ill take a week to get the smoke of his
magic lantern out of my eyes. If there is any error in these
observations, blame the itinerant, not me.

I had been low-spirited all day, had tried reading, work,--all of no
avail. Dyspeptic views of life would present themselves to my mind. Some
natures, and mine is of them, like the pendulum, need a weight attached
to them to keep them from going too fast. But a wholesome sorrow is very
different from this moping melancholy, when the thoughts run in one
direction, till they almost wear a channel for themselves--when the
channel is worn, there is _insanity_.

Neither are my gloomy religious views to-day those that will regenerate
the world. Those lines of Dr. Watts,--'We should suspect some danger
nigh When we possess delight,'--it is said, were written after a
disappointment in love--it was 'sour grapes' that morning--with the
grave divine.

As a general rule, where we possess _continued_ delight, there is no
'danger nigh.' Where an enjoyment comes between us and our God, it casts
on us a shadow. When we have plucked a beautiful flower, if poisonous,
it has such a sickening odor that we fling it from us. We do not 'pay
too dear for our whistle,' unless it costs us a sin; then it soon
becomes a loathed and useless toy. Otherwise, the dearer we pay, the
sweeter its music.

And even if there is 'danger nigh'--because we are pleased with the
beautiful foam, need we steer straight for the breakers? Not every
tempting morsel is the enemy's bait, though we should be careful how we
nibble;--he is no blunderer (a proof positive that he is not Irish),
never leaves his trap sprung--and we may get caught.

This is a synopsis of the arguments, or rather assertions, with which I
opposed those of the blues; but, finding they were getting the better of
me, I started out for a walk. It was a chilly afternoon; the whole sky,
except a clear place just above the western horizon, was covered with
those heavy, diluted India-ink clouds; the setting sun throwing a dreary
red light on the northern and eastern mountains, adding sullenness to
the gloom, instead of dispelling it. But why describe this gloomy
sunset, there are so many beautiful ones?--when, as the grand, old,
dying Humboldt said, the 'glorious rays seem to beckon earth to heaven?'

Well, I walked so fast that I left my blue tormentors far in the rear.
On the way I met a friend, who invited me to go to the astronomical
lecture. Here y