The constitutional union., 1861-03-08

How systematically beautiful is the order of the hours With what harmony they move on in the bright tenor of their way and what moral do they teach to the refiecting and meditatiye mind. They are the symbols of human happiness They are the vignette and the emblem of life, fairly pointing out to the intelligent eye those purer models ot.earth- ly excellence which are too beautiful to last Like the transient bubbles of boundless ocean which for a moment reflects on its sur face the fair imagery of Heaven, they burst in the pentitude of the mimic beauty, and depart, forgotten and for ever returnless With all their terrible ponsibiity-with all their weight of human happiness and of human wo-with all the anxeties, impulses, conquests, and overthrows of desultory life with the hope, the phrenzy, the ambition and despair, that move and agitate boundless creation, they depart from US and are gone forever-they move off into the oblivious ocean of the past, and not wreck nor . shadow remains of that influence which for a period filled Heaven, and held the destiny of the universe
 They are the book of nature, in whose har- monious Holdings and enamelled pages we read the existence of an Omnipotent Author. Who has not felt the divinity of the hours, warm and fresh upon his soul when life was young and innocence abroad in his spirit? Who has not been made glad with their enlivening influence when fortune drowned, and adversity with her scorpion sting piled the sore and de- spending soul! Who has not, in prosperity, gazed on the morning hour, and admired the hand that modelled it.? There is not monu- ment of nature in which the beauty of crca- tion is more apparent, or the existence of an overruling Divinity made more manifest, than i'll the wonderful order and perpetual harmony of the hours. Their regular departure and return-their voiceless modulations through the variel egress of day-the inperceptible changes from the sombre to the beautiful, from the shadow of darkness to the unmoiled efulgence of light-and their happy and intui- tive influences over the impulses ot the heart, point clearly to the origin of that matchless design, that beautiful system which has no parallel With the lmpid freshness of the rising morn, they blend the rich ray of meri- dian splendor, and in the lap of sable night repose they the lovely twilight, The colours of the rainbow are not more varied, more feet ing, or more beautiful than they; and yet they are the counterpart of human feeling. How peculiarly adapted to the diversity of the mind, and happily apportloned to the different pursuits and diversions of man. As varied as the tinselling forest, are the hues of human impulse and of human feeling; but there is not mould of mortal mind, from an Addison to Voltaire, from a Byron to a Guy, which has not found its kindred hour. There is an hour of fellowship for the high-born soul and for the most grovelling spirit that prowk the earth there Is period of hallucination The most buoyant dlspOsition-and yet the most melancholy-are equally companioned "''d we '-"e freed tn exclaim. as we reflect nn the peculiar and wonderful harmony which characterlzes their respective tendencies that there Is a Divinity above which shapes the soul, and moulds it's elysium to the halcyon hour
 How grateful to tha young and ardent spirit is the hour of dawn-the fresh, cool dawn of q summer morningl The early swallow, high twittering on his airy spre, feels the heavenly influence, and wheels headlong down the abyss; then brea>ting the healthy current again speeds upward in a thousand fckle turns, till, resting on his chosen height, he melodiously warbles his pean to the morning air. The humble hare now frisks out to sir the lmpid dew. 'Tis Heavens benison-and enough for him; he drinks and is refreshed And tain would he now await the rising orh of the east, and gambol in his mellow ray;- but why does he tly?-hark. the pleasures he meditates are denied him. The wild blast of the hunter horn breaks over the hills, ard the redoubling cry of the opening pack brings a fearful warning to his little bosom It is the signal of death. Oh, can 1t be that man many so barbarously pervert the use of this happy hour,-thut he may turn from the holy embrace of moral purity, and seek to bathe h's hands in the life blood of harmless crea ture? An this is the price of innocence and this is a history of its fate,
 But let us turn from this melancholy fancy to the full appreciation of the morning hour Let us picture to ourselves the little village green or rural lawn overwhich we ran in child ish innocence, and proudly planted the frs footprint on the hilock green. It Is now the prison hour--and thousand souls are min glcd in prayer. The sun is just bursting away from the blue mountains, and as hi; radiance shoots broad and long over the wide expanse of farm and forest, thousand shape , less shadows start, and perform their lowly revolution about the acknowledged lord oi day. The birds are singing in the adjoining grove-the peasant adds his rural strain, and with the sweet symphony of natures song, k now comminsled the low but lovely chime oi the distant village bell How refreshing how delightful is the morning hour With what an enrapturing consonance of sound and sight, of woodland song and woodland scenery does it regale the soul It is the hour of joy the paragon of natures beauty-the em- blem of youth. It is subject for a poets fancy, happy may'he be, who can weave into the meshes of his song the spirit of the mant ling morn.
 We are dazzled with the splendor of noon We behold the sun glorying in the zenith of his power, the sole monarch of a cloudless heaven, and OCT conceptions are filled with the bright and beautiful. It tis the hour of adora- tive feeling. The mind delights to associate it with d more efulgent light, and we readily behold in it symbol of the glory of God It is beautiful hour-calm and unruffled as a martyrs mind, and bright as the hope that anlmate5 his bosom. Unframed by a breeze, unrefreshed by shower, nature sleeps Silent are the meadows and silent are the