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SIMILITUDES

FROM THE

OCEAN AND THE PRAIRIE

L*&R€0^

BOSTON:

JOHN P. JEWETT AND COMPANY

CLEVELAND, OHIO :
JEWETT, l'BOCTOB, AND WORTHING TON.

1854.

Entered aoc:>r<lhig to Act of Congress, -n the year 1853, by

John F. Jfcwi/rr &. Co.,

in the Clerk's Office oj :h? District 'J.mrt of this Distric,' of Massachusetts.

PRESS OP GEO. C. RAND,

WOOD CUT AND BOOK PRINTER,

CORNHILL, BOSTON.

STEREOTYPED AT THE
IOSTON STEREOTYPE FOUNDRY.

CONTENTS

PAOB

The Wasted Flowers, 9

The Blackbirds, 11

The Rose on the Rock, 13

The Wind in the Pines, 15

The Laughing Water, 19

The Gnarled Tree, 22

The First Autumn Leaf, 23

The Butterfly in the Dust, 25

The Hidden Cascade, 27

The Fort on the Beach, 31

Buttercups and Dandelions, 33

A Page from Nature's Book, 36

Impressions of Raindrops, 38

The Lost Gem, 40

Death of the Bud and the Blossom, ... 45

La Montagne qui trempe a l'Eau, .... 47

M42657

6 CONTENTS.

>The Whippoorwill, 49

The Child and the Fireflies, 51

The Great Palimpsest. 53

Rainbows every where, 53

The Song before the Storm, 61

Flowers beneath dead Leaves 63

Mississippi and Missouri, 65

The Moon, 67

The Prairie Violets, . . 69

The Web in the Path, 71

Lilla's Lilies, 73

The Maid of the Mist, 74

Our Father's House, 79

Light on the Clouds, 81

The Boy and the Orange Tree, 8 5

The Doves in the Court House, 85

The Broken Icicle, 87

The Veiled Star, 89

The Fairy in the Ice Forest, 91

The Steam Whistle, 94

Dew on the Grass Blade, 9;

The Sea and the Skv, 93

A Gleam of Sunshine, 10^

The Smile of the Great Spirit, io>

1 - J it«-: =S&^

WA8TBD PLOWBBS.

SIMILITUDES.

',.'}>* a

THE WASTED FLOWERS.

On the velvet bank of a rivulet sat a rosy
child. Her lap was filled with flowers, and a
garland of rosebuds was twined around her
neck. Her face was as radiant as the sunshine
that fell upon it, and her voice as clear as that
of the robin, singing at her side.

The little stream went rippling on, while, with
every gush of its music, the child lifted a flow-
er in her dimpled hand, and, laughing gayly,
threw it upon the water. In her glee, she for-
got that her treasures were growing less ; and,
with the quick motion of childhood, she threw
them one after another upon the sparkling tide,
until every bud and blossom had disappeared.

10 THE WASTED FLOWERS.

Then, seeing her loss, she sprang to her feet,
and, weeping, called aloud to the stream, " Bring
back my flowers ! n

But the rivulet danced along, regardless of
•;ljer.sorro.w, . While: it bore the blooming bur-
de'if away^ieVWrd's were sent back by a taunt-
;%^^o;/a{qpg|j^ reedy margin. And long
after, amid the "wailing of the breeze and the
fitful bursts of childish grief, was heard the
unavailing cry, " Bring back my flowers ! "

Merry maiden, who art idly wasting the pre-
cious hours of youth, see, in the thoughtless,
impulsive child, an emblem of thyself. All thy
moments are perfumed flowers. Let their fra-
grance be diffused in blessings on all around
thee, and ascend as sweet incense to their be-
neficent Giver.

Else, when thou hast carelessly flung them
all away, and seest them receding upon the
swift waters of time, thou wilt cry, in tones
more sorrowful than those of the weeping child,
" Bring back my flowers ! " And thy only an-
swer will be an echo from the shadowy Past.
" Bring back my flowers ! "

THE BLACKBIRDS.

The air is full of music. A shower of black-
birds has rained down upon the poplar trees
before the door, and the bare branches look as
if they had suddenly put forth a thick foliage
of ebony. There the birds sit, and warble out
a wild tangle of melody, which so winds and
twists itself among the ringing chords within,
that it is hard to tell whether the car or the
heart is listening.

0, they are gone ! It was but " Look ! sister/'
and away they flew. They have paused on the
adjacent hazels just long enough to chirp a
farewell, and again, with a breezy flutter, they
are upon the wing. Somewhere their melody
is still heard ; but they sing to us no more.

Pretty birds ! they were like the happy and
innocent thoughts that come swarming to us

11

12 THE BLACKBIRDS.

in the dewy springtime of life. Hovering on
the borders of infancy, which lies behind us
like a meadow full of sweet white blossoms,
they weave us a carol of blended hope, and
love, and joy. But one word too rudely spoken,
— one cold blast of reality, — and they leave
us to lonely silence. We watch the waving
of their wings in the sunny distance, and sigh
because they will no longer sing before the
threshold of our hearts.

THE ROSE ON THE ROCK.

There was a bare ledge of rock lying with
its opaque surface exposed to the burning sun.
The plain around was arid and dull, with scarce-
ly an object to interest the eye. But, from a
fissure in the rock, a wild rose bush lifted one
tender, solitary bough, whose soft leaves seemed
like polished emeralds in a rough setting. No
sister bush smiled back upon its loveliness ; but
the roses poured out their wealth of perfume
upon the winds of the wilderness ; and, when
their breath was spent, dropped in smiles upon
their flinty pillow, and died.

Such is the Christian's life, when afar from the
kindred of his soul. If human hearts around him
are lifeless and cold, revealing no spot fertile
enough to bring to life the seeds of holiness that
Heaven scatters every where, he does not for

11

14 THE KOSE ON THE ROCK.

this shut his heart in upon itself, scorning the
desolate scene. He is glad that even one liv-
ing spiritual germ has made its home in a dark
corner of the earth. And when his spirit ex-
hales into the atmosphere of his native para-
dise, the fragrance of his memory lingers long
behind him, to show that he has not lived in
vain.

THE WIND IN THE PINES.

" Move ! move ! " cried the hoarse Wind in
the Pine Tree tops. " You stiff old Pines are
good enough in your way, only you are so im-
movable. It is my business to make all bend
before me ; and there are poisonous weeds pro-
tected by your shade that I want to blow down.
So move ! move ! "

" Nay, Wind," said the Pines, " we shall not
move for a noisy, hasty fellow like you. You
may make the clouds and the waves fly before
you, or shake the boughs of trees more flexible
than we are ; and you are welcome to brush the
dust from our heads ; but you shall do nothing
more. It is well that there is something firm
enough to withstand your levelling blasts. Ten-
der blossoms and useful shrubs and vines look
to us for a shelter. Do not think that you will

15

1G THE WIND IN THE PINES.

be permitted to destroy us and them, just to
overthrow a few vile weeds."

Then the Wind grew angry, and blew a furi-
ous gust, which caused two or three of the
tallest trees to fall with a heavy crash.

" They were decayed to the pith," murmured
the standing Pines.

" Keep straight while you are sound, then,"
answered the Wind, as he went whistling away ;
" but when you get rotten hearted, you also will
have to come down." i

M

LAUGHING WATER.

THE LAUGHING WATER.

