
with good thick-soled leather shoes, a strong
gingham or calico dress, that will bear COM
ing in contact with thorns-for, alas! the
roseiest morning in the woods is filled with
,hop, ~ o,ppln e,nlona.t sbat uA an
fling off in the shady places, and let the fresh
ening breeze steal kisses from your cheek,
till it outblush the dawn. Thus equipt, away
through meadow and field. Don't be afraid
to climb a iolc stone-wall, if the wild column
bine mods you a welcome from its woodland
home; don't turn away from The stepping
~stone-of d tiny brook, If the starry-eyed for
get-me-not whispers pleasant fancies from its
stream-girt bower. Our truth for it, that af-
ter such a ramble. you return healthier, wiser,
better, with more gratitude 10 God in your
souls, more love for his creatures, and his
works swelling up within your hearts, and
more charity for the failings of those who are
iourneying with you, and who may fall, you
know not how soon
"Wcary with the march of life"
Poets, we take it for granted, are early III
sers-in summer. But how is it in winter,
when the air bites s~hrewdly :" Has any
one ever seen the phenomenon of a poet ri
sing before daylight on a bitter morning.
when the ground was heaped with snow, and
pulling on a pair of seven-leagued boots, 90
forth on an exploring expedition into the
woodsl We question whether even Alfred
Street, with all his nature-loving propensi-
ties, has ever accomplished such a feat
Strange stories, indeed, are told of wise and
good men, who, if they did not from June
to January outwatch the stars, did yet out
5 rise the sun. But these are rare excep-
tons to the general rule, and Cathcart Craw-
ley was not an exception. Now we are not
going TO let you into the secret as to whether
our hero pressed or rhymed one of these was
his vocation, and should you be told which,
you might take to f~ancying that this was a
darkly-shadowed daguereoiype of some noted
individual. Nor will we reveal whether h,
does or does not wear a slight mouslache or
the upper lip-that secret is safe.
One thing, however, you must know, FOL
il was on this that he plumed himself; he
did not belong to the miserable tribe of com
mon scTibblers, whose brains are converted
into spinningjennies, 10 supply their bodily
wants No, thank heaven, he-Cathcar
Crawley-was a gentleman author. PRAY
don't make the mistake of attaching any old
fashioned meanings to the comprehensive
word gentleman; a word that. in its true and
legitimate sense, embodies all that is honor,
able, noble, chivalrous, in manly character
MIR. Crawley kneW that he was rich, and
thought, OF course, he was a gentleman.
But In his writings he leaned 10 the side
OF the people, and was ever lamenting the
wretched fate of the down-trodden masses,
and shedding tears (of ink) over the suffer.
ings and woes of poor humanity. His was,
indeed, the " luxury of wo," as he sat at niubt
before the well-flled crate, in warm dressing.
gown and iutred-slippers, writing a ieremaId
on the prlvatlons OF the poor. And his. Too.
WAS the - InNnru Of ILL.,. ~