the golden
sun, as he runs his journey through the heavens, and hides behind the
crimson curtains of the west, in majestic splendor. And though the
body be confined to the restless, feverish couch of pain, thought
flies untrammelled through the circuit of the globe, far--far to the
frigid regions of the north, where almost eternal winter reigns, and
we view the hardy inhabitant of that sterile clime, wrapped in his
furs, drawn by the swift-footed reindeer, across the barren glebe.

But, sudden as the lightning's flash, thought wings us across
intervening space, to the sultry, arid plains of India, where seated
upon the huge elephant, the inhabitants screen themselves from the
burning rays of the vertical sun, and all nature seems fainting
beneath the oppressive heat; there the deluded mother tosses her
struggling infant into the serpentine Granges, and bowing before her
idol, thinks she has appeased her God; we at a glance visit Afric's
billowy strand, her vast sandy deserts, spotted here and there with
an oasis, where the toil-worn traveller stops to refresh himself; and
then turning to America--our own happy America, the land of freedom,
we there see thousands of Afric's sable sons groaning beneath the
galling bondage of slavery.

But after thought thus visits every portion of the globe, and sits
down to contemplate what is the conclusion of the whole matter, is not
"passing away" legibly written upon the whole earth, and upon each
succeeding generation of man, for "one generation passeth away and
another generation cometh," and death conquers all. Happy are they,
whose thoughts, enriched by the promises of the gospel, "can soar
beyond the narrow bounds of time, and fix their hopes of happiness on
heaven."

Lines, Written on the Departure of a Brother.

Dear brother, is it even so?
And are we doomed to part?--
We who have been through weal and woe
United, hand and heart.

Ah, would that I could share thy fate,
Upon Life's stormy sea;
I'd deem no sacrifice too great,
That I might make for thee.

But no, it may not--cannot be,--
The world before thee lies;
And fairer lands are spread for thee,
Beneath more genial skies.

There's many a spot, of which we're told,
In legend and romance,
Where plumed knights were wont of old
To meet with sword and lance.

And there's a charm that lingers round
Each ruined tower and shrine;--
Full well I know i