Minne-ha-ha, (Laughing Water,) most fitting
and beautiful of Indian names !

You may find the cascade that Nature's red-
complexioned, unmitred priest thus long ago
christened, far up in the north-west, where the
Minnesota runs hastily down to take a gulf-
ward journey, under the protection of the Fa-
ther of Waters.

But, first, you come upon a lake, blue, rip-
pling, translucent ; and just so wide that the
fawn, cropping the herbage on yonder side, fell
by the arrow of the Sioux hunter on this, with-
out hearing his moccasoned foot slip among the
pebbles, when he stooped to take aim.

In this lake's side one small vein is opened,
and the azure fluid glides across a prairie, where

19

20 THE LAUGHING WATER.

the peaceful south wind hums a constant lullaby,
now seldom broken by the echoes of war songs
and murderous yells, borne from the conflict
of Dahcotah and Chippewa braves.

Following this thread of sapphire, thrown as
a clew at your feet, you presently meet a dance
of eddies, hither, thither, and around, like a
troop of children hurrying to whisper in each
other's ears some ripe plan of daring fun. A
step farther, and the waters are leaping with
a laugh over a jutting rock, that looks into a
narrow abyss, scores of feet below. They slip
off in a close, quick embrace ; then, bursting
apart into a thousand diamond drops, they are
set in the glory of a rainbow crescent, half
way down the chasm.

If, while your eye chases the Laughing Wa-
ter down into that sheeny bow, which rests on
either bank, among tree tops dark with boreal
verdure, so sombre a thought as that of death
should flit across your mind, it would be fringed
with a misty brightness, like an object beheld
through a prism.

THE LAUGHING WATER. 21

You would tell yourself that it were no sad
transition to pass suddenly, like these joyous
waters, from a cheerful and stainless course,
letting the pureness of your life weave you a
halo, a rainbow crown, as you fall into the dim
chasm of the grave.

THE GNARLED TREE.

A gnarled tree was standing in a brook, on
a tiny island formed partly by its own jagged
roots. Its bare branches looked as though they
had not grown cheerfully, but had thrust them-
selves forth in spiteful crookedness, daring the
sunshine to smile upon them. But the small
island at the roots of the tree was covered
with tender twigs and soft, green moss ; and
the dimpled waters took the hue of its smiling
verdure.

Hard by, in a rude cabin, lived a lonely,
crabbed old man, with one bright little son,
who seldom saw a smile upon his father's face.
If that father ever cast a glance from his thresh-
old towards this tree, on its isolated, mossy
island, he saw his own portrait, daguerreotyped
by Nature there.

22

THE FIRST AUTUMN LEAF.

A boy sits by an open door in the clear light
of an autumn day. The sceptre of the frost king
has just been laid upon a noble oak before the
door ; and while the boy looks out into the
shade, its first withered leaf floats in on the
sighing wind, and drops upon the floor beside
him. The merry child laughs to see it fall,
and holds it up in triumph to the gaze of his
companions.

Thoughtless one ! thou dost not dream how
like thy conduct is to that of ungenerous souls
who rejoice to mark the first token of decay
in a gifted mind — who exult when the mighty
are shorn of their strength.

Not thus wilt thou laugh when thine own
vigor is departing. 0, learn not to look proud-

23

24 THE FIRST AUTUMN LEAF.

ly on beauty, intellect, or earthly possessions ;
but, raising thine eyes in trusting hope to the
unfading groves that border the river of life,
say, humbly, " We all do fade as a leaf."

THE BUTTERFLY IN THE DUST.

A butterfly was lying, one midsummer noon,
in a dusty road. There were stately trees on
either hand, whose green robes seemed sprin-
kled with ashes. Flowers bloomed pallidly by
the roadside, and the grass wore no longer
its vivid, vernal hue. The golden sun shone in
pitiless splendor over all ; yet its rays scarce-
ly revealed the pencilled tints on the wings
of the poor insect, they were so beclouded and
dimmed.

Was this the butterfly's home ? No ; it had
left the cool, forest glen, where willows shaded
a calm pool from the noonday glare, in search
of pleasanter haunts and brighter skies. A
while it lay panting ; then lifted its wings to
fly, fell fluttering, and was buried in the dust.

25

26 THE BUTTERFLY IN THE DUST.

Have you ever seen a soul, a Heaven-born one,
suffocated by earthly prosperity, dying of too
much sunshine, its pinions clogged and weighed
down by the drossy ashes men call gold, until
it could not even flutter towards immortality?
It was a butterfly in the dust.

THE HIDDEN CASCADE.

Beneath one of the giant bluffs that rise in
the great Valley of the West is a low, rock-
roofed cave, that recedes far into the base of
the bluff, until its windings become invisible in
the gloom. If you stoop at the mouth of this
cave, and listen, you may hear a cascade within
making music in the darkness. Neither the sun-
beam nor the eye of man may glance upon its
dashing spray ; yet its tuneful fall never ceases.
A clear rivulet glides from the mouth of the
cave, and, after leaving its freshness upon the
shapeless rocks, moves on to pour itself into
the mighty river.

The poet's fount of inspiration is like that
hidden cascade. Sweet and refreshing are the
strains that gush from his soul to gladden the
arid wastes of life ; but to him their melody

27

28 THE HIDDEN CASCADE.

seems feeble, their sparkle pale. He feels that
his richest thoughts must be unuttered, or but
dimly symbolized to mankind.

Other hearts are soothed and cheered by his
songs, while he is left to the solitude of his
own deep emotions. The multitude may pass
him by unnoticed ; yet, if there be a few to
whom he may yield an echo of the thoughts
which cannot be wholly revealed, let him be
satisfied. Is it not better to be loved and ap-
preciated by a few, than only to be smiled upon
by all ?

And even if blessed sympathy be denied him,
he need not be lonely, nor envy the bliss of
lower minds ; for there is always music in his
soul.

, I >

THE FORT ON THE BEACH.

THE FORT ON THE BEACH.

A child was wont to choose for her play-
place the ruins of a fort on the beach — a relic
of the Revolution.

At home, the other children laughed at her,
because she was absent minded, and asked
strange questions, and liked to read the " Ara-
bian Nights " better than to play. So she often
came down to the old fort alone ; and when
she was tired of building Puritan meeting houses
and Persian temples with the falling rocks, she
would lean her head against the wall, and make
dream palaces out of the clouds and colored
mists that lay upon the distant sea horizon.
Splendid airy structures they were ; and the
child's heart lived in them, while they lasted,
more earnestly than in hex every-day life.

The little girl grew up to womanhood at a

31

6A THE FORT ON THE BEACH.

distance from her seaside home. When she
walked again upon the beach, she could see no
fairy buildings in the dull mists that hung over
the water ; for Toil and Care had been throw-
ing dust into Fancy's eyes.

The waves, also, had washed away the foun-
dations of the fort, so that no one could guess
its original purpose.

It seemed to her, gazing at childhood's strong-
hold of pleasure, all gone to wreck, that what
men call real is scarcely more enduring than
the visions of romance. The fort and the cloud
palace had alike disappeared.

Then she was certain that the only " city
that hath foundations " is the one revealed to
the soul by Faith.

BUTTERCUPS AND DANDELIONS.

