ude, they darken the land! Mighty hopes and aspirations
swell each small bosom. Each imagines that his designs are peculiar, and
for him in particular was every thing mainly made. An unceasing rush of
footsteps and clash of voices! And must I be confounded in the crowd? Let
me preserve my individuality in the desert! If I were not an insect, it
might be different; but as I am no larger than other men, I will not daily
measure myself by their standard; I will forget in solitude the littleness
of my stature.

The shades of evening tinge the green of the fields with a darker hue; and
the young farmer goes wearily and yet lightly homeward. Lightly, for he
leaves behind him labor and trouble, and his fair-haired wife will greet
him with her constant and love-lit smile. Cheerily will the small family
draw around their board, covered with the simple and satisfying products
of their own soil. And when all care is ended, when night is duskily
stealing over the earth, he and his bride will sit down alone in their
cottage door, in the red light of the western clouds. Over all the dim
landscape there are no sights or sounds; and in themselves there are no
feelings but those of contentment and love. In his strong palm her soft
hand, on his broad breast reclining her head, their hearts are filled and
overflow with sweet thoughts and gentle words of present happiness. Fair
prospects also of the future rise up before them. Many years crowned with
prosperity they see in store for them; and in each one, many an evening
like this, of deep confiding love. Hour after hour, into the deepening
night, their low tones and slow words murmur on brokenly; and they know of
nothing in all the world that is wanting to their blessedness. What if the
dream should last all their life? It may; or if this passes away, another
will take its place. The question then seems to be, whether it is better
to live in a delusion and be happy, or to wake and be miserable? Whether
it is profitable for a man to walk joyfully through life, covering and
coloring over every defect in human nature that he may love it, and keep
within him a contented heart, or industriously spy out its deformities,
and hate it and himself for possessing it? If nature is in reality naked
and rugged, happy is he whose imagination can throw over her a robe of
grace. Most happy he who _can_ see in his fellow-creatures such qualities
that he can love them. For me, I will love sterner scenes and s