Litchfield enquirer., 1854-03-02
Leave. thnt fell nt rw,llxhr.

Ihe night had just put day to sleep, and thrown her sable garb over a strange world Strange, did say An pass ing strange. What mighty compound of animal life inhabits this rolling sphere, What motley crowd of moving, stirring, changing life composes the animate things of earth. What diversity exists in their character and condition, and how widely separate and diversified their pursuits. Could human kin at one swift glance peer into the hearts of the myriads, and with a single effort comprehend all the thot's that course with magic swi(tness through their brains, the hopes that elate their breasts, and the fears that depress and harrow their souls. how little would be found to envy, and how much to dread.
 What picture of sorrow could be drawn had we the power to enter tho in> most reeesses of the heart, or have tan. gible views of the cares of life. Could we but see the agony of our poor discon- solate spirit. upon which the rod of dire misfortune had fell and spared not, oh, how we would fly from q picture that no power of our mind can imagine. Could we. but fora moment, have laid bare to our view one heart, beating and throbing, and shroeing with grief the most poig. nant, how quick we would close our eyes and turn our backs upon the sight. #
 We are apt to judge impulsiyely of our fellow.man. We often impute motives to others which are as false as they are quickly formed. Frequently we charge them with sel6shness and incivility, and know not that some miidew has bligtted the flower of social worth, and dried up the fountain of the affections. Could we but behold tho hearts, and see there the scars and wounds that fate has made from childhood up. we would not won> der that they are cold and distant, and we would not call them selfish and proud. Feelings of pity. of sympathy. deep and lasting. would gush up in our breasts, and our souls would go yearning towards them. e Eaa@3 "
 How often does even the smiling face and cheerful disposition hide . sorrow, which like the caDker is eating at the hearts core. How many persons dis. semble their true feelings. and laugh with the mirthful, and sport with the joyous. But. ah. could we visit them in lheir loneliness. and be with them when they throw aside their disguise, what q sight would we see. what voices would we hear. Think you, you could give ul- terance to the escaped sigh. or tell of the swelling or upheaving of the breast ? Could you portray the anguish the eye spoke. or describe the tear. scalding and burning. that coursed down the cheek :?
 There are those, too. whose appear ance indicates that they are of the un> fortunate. The deep traces of care are written upon their brow and. the subdu- ed voice tells of the broken spirit, The sunshine of life to them has turned 10 the daikness of night, and the eDdearments which should have made their path flew. cry have assumed the appearance of bur- dens and thorns. The flowers of hope that sprung forth as comforters. died al their births and the bows of promise, which should have made life radiant, have disappeared in gloom and bleak ness. Their heads are now wh;tened by many winters, anL the golden thread ol their life is well nigh wound up. and as they look upon the desolale waste tkat surrounds them they can only exclaim--
 Let me dieI N sn
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