There was an enmity between the Dande-
lions and the Buttercups growing together in
a field on the bank of the Merrimac. The
Buttercups laid a preemption claim to the soil,
for they had grown there when none but cop-
per-colored feet pressed down the grass around
them. The Pawtucket squaws used to throw
the golden blossoms to their pappooses for play-
things, when they left them rolling about in the
shade of the wigwams. After that, little chil-
dren of Mayflower ancestry ran about the river
side, gathering them to remind their parents of
May day in the motherland.

But when the colonists planted the seeds
which they had brought over the sea, the Dan-
delion sprang up among them ; and soon the

3 33

34 BUTTERCUPS AND DANDELIONS.

spot where the Buttercups grew was thickly
spangled with its starry flowers. At first, the
intruders were looked down upon with silent
disdain ; but, seeing that they were likely to
be crowded out of a foothold, the Buttercups
dropped their numerous seeds in silence, and
grew up vigorously every spring.

The Dandelions were not to be outdone : they
employed every light breeze as a messenger to
bear the plumes from their downy globes, and
lodge them at the very feet of their unaccom-
modating neighbors.

By and by a farmer came into the field.

" Joshua," said he to his son, striking his
spade into the ground, "it is a shame to let
such a swarm of yellow weeds eat up this rich
loam. Indian corn is a good thing, although
we get it from the red-skinned savages ; and
I like rye bread, too, for it smacks of merry
Old England. Bring over the plough, boy ; and
as soon as we can get the land ready, we will
put it down half in corn, and half in rye."

The next day the flowers and their feuds were

BUTTERCUPS AND DANDELIONS. 35

buried under the clods turned up by the plough.
The next year, and even until now, the useful
crops ripened peacefully side by side, under the
hands of skilful cultivators. None who reap the
harvests trouble themselves because one is na-
tive and the other foreign grain.

A PAGE FROM .NATURE'S BOOK.

Nature's book is never sealed. Its pages are
ever unfolding with new and delightful instruc-
tion. It opens now to pictures of sombre tint,
and lines of grave import, in the tracery of
sober Autumn. Read ye one short and whole-
some lesson.

Behold, in the depth of the wooded ravine,
how the green grass, untouched by the frost,
yet softly lingers ; and, quietly and slowly, the
stream wanders among the verdure. High
above towers the majestic oak. In his sum-
mer pride, he looked down upon the grass and
the stream, like a monarch from his throne.

Where now is his glory? The frost has
touched his emerald coronal, and, fading, it falls
to the ground : his loftiness only exposes his
isolation.

36

A PAGE FROM NATURE^ BOOK. 37

Why, 0, why will not man learn the blessed-
ness of contentment in a lowly sphere? The
loftiest head must bear the fiercest wrath of the
tempest. Blighting care, and the frosts of cal-
umny, fall first upon the famous and powerful ;
and when strength and beauty fail them, the
eyes of a sneering world are upon their stately
helplessness.

But the streams of secure happiness water
the vales of sequestered life. And upon their
banks the virtuous soul may enjoy a long youth-
fulness of heart, may flourish in a hale and cheer-
ful old age, gaining nearer glimpses of heaven
through the barrenness which follows the sum-
mer glory of human pride.

IMPRESSIONS OF RAINDROPS.

In the days of early mystery, before men
were, when the cavernous earth was haunted
with strange shapes, to which the learned have
given strange names, — the ichthyosaurus, the
megatherium, and the pterodactyle, — the trans-
lators of the fossil writing in the rocks tell
us that, at various epochs, floods of ruin swept
over the yet unformed globe.

Then the forests of tree fern were submerged ;
then uncouth reptiles were petrified in the fis-
sures where they had crept to hide from the
crashing elements ; and then were shells, plants,
and leaves arranged in that vast subterranean
cabinet which is the wonder of recent ages.

Nor these alone. When the chaotic turmoil
began to subside, and a new order of life was
struggling up from the ruin, light showers of

38

IMPRESSIONS OF RAINDROPS. 39

rain fell upon the seething expanse, and left
perfect impressions of their drops in the then
soft adamant.

If thus the secrets of the material world have
been engraved and are revealed, shall thy his-
tory, 0 soul, be left to pass into oblivion ?

All that lies hidden within, the low desire,
the dark, unholy motive, must at last be up-
heaved to light from the overlying strata of
time and forgetfulness. And so shall all that
is noble, pure, and true.

And if, when the surges of passion are grow-
ing calm, tears of penitence follow the commo-
tion, they, too, shall leave their lasting impress,
and be recognized as having antedated a new
and sublimer life.

THE LOST GEM.

Heavy and black rolled the waves of the
river of death. One approached them whose
features bore traces of devouring sorrow. With
a bowed form she gazed into the turbulent
stream, as if she would fain descry something
far down in its fathomless depths.

A being of benign and celestial aspect ap-
peared at her side, and said, "What seekest
thou, sorrowing one ? "

" Alas ! " she answered, " I wore a sparkling
jewel upon my bosom. It was no paltry bawble ;
but a monarch's gift, and beyond all price. In
an evil hour it dropped into this deep river.
While it floated near the brink, I reached out
my hand to regain it ; but in a moment it was
beyond my reach, and sank down, down, until

40

THE LOST OKM.

.

THE LOST GEM. 43

I saw it no more. It is gone ; lost forever ! "
And she turned gloomily away.

" Stay, mourner ! look again into the waters ! "
She looked, and uttered a cry of joy. " It is
there, floating upon the waves. 0, shall it
not be mine again ? w

"Nay, but thou art deceived," was the an-
swer. " Thou seest only the semblance of what
was thine. Yet look upward, and rejoice ! "

She obeyed, and beheld a star gleaming from
a bright spot of azure in the murky sky, whose
reflection, gilding the sullen waves, she had
mistaken for her lost gem.

Breathing these soothing words, the beautiful
appearance vanished : —

" Mourner, the billows that seem so dark and
fearful in their tossing roll up to the golden
gate of heaven. They have borne the jewel
which was lent, not given to thee, to its right-
ful owner, the Monarch of the skies. He will
keep it safe and bright. That which was count-
ed a gem on earth shines forever as a star in
heaven."

44 THE LOST GEM.

The mourner departed with a thoughtful coun-
tenance, no longer bending earthward, or to-
ward the sorrowful river of death ; but meekly
and trustingly raising her eyes to the star, which,
beaming into her spirit, became her constant
upward guide.

Mother, who weepest for thy little one, so
early lost, that mourner art thou, that star thy
angel child. Dry thy tears, and be glad ; for
hast thou not a treasure in heaven ?

DEATH OF THE BUD AND THE BLOSSOM.

At early dawn a bud was blown by a sweep-
ing tempest from its parent bush. Just in its
opening beauty, all balmy and dewy, it fell upon
the grass. The tall spires waved over it with
sighs, and the morning sunbeam looked in with
a subdued smile upon the broken bud.

In the evening twilight, a full-blown flower
dropped from the same bush, and the wind scat-
tered its leaves about the lawn. The faded
petals, scattered here and there, hardly brought
to remembrance the once lovely flower. Dark-
ness closed over it, and the beautiful rose was
never thought of again.

Who would ask to live after the freshness of
sympathy has exhaled from the soul ? When
we say, " Blessed are the early dead," is it
wrong to desire for ourselves a similar fate ?

45

46 DEATH OF THE BUD AND THE BLOSSOM.

Life is sweetest in its first unfolding hopes and
dreams ; yet the sudden pang of disappointment
is not so terrible as the slow, sure progress of
satiety, weariness, and decay.

