Year: 1861



 fainting nature rc,-vegetation shrinks, and the spirit of the little flowers Is gone ere 1t is half-blown. Then how grateful the zephyr, how welcome the..intervening cloud, which for a moment hovers over the the droop- ing field and pours in its fleet but refreshing sympathy as if Heaven itself had wept tho splendid ruin.

 The hour of sunset, how beautiful! It is as the last hope of the dark and erring spirit, stricken out at the hour of death. The mind is stung by the association, but the imagna- tion is held captive by the beauty of truth, and we fondly finger on the sweet yet pensive idea. How often, when the west has gathered in its golden fragments, and earth put on her emerald green, have l gazed on this panto- mime of nature with the idolatry of a fervid imagination How often, with full and rap turous feeling have 1 contemplated the ethe- real imagery impressed on a western horizon, till the glowing picture faded from my view, and 1 was forced to know 1t as mockery! 1 have seen 1t as an herculean battlement reared by furies and flaming with the heat of internal warfare. l have gazed on it's crimsoned vs. DOTS, piled broad and high, and based on band of western mountains, and pictured to

 

 built by natures architect and planted on the rock of ages. have fancied it giant em- erald set in sapphire" or as a sardine stone in the wreath of vestal, and, with the caprice of imagination, have held 1t up as the distant illumination of a sea of glory, or as the bright abode of world of cherubim. But, false as my fancy, 1t hath faded away, and nature IS putting on her soberest attire.

 'Iis the tranquil hour of evening twilight. How still is earth-how serene the aspect of Heaven. How wtranscendentl ylovely to the med itatiye mind, are all objects at this hour. The pensive spirit sinks into a haven of rest; the high-born but neglected soul now pillows itself on a bosom of conscious innocence and the stern and rational mind calmly surveys the pulsant and happy operations ot natures laws. With what facility does the mind now cOllate and amagamate the happiness of the past! with what fondness do we now turn to the re- collection of better days and fairer prospects and how often and with what fidelity does memory recall the shadows of departed friend ship, that never will-never can bless us more! The tomb, that cheerless habitation of the dead, has received our friend; the little ones that loved us in our youth, the fond ones that smiled on us in health and smoothed our fe- vered brow in illness, those guardian ones who who watched over us with parents care and caressed us as noble boy-the tender, solicit- ous father-the dear, devoted mother-all are gone; and as the gnarled and withered oak on the mountains brow, all friendless and companionless we weather the storm alone.

 How beautiful is the departure of the twi- | light hour, Like the hope that makes lovely the death-bed of Christian, as darkness inn 1 pales the realms of earth, Heavens light Is serene above, and soothes the perturbations of the soul The orb of day has sunk to rest, the crimson sky has faded, nights sable in- | fuence rushes boldly up from her holes and crannies, and all is apparently lost, when, Dc. hold the prospect brightens, the scenery of Heaven is changed. It is Nature at her even- ing toilet The dim and hazy curtains of the past Is rolled away, and the bespangled livery of night now decks the hour. How I love- at such an hour, to move along the dusky shore of the silver lake, till I reach the sun. init of some unfrequented rock and there, alone, in the plentitude of melancholy feeling, gaze abroad over its translucent bosom. How beautiful to behold the anomaly of Heaven above, refecting so accurately Armament be- l low, that one would almost fancy himself sus- | pended in md-air, in the centre of system of interminable worldsl How lovely, then, to see the little sail skimming into port or to mark the course of the light canoe splitting the clear surface with noiseess facility, and disappearing as the shadow of a vision. I have listened to the night-bird's evening carol, blended with the distant plash of the sturdy oar, and thought it harmony. have listened to the zephyr and the boatman's whistle, and they were music to my ear; but shall never forget the hour when 1 first caught the sound of the patriots song over the waters. The night was calm and all was still, when it rose from the bosom of the bay I looked about me, and beheld was alone, with l boundless Heaven, a beauteous sea, l A crescent moon, little boat

 And the spirit of the song.

 Three boatmen piled their oars, while three more stood erect, and my country's ditty, with the breathings of the flute, gave wings to the light sea vessel They reached their little haven-the sound of the concert ceased-and, as an echo from distant battlcment, the brazen voice of midnight rose lonly on the gale