The prairie news. [volume] (Okolona, Miss.) 1851-1875, 1858-11-04
OKOLONA, MISS, NOVEMBER 4, 1858.

hoth'hS hcic wan approximation, q
reminder, a memorial of nobler mani
festation; which will never present itself
to our thoughts without recalling the in
dwelling glory. SO onextricably are these
two forms of truth associated in our minds,
that We are scarcely conscious of their
separate existence We imagine that it
is the loreliness of Nature that inyigo-
rates, or soothcs, or saddens, and cannot
recognise the idea which is linked with
it in eternal union. We wonder why we
can not, at our Will, shake off the en-
claiming thought; why that which is but
transient impression on these perisha
bic orbs can call undying regret, or
administer immortal calm. The true en-
joyment of Nature is only tasted by those
to whom her meaning presents itself as
quickly as her words, aud who perceive
the outward and the inner beauty in equal
and mingling elements.
gaze out upon the sad sunset now
The mist settling on the distance, the dim
golden radiance of the sunshine, the calm
and purple sky, the tint. of russet III the
foliage, why are they more to me than
mist, or air, or brown leaf! This dark
ening vista throws its evening shadows
over my spirit. Influences ineXpressibly
mournful, but calm and gentle float over
the heart like dreamy strains of mnSic.
The soul sinks into the profound depths
of this fading daylight, this dying sum
mer it penetrates into their inner tenn
pie. 1t enters those interior sanctuarieS
where secrets are hid, and finds there the
divinity of which they are the shrines ;
am we ask, what mournful thought, what
sad tfut,-is the centre of allvthese shift
ing scenes of melancholy sweetness In
a whispering breath we hear the secret
1t is the same that we have heard 50 of.
ten before, the doom passed on all living
| We have read the stern decree in all its
ivid horror on the faces of the dead, but
Nature, now, tenderly murmurs in oul
ears the sorrowful truth. The scar and
yellow leaf that floats by on the evening
breeze, tells the same story as the pail
the shroud, and the cerement; but gently
as vesper hymn" The trail of the
serpent is over them all The great
battle was won by Evil, untold ages ago
and every year at this sad season, The
victory is cOmmemoratcd. Every yeal
the awful conqueror throws a Lighted
torch upon the earth and spreads ruiz
over its fair face. The forests will soor
be gorgeous with the fame. Frighttu
monarch, what can we do, but submit like
slaves as we are (! Did not our trehchery
lose the day
Every year the creative energy bursts
forth anew, rising for while trlumphan
like the fitful tiickering OF an expiring
lamp. Every Spring comes bud ant
blossom, and life; every Autumn falling
leaves, withered flowers, and death.-
The first delights of the year have scarce
" ripened into summer, when the las
wing of Time comes swooping over them
and drags them all away. This is tn
gigantic spectre that haunts the CLOSING
year. This terrible idea of devastating
time is the grief that plunges US in au
tumnal gloom.
One thought alone soothes the despair
The ruined tower has gained new beau
ty, the softsned outline Of the anclen
mountain new dignity, the fading leave
new glory of color for he is Also I'm
the COns0ler. ..
l