The best and fairest linger not long in the
memory of the living. We may, we must, be
forgotten when we die ; but most bitter is it to
live and know that human hearts remember us
with tenderness no more.

LA MONTAGNE QUI TREMPE A L'EAU.

On the Mississippi, not far from Lake Pepin,
there is a lofty island bluff, called by the French
discoverers " La montagne qui trempe a l'eau,"
which the pioneers have shortened into " Mount
Tromblo."

This " soaking mountain " starts up in gruff
boldness from the water to intercept a' fair
landscape behind. Travellers floating in steam
palaces upon the river make a memorandum
of it, as a remarkable feature in the landscape.
Venturing to climb its steep sides, they find
weeds and rattlesnakes in abundance beneath
the dark foliage, but scarcely the possibility
of a better crop. Farmers, in passing, look
beyond to the sunny slopes, which lie in fertile
quietness, half hidden from view, waiting to

47

48 LA MONTAGNE QUI TREMPE A l'eAU.

yield up their richer than California!! treasures
to the hardy sons of the plough.

One is reminded by this mountain island of
some conceited philosopher stepping into the
front ranks of mankind, and thinking, because
he looks far up and down and into the stream
of events, that he is a benefit and honor to
the race.

Such a man cannot be persuaded that he may
be only standing in the light of better though
humbler men. Because of that wondrous far-
sightedness by which he looks through every
thing into nothing, he scorns the realities which
are accepted by people of nearer vision. De-
fining their goodness by clownish ignorance, he
gravely insists that even the evil in him is of
a noble stock and a glorious tendency.

But honest, simple-hearted men labor on with-
out parade, receiving the smiles of heaven, and
bearing the harvests of true lives on earth.

THE WHIPPOORWILL.

Why are the whippoorwilPs notes more sooth-
ing than those of gayer daytime warblers ?
Because he sings at eventide.

Our hearts bound to the light carols of birds
that flutter amid the sunbeams, and, when day
fades, we sigh at their departure. The pensive
notes of the whippoorwill are in unison with
our farewell thoughts, and we unconsciously
come to love them better than the merry strains
that are hushed.

So is it with our hopes while the evening of
life draws on. Less joyous than those which
rang thrilling amid the morning dew of exist-
ence, they chime in with our sober memories,
and subdue while they also cheer our hearts.

And so is it with the friendships of mature
years. In youth we sport and laugh with crea-

4 49

r

50

THE WHIPPOORWILL.

tures

giddy

as ourselves, and think that we

love

them as

i we can never love again. But

our winged friends fly away with the sunshine,

and

leave us regretfully treading a solitary

road,

, Then

a low, thoughtful voice, that speaks

with serious mildness of the past and the future,
awakening us, meanwhile, to the real worth of
the present, touches a chord that before lay
hidden within ; and its tones become dearer to
us than the music of early joy and love.

THE CHILD AND THE FIREFLIES.

The dimness of twilight fell upon a white
cottage and its enclosure of trees and flower-
ing shrubs. As the darkness increased, fireflies
came and swarmed in the air — a shower of
living jewels.

" 0, how pretty ! " cried a little blue-eyed
girl, as she rushed from the cottage, with her
apron outspread to capture the glittering in-
sects. Two or three were imprisoned ; and,
seating herself upon the soft grass beneath the
trees, she carefully inspected her booty. As
she did so, her sunny face became clouded over
with disappointment, and throwing the dull,
brown creatures from her with disgust, she ex-
claimed, " They are not pretty any more ! "

" Ah ! my little one ! " said her mother, " this
is but a symbol of the more bitter disappoint-

51

52 THE CHILD AND THE FIREFLIES.

ments that await you in life. Pleasures will
flutter temptingly around your path ; and you
will pursue them only to fling them from you,
and cry, ' They are beautiful no longer ! 7

" But see, your released fireflies, bright enough
upon the wing, sparkle now as gayly as ever.
Learn, then, not to despise the enjoyments of
earth, nor to expect from them satisfying hap-
piness. They come and go with a flash, bright-
ening the darkness of our mortal life, and point-
ing our immortal yearnings to paradise for
perfect bliss."

THE GREAT PALIMPSEST.

God first wrote with his finger, on tables of
granite, limestone, and lava, the alphabet of
organic life. He brightened the later pages
of creation with all the combinations of light
and beauty, and stamped upon his finished work
the one word "Love," as his signet and the
true expression of himself. Then he said, " It
is good."

Afterwards man took the pencil and inscribed
what he would. Pleasant pictures appeared —
tents, and quiet enclosures, for flocks and herds.
Then he suffered caprice and passion so to mar
his work that only a soiled and blackened page
remained. Again arose palaces, cities, and gar-
dens, but only to be blotted out again with
blood.

Strange stories the earth will tell, when all

53

54 THE GREAT PALIMPSEST.

her pages are opened for us to read. There
is no impulse of man's heart but has left its
transcript upon her passive surface.

Obelisks and pyramids exhibit the hollow
epitaphs which Pride has engraved for himself.
Affection has pencilled poems of gentle meaning
on cottage homesteads and the lowly stones of
the graveyard. The tragedies of Revenge have
been scrawled in bloody characters on battle
grounds ; and Peace has written eloquent ser-
mons with the ploughshare and the vessel's keel.

As the monks of the dark ages rubbed out
from the convent scrolls the precious records
of antiquity, and substituted their own tedious
sophistries, so each generation tries to cover and
replace that which is already written. Thus
our earth scroll, alternately ornamented and
blotted, has become a medley of erasures and
contradictions.

Yet write on, farmer, with the harrow and the
plough ! Thy deep, broad lines shall never be
wholly effaced.

"Write on, sailor, for the wave in vain closes
over the track thy rudder has made !

THE GREAT PALIMPSEST. 55

Write on, builders, amid village roofs and
the gates of temples ; for Nineveh and Hercu-
laneum call out, from their opening tombs, to
tell you that yours is no bootless labor !

Write on, statesmen, and all men of thought,
but with a heedful hand, for ye write indelibly
upon the heart of empires !

But let the sword, the lash, and the heavy
hand of tyranny cease their cruel penmanship
forever.

The great palimpsest, Earth, will keep a faith-
ful chronicle of all. And when the highest
perfection of the race shall have been reached,
— when man shall write his best, his crowning
word upon the renewed earth, looking through
the past, — he will see the same word written
primevally beneath his follies and errors by the
hand of the All-Good.

But man will never comprehend the mystery
of that life-breathing syllable, " Love," until he
has learned to write it himself.

RAINBOWS EVERY WHERE.

Bending over a steamer's side, a face looked
down into the clear, green depths of Lake Erie,
where the early moonbeams were showering
rainbows through the dancing spray, and chas-
ing the white-crested waves with serpents of
gold. The face was clouded with thought a
shade too sombre, yet there glowed over it
something like a reflection from the iris hues
beneath. A voice of musing was borne away
into the purple and vermilion haze that twilight
folded over the bosom of the lake.

" Rainbows, ye follow me every where ! Glo-
riously your arches arose from the horizon of
the prairies, when the storm king and the god
of day met within them to proclaim a treaty
and an alliance. You spanned the Father of
Waters with a bridge that put to the laugh

r>6

^"""t

RAINBOWS EVERYWHERE.

