terner
thoughts. Human beauty is an illusion; and it does not become the sober
wisdom of manhood to be deceived by it. The young farmer and his young
wife may be happy; and so may those who find delight in the crowded hall
where taste and beauty meet; where are the sounds of clear-ringing,
girlish voices, and many glancing feet, and the innumerable light of
maiden's eyes, and heavy folds of auburn hair, and the flush of thought
and emotion continually passing over fair faces, with the swell of music
that thrills, and the air laden with fragrance that intoxicates. Or in the
still twilight, by the side of her whose every note makes his pulse to
tremble with the breathing of song, and the incense of flowers, and
forgetfulness of the world, to feel the thought stealing over his heart
that perhaps he is not uncared for. It is sweet, but vain; sweet and vain
as the smiling, blushing slumber of a young girl. Dream on! dream on! for
if you can always sleep, what will matter to you the storms and confusion
without?

But as for me, I cannot sleep. Every thing my eye rests on is harsh and
ungraceful, because, having passed through the seven-times heated furnace,
I _must_ look through the covering and see the reality.

MOONLIGHT ON THE RIVER AND PRAIRIE.

Wearily I mount this steep eminence, and on its bald summit take off my
hat, that I may feel the cool breeze. It comes fresh with the dew that it
has snatched in its flight from the bosom of Lake Superior. It rolls over
the tall grass of the prairie, which bends beneath its weight, sighs by
me, and seems to cling to me as it passes, and moves on toward the arid
plains of the South. The Ohio sweeps down in calmness and majesty. With
its surface of quicksilver, and the little waves dancing up in gladness,
and its heavy dull wash, it rolls along its mighty mass of waters,
hastening to pour itself into the mightier mass of the Mississippi.
Occasionally a giant tree, torn from its place, and cast root and branch
into the flood, comes booming down, and glides swiftly past on its long,
long race. Pleasantly the ripples break over the prostrate monarch of the
forest that is lodged against the beach, and projects, branchless and
barkless, into the stream; and mournfully the worn trunk sways up and
down, as though tired of this rocking which has continued the same year
after year; weary, and desiring to be at rest. Floods come rushing down
upon floods with heavy tread, glance successive