.
Largior hic campos aether et lumine vestit
Purpureo: solemque suum, sua sidera norunt."

Few--no such days as those seem now ever to be born. Sometimes we indeed
gaze through the face into the heart of the sky, and for a moment feel
that the ancient glory of the heavens has returned on our dream of life.
But to the perfect beatitude of the skies there comes from the soul
within us a mournful response, that betokens some wide and deep--some
everlasting change. Joy is not now what joy was of yore; like a fine
diamond with a flaw is now Imagination's eye; other motes than those
that float through ether cross between its orb and the sun; the "fine
gold has become dim," with which morning and evening of old embossed the
skies; the dewdrops are not now the pearls once they were, left on

"Flowers, and weeds as beautiful as flowers,"

by angels' and by fairies' wings; knowledge, custom, experience, fate,
fortune, error, vice, and sin, have dulled, and darkened, and deadened
all things; and the soul, unable to bring over the Present the ineffable
bliss and beauty of the Past, almost swoons to think what a ghastly
thunder-gloom may by Providence be reserved for the Future!

Nay--nay--things are not altogether so bad with us as this
strain--sincere though it be as a stream from the sacred
mountains--might seem to declare. We can yet enjoy a _broken_ Summer. It
would do your heart good to see us hobbling with our crutch along the
Highland hills, _sans_ great-coat or umbrella, in a summer-shower,
aiblins cap in hand that our hair may grow, up to the knees in the bonny
blooming heather, or clambering, like an old goat, among the cliffs.
Nothing so good for gout or rheumatism as to get wet through, while the
thermometer keeps ranging between 60 deg. and 70 deg., three times a-day. What
refreshment in the very sound--Soaking! Old bones wax dry--nerves
numb--sinews stiff--flesh frail--and there is a sad drawback on the
Whole Duty of Man. But a sweet, soft, sou'-wester blows "caller" on our
craziness, and all our pores instinctively open their mouths at the
approach of rain. Look but at those dozen downward showers, all denizens
of heaven; how black, and blue, and bright they in their glee are
streaming, and gleaming athwart the sunny mountain-gloom, while ever as
they descend on earth, lift up the streams along the wilderness louder
and louder a choral song. Look now at the heather--and smile whenever
henceforth you h