RAINBOWS EVERY WHERE. 59

man's clumsy structures of chain, and timber,
and wire. You floated, in a softening veil, be-
fore the awful grandeur of Niagara ; and here
you gleam out from the light foam in the steam-
boat's wake.

" Grateful am I for you, 0 rainbows —for the
clouds, the drops, and the sunshine of which you
are wrought, and for the gift of vision through
which my spirit quaffs the wine of your beauty.

" Grateful, also, for faith, that hangs an ethe-
real halo over the fountains of earthly joy, and
wraps Grief in robes so resplendent, that, like
Iris of the olden time, she is at once recognized
as a messenger from heaven.

"Blessings on sorrow, whether past or to
come ! for, in the clear shining of eternal love,
every teardrop becomes a pearl. When we say
that for us there is nothing but darkness and
tears, it is because we are weakly brooding over
the shadows within us. If we dared look up,
and face our sorrow, we should see upon it the
seal of God's love, and be calm.

" Grant me, Father of light, whenever my
eyes droop heavily with the rain of grief, at

60 RAINBOWS EVERY WHERE.

least to see the reflection of thy signet bow on
the waves over which I am sailing unto thee.
And through the steady toiling of the voyage
let the iris flash appear, even as now it bright-
ens the spray that rebounds from the laboring
wheels."

The voice died away into darkness that re-
turned no answer to its murmurings. The face
vanished from the boat's side ; but a flood of
rainbow light was pouring into the serene
depths of a trusting soul.

THE SONG BEFORE THE STORM.

In the soft light of June, the birds sit upon
the hazel boughs and sing joyfully, while the
warm, giddy winds dance to their music. But
the winds grow weary, and, stealing off to the
forest, they sink to repose. The air is still and
sultry ; but the birds sing on.

A cloud rises ghost-like from the west, and
sheds a pallor over the landscape. Louder and
merrier sing the birds, as if their melody might
be poured out as a libation to avert the storm
god's wrath. Suddenly comes the thunder crash.
The hushed songsters fly to their nests. The
affrighted winds start from their sleep, and rush
hither and thither in mad terror : nothing now
is heard save the angry roar of the storm's loud
artillery.

0 heart of man, when merry thoughts play

61

62 THE SONG BEFORE THE STORM.

in all thy resounding depths, and rise swiftly to
the lips as bubbles to the surface of a clear
lake in the sunshine, shouldest thou not tremble ?
Seest thou not a cloud rising to shadow thy
bright horizon ? Too often is the wild overflow
of merriment, like the song of the birds, most
loud and free when it heralds the approach of
the storm.

FLOWERS BENEATH DEAD LEAVES.

Two friends were walking together beside a
picturesque mill stream. While they walked
they talked of mortal life, its meaning and its
end ; and, as is almost inevitable with such
themes, the current of their thoughts gradually
lost its cheerful flow.

" This is a miserable world," said one ; " the
black shroud of sorrow overhangs every thing
here."

" Not so," replied the other. " Sorrow is not
a shroud ; it is only the covering Hope wraps
about her when she sleeps."

Just then they entered an oak grove. It was
early spring, and the trees were bare ; but last
year's leaves lay thick as snow drifts upon the
ground.

" The liverwort grows here, I think ; one of

63

64 FLOWERS BENEATH DEAD LEAVES.

our earliest flowers," said the last speaker.
" There, push away the leaves, and you will see
it. How beautiful, with its delicate shades of
pink, and purple, and green, lying against the
bare roots of the oak trees ! But look deeper,
or you will not find the flowers ; they are un-
der the dead leaves."

" Now I have learned a lesson that I shall
not forget," said her friend. " This seems to
me a bad world ; and there is no denying that
there are bad things in it. To a sweeping
glance, it will sometimes seem barren and des-
olate ; but not one buried germ of life and
beauty is lost to the all-seeing eye. Having
the weakness of human vision, I must believe
where I cannot see. Henceforth, when I am
tempted to complainings and despair on account
of evil, I will say to myself, ' Look deeper ;
look under the dead leaves, and you will find
flowers/ "

MISSISSIPPI AND MISSOURI.

The Mississippi glides down from the roman-
tic regions of the north ; from pellucid lakes ;
from verdant bluffs which at dawn lean against
mountains of roseate mist ; from islands all
gracefully entangled with the foliage of the
pawpaw, the Cottonwood, and the grape ; from
shores where the willow twig and the trumpet
flower bend to touch the mimic blossom and
bough, that reach up to them from the mirrored
shore beneath. A pure and a peaceful stream
is it, then.

The Missouri rushes from the north-west, the
land of many wigwams and unburied toma-
hawks, bringing sand, earth, and upturned roots
from its loose shores and muddy tributaries.

The two rivers meet, as it were, unwillingly.
For many miles, a distinct line in the midst

5 65

66 MISSISSIPPI AND MISSOURI.

of the stream shows their mutual repulsion.
But after a time thick, brown flakes are visible
upon the transparent waters, and soon both are
blended in one dark, powerful river, bearing the
hue of the turbid Missouri flood, and the name
of the clear Mississippi.

Impetuous as human passion, the great river
of the west sweeps onward to the awaiting
gulf, and suggests to the thoughtful traveller
who is borne upon its bosom the mingling of
good and evil in his own nature. How came
the strong current within so deeply stained?
Shall he name for his fountain head the pure
or the foul, or both ? And is there any ocean
broad and deep enough to absorb from his being
the pollutions of earth ?

THE MOON.

Two boys stood in the shadow of a huge crag
by the seaside, when the full moon was shining
down upon the troubled waves.

" How large the moon has grown ! " said one
of them, gazing upon its reflection in the water.
u See ! it glistens, and spreads like a fairy ring !
And as the circle widens, every wave has a dif-
ferent tinge. It is certainly more beautiful here
than any where else."

" I like better to look at it," said the other,
" when it shines into the quiet lake by our cot-
tage. It does not seem so large there ; but then
it is much brighter, and its outline is perfect
and clear. See there ! the waves grow wilder,
and they toss poor Luna about, until I am sure
she cannot recognize her own face in that mass
of confused gleams."

67

68 THE MOON.

Does a great man become really greater for
the hues his character takes upon the troubled
sea of public opinion ? How often must he see
his motives distorted, torn piecemeal, or held
up in a false light.

The noble mind is best understood by the
loving heart. Greatness may shed a wide splen-
dor over the stormy sea of ambition, but it re-
veals its true glory amid the placid and holy
serenity of home.

THE PRAIRIE VIOLETS.

A broad river swept onward to the ocean.
Upon one side it was overhung by gigantic
bluffs, which seemed like vast pillars to support
the arch of the sky. From the other side a
green prairie slanted away, until its distant
edge blended with the dazzling sunrise.

A traveller came to the bank of the river.
He beheld the majestic scenery, and listened
to the solemn flow of the waters, and was op-
pressed with wonder and awe. But, looking
down, he saw at his feet a cluster of delicate
blue flowers, trembling and dropping with dew
amid the grass of the prairie. And when lie
saw them he smiled ; for they were violets, just
such as grew in the secluded dells of his home.
And the sight of them made every thing look

09

70 THE PRAIRIE VIOLETS.

more beautiful ; nor was lie longer lonely in
the mighty solitude.

The traveller went his way, and no eye
glanced over the' landscape save that of the
reposing deer, or the turtle dove flying to its
nest in the lonely tree.

