mon train of observation. We know how
much is put on purposely for the public gaze, and has no other intention
than to be seen; how hollow are many of the smiles, and gay looks, and
smooth decencies. And even the complexion of some, with its red and
white, is more unsubstantial than all the rest; for it is in danger of
being washed away by the first shower. It is strange to meet people
whose personal significance in life is that of a shop window exhibiting
lace and jewelry; strange to encounter men in whose place we might
substitute a well-dressed effigy, and they would hardly be missed. Of
course appearances should be attended to, and are good in their place.
It is right that we should honor society by our best looks and ways. But
it is not merely ridiculous, it is sad, to think how much in the street,
where humanity exhibits all its phases, is appearance and but little
else.

But dress and manners are not all that is phenomenal in human life.
These men and women themselves, this streaming crowd, these brick walls
and stately pinnacles, those that pursue and the things that are
pursued, are only appearances. It may be profitable for us to stand
apart from this multitude, this river of living forms, and think in how
short a time it all will have passed away; how short a time since, and
it was not! A little while ago, and this rich and populous city was a
green island, and our beautiful bay clasped it in its silver arms like
an emerald. The wilderness stood here, and the child of the forest
thought of it as a prepared abiding place for himself and for his people
for ever. The red man has gone; the wild woods have vanished; and these
structures, and vehicles, and busy crowds, have come into their places
magically, like the new picture in a dissolving view. But are these
forms of life, is your presence here or mine, any more substantial than
those that have sunk away? Nay, all this splendid civilization, what is
it but a sparkling ripple in the calm eternity of God? Dwellings,
stores, banks, churches, streets, and the restless multitudes, are but
forms of life,--as it were a rack of cloud drifting across the mirror of
absolute being. That which seems to you substantial is only spectral.
And as the dress of the fop, and the smile of the coquette, is merely an
appearance; so the wealth for which men strain in eager chase, and the
fabrics which pride builds up, the anvils on which labor strikes its
mighty blows, and the body