cascade, and then flowing smoothly along, bearing upon its tranquil bosom the fair images of the flowers which spring up along its banks, upon the sloping hill-side and in every shady nook and dell, smiling in strange beauty among the stern features of the woodland scene.  Sweet flowers, so fair and fragile, that they flourish only when sheltered from the rude blast and pelting storm by some friendly shade, and so modest and retiring in their habits, that they shun the open field, where they must encounter the scrutinizing gaze of the noonday sun, and choose this sweet seclusion for their home.

We stand upon the shores of the ocean, while the sun emerges from its bed, lifting his broad shining disk above the blue waters, and tinging the sparkling waves with every hue that decks the rainbow’s form.  We gaze with rapture upon the scene, till, dazzled by its brilliancy, we turn our eyes upon the white sails, gliding over the bosom of the deep, like some noble bird winging its way through the air, or watch the swelling waves, as they roll in grand procession towards us, and break in thunder on the shore.  We sit in a calm summer evening and watch the shadows as they lengthen o’er the ground, till they lose themselves in the deep rich green of the vales from winch the sun has disappeared, to gild the tops of the forest trees and far off hills with more than noonday splendor.  The balmy zephyrs hold their breath, nor dare to whisper in the softest tone, while the little forest birds, in sweetly pensive strains, are chanting forth their evening hymn of praise and homage to the sun, who, now all bright with parting smiles, sinks down behind the western hills, tinging the clouds at first with light faint orange streaks, which soon turn to crimson, and touched again by sunset’s magic wand, they glow in purple of the richest dyes, then slowly fade to grey, while twilight draws around us her dewy curtains and shuts the scene from our admiring gaze.

We walk abroad in the calm stillness of a moonlight evening, when night, cheered by the presence of her fair queen, withholds her dusky pall and contents herself by drawing a thin silvery veil over the fair-face of nature, which only serves to cast a shade of pensive beauty upon her lovely features.  The rocks, the fields, the lakes and streams, the distant hills and mountains, whose lofty peaks are crowned with the white fleecy clouds which skirt the horizon, appear far more lovely when viewed by the pure dreamy light now stealing around us, than when displayed to our sight by the clear light of day.  The trees and shrubs lie pictured on the dewy earth, their fair images reposing in motionless beauty, save when the cool breath of evening plays among the verdant branches, disturbing their shadowy outlines.  No sound breaks upon the stillness of the scene, except the gentle murmur of the winding stream or the roar of some far off waterfall, softened and subdued by distance, till it mingles in harmony with the clear shrill notes of the whippowils, who never close their waking eyes, but serenade the moon till morning light, while every object upon which we turn our eyes reminds us of the fancy sketch of some fairy land.