Then the fragrance of the violets, rising on
the cool air, at last mingled with the clouds.

Ever lovely are the meek blossoms of humil-
ity, but never lovelier than when they spring
up in the hearts of the great and the gifted.
The bold sublimity of genius overpowers the
gazer ; but when he sees it united with the
mild and unobtrusive virtues, he is softened into
love. And, imparting to greatness its chief
glory, the odor of humble goodness ascends
above it, and is accepted as sweetest incense
by the Majesty of heaven.

THE WEB IN THE PATH.

Walking in the woods, one bland May noon,
I turned my footsteps through a narrow path-
way that led up to the breezy summit of a hill.
A tiny gleam of silver, flashing before my eyes,
caused me suddenly to pause. A spider had
drawn his gossamer bar from one green limb
to another, and I must break it or leave the
path.

Flimsy as the barrier was, hanging there in
the sunlight, I involuntarily dropped the hand
which was raised to destroy it, and turned aside
into the long grass. Groping through the thick
undergrowth of hazel bushes, I became bewil-
dered, and at length found myself far down the
tangled hillside.

" Ah," thought I, while striving to retrace my
steps to the upland, " how frequently are mortals

71

72 THE WEB IN THE PATH.

beguiled from high aims ! And the current of a
life, how often is it wholly changed by obstacles
as trifling as this !

" A. gay joke, it may be ; a meaning glance ;
an idle presentiment ; something we might dis-
solve with a breath ; but there is a power in
its very weakness, to which we yield.

" Had an armed warrior disputed our passage,
fearlessly should we have grappled with him ;
but we will not destroy the spider's web, and
happy for us if darkness and a maze are not
our reward."

LILLA'S LILIES.

Lilla, a healthy country child, ran with bare
feet into the water, to gather pond lilies for
a fair lady who was strolling by.

"Ah," said the lady, languidly, "would I
were as happy and as brisk as you ! And so
I was, when, like you, a careless child."

" Don't you wish," asked the simple Lilla,
" that you had never grown up ? "

"I will answer you thus," replied the lady,
drawing a full-blown lily and a bud from the
bunch that she held. " The flower i^ mine, the
bud yours ; and you see that the last is shut
up in its thick calyx, and has no fragrance."

" But, dear lady," rejoined Lilla, " do you see
those many small black insects that are eating
up the petals of your flower ? I think I prefer
to keep my close little bud, since I know that
all is sound and pure inside."

73

THE MAID OF THE MIST.

The pilgrim to Niagara doubtless remembers
a pert little steamboat, which, on the pleasant
mornings and evenings of summer, bears travel-
lers up among the rainbows that swing in thun-
der and foam before the wonderful waterfall.

Whatever emotions of awe or of dread a man
has ever had will come surging through him
then, while he is borne on, against angry green
eddies and between jutting rocks, toward the
great unbroken wall of crystal, which seems, for
the moment, the outermost barrier of the uni-
verse itself.

You get a glimpse of the rainbows and the
watery wall — you may even imagine that you
are piercing the one, and grasping the other.
But suddenly the stormy foam comes down,
drenching you, blinding you, in spite of the

74

MAID OF THE MIST.

I . .

THE MAID OP THE MIST. 77

India rubber robes the guides have wrapped
you in ; and all that you can do is to close
your eyes, and be stunned by the roar of fall-
ing floods.

Just at the point where she cannot move
another foot without certain destruction, the
daring craft, puffing complacently the while,
wheels quickly about, brings you into calmer
water, and you say, " I have seen Niagara."

Seen Niagara ? No ; you only saw that you
were approaching a rainbow and a deluge. At
the grandest moment there was but a mist, and
a chaos of strange, thundering echoes.

Niagara utters its hints of the Infinite. The
Incomprehensible, the I AM, has poured a vast
torrent of his glory upon the earth, through the
united floods of nature and inspiration. This
may men approach, and they shall both see it
spanned with rainbows and clouded with mists.

Upborne by the flimsy barks of opinion, they
will look boldly into this wonder of wonders,
needing no glory-proof vestments, so impervi-
ously cloaked are they with sense. And when
they have only been blinded by the shadows

78 THE MAID OF THE MIST.

and the spray from the Divine, they will go
away, and say that they have seen and know
the eternal truth.

Every where the good Father has sent forth
gentle streams of his love for us to glide upon ;
but when a mortal claims to have comprehended
the immensity of his thoughts, he is but the
trumpeter of his own folly.

What are these dogmas of ours but fragile,
venturesome boats, to which a voice as of many
waters is ever saying, " Hitherto, but no far-
ther, shall ye come n ?

OUR FATHER'S HOUSE.

" I cannot find my father's house,7' sobbed a
boy, at the threshold of his grandsire's cottage,
where he had passed the night. " I have been
through the fields, and close to the stream that
runs through our garden ; but I could not see
my home."

" My child," said the old man, " your home is
certainly there. Go again, and, though you
should not see it, keep right in the path until
you have reached the door ; for it is only the
morning mist that hides it from your eyes."

Dear pilgrim to the Celestial City, how often
have thine eyelids drooped with heavy tears,
because thou couldst not see thy Father's house
away in the blue distance ! Yet, when the man-
sions of the blessed are no longer visible, think
not that heaven is lost. It is only veiled by

79

80 our

thick exhalations, rising cloud-like from the
earth. There is a sun whose brightness can dis-
pel them all.

Then faint not in the way, but press on ; and.
even from out the mist and the dimness, the
gates of pearl shall suddenly open to receive
thee ; and the wanderer will be at home.

LIGHT ON THE CLOUDS.

Dull and sere lay a prairie in autumn ; its
withered, trailing grass and giant weeds whis-
pering hoarsely to each other the warning of
the northern blast. Heavy clouds, tinged with
a lurid light, slowly arose, and hung low along
the starry arch above. Heavier they grew, and
more redly they glared, as if a pent up thunder-
bolt were about to burst upon the desolate
plain.

Suddenly a sparkling belt of fire gleamed up
along the horizon. Merrily onward danced the
flames, prostrating as they ran grass, weeds,
and faded flowers. The prairie was on fire,
and that ominous glare was only its reflection
upon the clouds.

0, ye who look out anxiously upon the broad
field of humanity, and believe that ye see horrid

6 81

82 LIGHT ON THE CLOUDS.

clouds, charged with the vengeance of Heaven,
impending over it, watch those clouds in faith
rather than in fear.

The purifying as well as the scathing fires
are at work in society, and their light is mir-
rored on high, at once a sign of terror and of
hope.

Vain splendor, perverted power, every useless
thing must be swept away to make room for
a world's needed harvest. Some flowers must
perish with the weeds ; but the seeds of truth
are safely garnered, and they will spring up
with tenfold beauty in the fair, coming spring
time.

Happy they who, with a true prophetic ken,
see in the fiery clouds the harbinger of a glo-
rious era, a new golden age.

THE BOY AND THE ORANGE TREE.

Shadows from the leaves of an orange tree
flitted over a pale boy's forehead, as both stood
under the noonlight of an August sun. The
boy gazed with wonder at the beautiful tree,
with its white, fragrant blossoms and brighten-
ing fruit ; the more beautiful because, although
the native of a sunnier clime, it flourished in
the bleak air of the New England shore.

