and this, of all the beauties of this region, is the most peculiar and wonderful.  Imagine a vast and gently-swelling pasture of the brightest green grass, stretching away from you on every side, behind, toward these hills I have described, in all other directions, to a belt of tall trees, all growing up with noble proportions, from the generous soil.  It is an unimagined picture of abundance and peace.  Somewhere about, you are sure to see a huge herd, of cattle, often white, and generally brightly marked, grazing.  All looks like the work of man’s hand, but you see no vestige of man, save perhaps an almost imperceptible hut on the edge of the prairie.  Reaching the river, I ferried myself across, and then crossed over to take the Jacksonville railroad, but, finding there was no train, passed the night at a farm house.  And here may find its place this converse between the solitary old man and the young traveller.

SOLITARY.

My son, with weariness thou seemest spent,
And toiling on the dusty road all day,
Weary and pale, yet with inconstant step,
Hither and thither turning,—­seekest thou
To find aught lost, or what dark care pursues thee? 
If thou art weary, rest, if hungry, eat.

TRAVELLER.

Oh rather, father, let me ask of thee
What is it I do seek, what thing I lack? 
These many days I’ve left my father’s hall,
Forth driven by insatiable desire,
That, like the wind, now gently murmuring,
Enticed me forward with its own sweet voice
Through many-leaved woods, and valleys deep,
Yet ever fled before me.  Then with sound
Stronger than hurrying tempest, seizing me,
Forced me to fly its power.  Forward still,
Bound by enchanted ties, I seek its source. 
Sometimes it is a something I have lost,
Known long since, before I bent my steps
Toward this beautiful broad plane of earth. 
Sometimes it is a spirit yet unknown,
In whose dim-imaged features seem to smile
The dear delight of these high-mansioned thoughts,
That sometimes visit me.  Like unto mine
Her lineaments appear, but beautiful,
As of a sister in a far-off world,
Waiting to welcome me.  And when I think
To reach and clasp the figure, it is gone,
And some ill-omened ghastly vision comes
To bid beware, and not too curiously
Demand the secrets of that distant world,
Whose shadow haunts me.—­On the waves below
But now I gazed, warmed with the setting sun,
Who sent his golden streamers to my feet,
It seemed a pathway to a world beyond,
And I looked round, if that my spirit beckoned
That I might follow it.

SOLITARY.

Dreams all, my son.  Yes, even so I dreamed,
And even so was thwarted.  You must learn
To dream another long and troublous dream. 
The dream of life.  And you shall think you wake,
And think the shadows substance, love and hate,
Exchange and barter, joy, and weep, and dance,
And this too shall be dream.