and then after
it has gone, as we suppose, there is another squib, very smart and
snappish, and we hear nothing more of it till the train comes down, frets
a little again as it passes by, and goes on to discharge its contents in
the great city. To all these things we say, 'Pass on!' the world is
various, and must be amused; but for us, we respectfully withdraw. We have
had enough of the intense; we now welcome the trifling, appropriating
however as much of the serious as we care to admit in our still life. When
the Sabbath comes round, there are seven bells that reach us, each with
its separate voice; and these, with falling waters, and the morning
incense going up from the hill-sides, are as much of 'mass' as we care to
have in our worship. But we have a ready ear for all sweet sounds, and
need no glasses to appreciate the beautiful. Sunrise and sunset; the
grouping of clouds; the blue haze that now and then lies on the landscape,
all one with my cigar-smoke; and the storms and lightnings of the young
summer, so spitefully beautiful; all these, with whatever of glory there
may be in the still watches of the night, find their place in our
picture-gallery; but we leave them as GOD made them, and add no tint to
their coloring.

'You are aware that the sun rises as per almanac. This is common; and so
common, so much an every-day affair, that he gets very little credit
therefor; and yet, that he will rise with great exactness, aside from all
human calculation, and go on traversing the sky with a wonderful
regularity that nothing can stop, is a very pleasant fact touching the
prospect of to-morrow; and so also, that every thing in nature will be
wrought with marvellous beauty and harmonies of sound; and oh! most
satisfactory of all, there will still be an air that properly inhaled
fills the _heart_ as well as the lungs. It is from a calm consideration of
this fact, that we have done with the _eagerness_ of pleasure. No daily
counting of hours to see that all have been properly brimmed; no grasping
at a dozen things at once; no draining of the very dregs, lest that may be
the last bottle, and we die to-morrow. But thankful as we are for
to-morrow, and especially grateful for to-day, we don't care for
noon-marks. We have kept no count lately, and for aught we know, Time may
have stopped, but probably not. He is doubtless somewhere about, but we
take no particular notice. Our watches have run down, and we care not to
wind them