One who loved him, and saw him there, said,
" He is like what he looks upon. Delicate and
sweet is his youth in its blossoming ; while
manliness, truth, and piety ripen early in his
heart. Yes ; he is like the orange tree, bear-
ing both fruit and flower at once."

Winter brought snow, and sleet, and cold.
They sheltered the orange tree, where it might
receive the coal warmth, nor perish by the

84 THE BOY AND THE ORANGE TREE.

frost. They kept the pale boy, too, within, lest
he should breathe the deadly chill of the east
wind. But earth is all too cold a place for
him. He watches the flowers falling from the
orange tree, and sees the fruit turn yellower,
and knows that he shall never behold its full
ripening.

And now the one who loves him so well
glances through her tears from the tree to the
boy. Ah, what a paleness is there settling upon
his brow !

It is the blossom fading, dropping to the
earth. The fruit was all but ripened for thee,
drooping mourner ; be content that the angels
gather it. Will it not round into more glow-
ing perfection beneath the genial air of heaven ?

THE DOVES IN THE COURT HOUSE.

It was such a prospect as one often has in
a city ; a dead level of brick wall, with one
crescent-shaped window near the top. It was
the wall of the court house. The window was
open, and doves were fluttering in and out, coo-
ing, and making of their Quaker-colored plumes
a soft oasis for the eye to rest upon, after trav-
elling over the dry, red Sahara of brick. The
pillared entrance was on another side ; and, in
the rotunda below, men were wrangling about
law, and lands, and offices, and dollars. Strong
and bad passions, nested like vultures in their
hearts, had come out, and were angrily beaking
each other.

If the doves had flown in among them, they
would have met such a greeting as this : " The

85

86 THE DOVES IN THE COURT HOUSE.

mean, tame things, what business have they
here ? "

But they never went there to be driven out
again ; there was nothing dove-like to win them.
They flew up towards the dome, and rested in
the window nearest heaven, seeming to brood
with a gentle wonder over the stately edifice ;
as if they felt it strange for man to forget al-
ways, in loud and fierce debates, that the voice
of wisdom is like the voice of a dove.

Will this truth ever be received ? Will love
and peace, doves of paradise, scorned on earth
for their heavenly gentleness, and forced to
wheel away upward for still and pure air, ever
gain an entrance into the halls of the rulers ?

" Not while I am alive," screams the raven
Selfishness. And when doves are admitted into
court houses, no more court houses will need to
be built.

THE BROKEN ICICLE.

A massive icicle hung over the window of
my friend's chamber. She beckoned me to her
from an adjoining room. " Let us break it off,"
she said, "and carry it in to surprise our
friends who have met here this evening."

So we opened the window, and gazed at the
broad spar of crystal, hanging in the cold moon-
light like the spear of a northern giant. Then,
uniting our strength, with clasped hands we
tried to remove it from its clinging-place. But
no sooner was it detached from the roof than
the broad base, unused to being supported by
its apex, fell off, and was scattered in a thou-
sand fragments upon the pavement below. So
the roof lost a grand icicle, and we stood hold-
ing carefully a mere frozen drop, such as might

87

THE BROKEN ICICLE.

be found hanging from any low shed on a
January morning.

Just in this way we both had often tried to
bring out the frostwork of fancy from its sparry
caves within. To our eyes it glittered with
wonderful splendor, and we thought our friends
too would admire it, and be astonished at our
powers. But, becoming a little dizzy with self-
satisfaction at the magnitude and glitter of our
thoughts, and the shining mass utterly refusing
to give itself up to the dull grasp of words,
we were suddenly left in the midst of confused
glimpses of ideas, with only a fragment to show
for what had been so magnificently conceived.

Little harm was done, however, if our aim
was only to dazzle, and not to warm.

THE VEILED STAR.

A prisoner lay in a dungeon, damp, gloomy,
and silent. No light came there save through
one small aperture high up in the roof. This
he watched through the long day, until his eyes
were weary of the unchanging speck of blue.

But when the curtain of night fell over his
prison, a star came and looked down upon him
for a few hours, as if to soothe his misery. The
prisoner loved the star, for he thought it said
to him, " Cheer thee, captive ! haply thou wilt
never again behold the fair earth ; bat my eye
rests on a better land, where fetters are unknown,
and thou shalt walk in freedom forever."

So the prisoner lay and longed for the dark-
ness, that his spirit might talk with the star.
But one evening he watched for it in vain.
There shone no soft, yellow beam ; all was

89

90 THE VEILED STAR.

dark as the walls of his dungeon. Another
night passed, and still the star did not appear.
Then he moaned bitterly, saying, " 0 star, thou
earnest but to mock my sad heart. Better hadst
thou never lighted up this loathsome den, than to
lend only a momentary and deceitful glimmer."

But the third night it came and gazed upon
him as kindly as ever, for the clouds by which
it had been hidden had passed away. Then
the captive said, "Now, sweet star, thou art
more welcome than before ; because I mourned
thee as lost, when thou wert only veiled."

For thee, weary and groaning one, crushed
to the dust by whatever power of evil, shines
Hope, the fairest of stars. Perhaps its ray is
so distant that the cloud which hides it may
be no larger than a man's hand. Alas that
so often it is the hand of a brother man, and
no cloud !

But shadows, which are of the earth, must
pass away. Hope, immortal Hope, shall return
to reflect unto thee the light of a world, where
the sighing of the oppressed shall be hushed
in eternal peace.

THE FAIRY IN THE ICE FOREST.

A band of fairies, making a flying tour by
moonlight, came suddenly upon the borders of
a northern forest. Alternate storms of snow
and rain had clothed the trees in garments of
virgin whiteness. The beams of the full moon
were glancing in a dazzling dance among the
branches, and chasing the weird shadows through
the dim aisles of the wood, arched with icicles,
and paved with gems of frost. The fairies fold-
ed their wings and gazed in mute wonder, for
there was nothing half so gorgeous in fairyland.
But when the night blast swept by them they
shuddered, and bethought them of the warmer
light of their own fragrant groves.

As they were departing, one of the fairest of
the band came and bowed before the queen,
murmuring, " A boon ! n

91

92 THE FAIRY IN THE ICE FOREST.

" What wilt thou ? " said the fairy sovereign,
touching the suppliant with her tiny sceptre.

" 0, let me dwell in this beautiful place ! "
was the request.

" Foolish one, wouldst thou forsake thy sisters
for this cold, glittering land ? Then be it so !
Farewell ! » And they sped lightly down the
valley.

The fairy, rejoicing in her new and splendid
lot, danced gayly, and sang many a rich carol
beneath the jewelled canopy of the boughs ;
and the sprites of the snow stood behind the
huge fir stems to hear her song, ringing so clear
and sweet through the wood.

But long ere the moon waned her voice fal-
tered, and her step became languid. She had
forgotten that her fragile form was made for a
sunnier clime, and might not bear the chill at-
mosphere about her. Slowly she yielded to the
piercing cold, and, at last, sank benumbed upon
a snow wreath. 0, how she longed for the
cherishing arms of her sisters, and for her loved
and lovely fairyland ! The snow spirits gath-
ered about her in their spangled robes ; but their

THE FAIRY IN THE ICE FOREST. 93

voices were strange, and their breath fell like
ice upon her cheek. The stars passed over her
head with a cold, distant gaze. Flashes of au-
roral radiance shot, glaring, athwart the sky,
seeming to mock her agony. Every thing about
her was glorious ; but what was its brightness
to her? Faintly one last vain cry arose from
her shroud of drifting snow : " Sisters ! 0 sis-
ters! I cannot live in this fearful brightness!
Why did I leave your love for this frozen glory,
this living death ? n

Humble yet gifted one, sigh not to break
from the heart circlet that clasps thee in the
warm beauty of a lowly home. Pine not to
roam at large amid the fitful and mysterious
gleams that flash out from the lofty, shining
realm of Fame. The warm affections of many
a soul have been congealed by its frigid air.
Its splendor is all a wondrous cheat ; like the
glittering ice forest, above, around, and beneath,
it is cold, freezing cold.

THE STEAM WHISTLE.

It is a wild, unearthly death shriek, startling
the ear in the still summer eventide, or at the
breathless noon of night. No wonder the In-
dians around Lake Pepin answer it with their
most hideous whoops and yells, for it warns
them away from the last of their ancestral
strongholds.

It is the tocsin for another Bartholomew mas-
sacre of the beautiful, the old, and the grand.

Shriek ! Down with your wigwams, Chippe-
was and Sioux ! they are right in the path of
the iron horse ; but he will condescend to use
them for provender. Run faster, Mississippi and
Niagara, or you will be overtaken and exhaled
through his monstrous lungs. Humble your
proud heads, White Hills, Alleghanies, and ye
Rocky Mountains, for your time shall come ;

94

THE STEAM WHISTLE. 95

your sides shall be seamed and scarred, until
the winds of all your summits wail over your
ruined symmetry. Back to your sod, grim rev-
olutionary ghosts ! they have laid the rails over
the battle grounds of Bennington and Stillwater :
and if you rise in rebuke, you will only be mis-
taken for a puff of vapor from the locomotive.
Shriek ! whistle ! shriek ! What is that lying
across the track ? Only the mangled corpse of
Romance. Off with it, cowcatcher ! All right,
now ! Put on more steam !

DEW ON THE GRASS BLADE.

In a narrow woodpath every blade of grass
had received the blessing of the night dew :
now and then one still held a quivering pearl
poised upon its tip ; but most had shaken off
the silvery baptism, coquetting with the morn-
ing breeze. One green blade bent lower than
the rest, under the weight of large drops that
hung upon it in a crystal chain. In vain the
breeze ran by with a gush of laughter ; in vain
the tall blades above whispered of insects with
gay, gossamer wings, that fluttered among them,
and of the sunny landscape around ; in vain
the sunbeams tried to edge through the shad-
owing leaves to steal its jewels ; the blade lay
cool and still in its shelter, gaining freshness
from its precious burden. Only when imperial
day came, and claimed the dewdrops to be

9G

DEW ON THE GRASS BLADE. 97

woven into his rainbow crown and vest of sun-
set clouds, were they resigned ; and strong and
green the bent grass blade arose and waved
above the scorched and shrivelled herbage of
the woodpath side.

So the heart loves to bow under the refresh-
ing burden of gratitude. And the richer the
blessing it has received, the lowlier it becomes,
and the more it seeks to shrink away from the
distracting sights and noises of earth, and make
a crown and an inward life of the influence by
which it has been blessed. And with the fresh-
ness of grateful emotions within, it can better
resist the dust and the glare without, and spring
up in dewy strength to gladden a parched and
despairing world.
7

THE SEA AND THE SKY.

The sea is but an imperfect mirror of the sky.
It reflects the gray rain clouds, more dull and
leaden than themselves ; and the hues of sunset,
in their soft blending, are spread out upon it
with a molten, glittering splendor. The mariner
at the helm sees the Lion and the Scorpion of
the zodiac, and Lyra and Arcturus, and all the
stars that guide his course, gliding over the
waves beneath him, clearest in the calm, when
he least needs their light. Of the nebulous
fields of space behind the golden bars of the
constellations, the sea gives but the faintest
shadow, white and dim.

Sirius, brightest of telescopic suns, is only a
star to unaided eyes. All that we see of the
vast spiritual depths beyond appears in minia-
ture, narrowed to the angle of our mortal vision.

THE SEA AND THE SKY. 99

What is visible to us we call real ; yet it is no
more than a dim reflection and shadow picture
of the great reality.

The image of the Infinite is within us, but
faint from the distance, broken by the wild
surges of sorrow and sin. When earth and sea
shall have passed away, what form will the
soul take upon itself? Perhaps, resolved into
its pure elements, it shall become a clear me-
dium to receive and transmit the thoughts of its
divine Original. Is not this what it tosses and
stretches after, moaning over itself, and vainly
lashing its physical boundaries?

What are we ? what shall we be ? and how
shall we be what we may ? The waves of
human thought roll these questions towards each
other with vague, mournful murmurs, but bring
no answer. Yet must there be an answer ; and
the troubled sea will not rest until it is found.

A GLEAM OF SUNSHINE.

It glanced like a spirit past the window. I
knew it was in the garden, burnishing the gay,
stiff uniforms of the hollyhocks ; dancing about
to hang a separate pearl on every leaf of the
currant bushes, and sprinkling silver dust upon
the spray of the fallen asparagus.

I knew it would not be so beautiful again as
just at this moment, while its jewelled footstep
was gliding over the dewy sides of the peach
leaves, letting the heavy masses of foliage sink
in deep shadow underneath ; and yet I did
not rise to enjoy it. In a few minutes I meant
to leave my book and go. But by that time the
old dog-day hues had returned to every thing,
cloudy, drizzly, and foggy ; and in the garden,
nothing but the shadows of dark shades.

I had failed to secure one picture of beauty

100

A GLEAM OP SUNSHINE. 101

to hang up in my heart's gallery for a perpet-
ual joy. So I sat down again and wondered if
those who complain that this is a world without
sunshine do not often choose to remain in their
own shadow, or that of somebody else, when
there is a gleam.

THE SMILE OF THE GREAT SPIRIT.

Lovely as the meaning of thy name art thou,
Winnipisseogee ; and fair are the islands that
rise from thy placid waters as pleasant words
which are twin born with a smile.

Fair, too, are the embracing mountains set to
guard thee, whether starbeams cincture their
heads, or white clouds hang in a fleecy girdle
about their sides ; or the rain and the mist pass
over them with ever-shifting hues, as the inmost
emotions of the soul are changefully shaded
upon a face that speaks without words.

And silent and solemn are the bold mountain
peaks that loom up behind, beckoning the wan-
derer through the long perspective to hills on
hills beyond ; which scaling, he shall at length
behold the lofty White Hills of the north.

Friend, in whose presence was first revealed

102

THE SMILE OP THE GREAT SPIRIT. 103

to me the beauty of the blue New Hampshire
hills, — smiling through the hazy, floating veil
of retreating summer, or paling and darkening
with the changes of the weeping clouds, — the
sunlight of thy broad humanity has made clearer
to me the charm and the blessing of life's pres-
ent realities and dimly-outlined mysteries ; and
has shown me the smile of the Great Spirit, ever
serenely reflected from amid the wearisome and
sorrowful mountains of existence.

What lies beyond those mountains? Fairer
islands, stiller waters, than these ; grander
heights of mystery, too, the cloudy wonders of
whose summits are glorious with unutterable
splendor from the eternal Light ; but over those
heights will never darken the mists of human
doubt, the rain of human sorrow.

1

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