Happy and independent indeed is the life. of the industrious farmer. The green field is his home, the blue sky his canopy, and the meadow-lark is the living lute, which cheers him with melody. Glance upward; how proudly does that eagle bathe his rough bosom in the upper air! He is all alone, - playing, it would seem, with his own thoughts, wheeling suddenly - round, - now falling or rising, then gliding smoothly away. He looks with scorn upon our earth. If we could follow him with our eyes, in half an hour we should see him feeding his young, on the brow of some cliff which frowns upon a distant sea. See you yonder hill, whose summit is visible above the trees, skirting the eastern border of this field? Well! from that spot I wish you to gaze with me upon the setting sun. What a How re Our desired eminence is attained. gorgeous landscape is before us. freshing is this evening breeze, which comes to us laden with the fragrance of flowery fields. "See, how the green girt cottages shimmer in the setting sun! He bends and sinks, the day is overlived. Yonder he hurries off, and quickens other life. wing to lift me from the O! that I have no ground, to struggle after, for ever after, him. I should see, in everlasting evening beams, the stilly world at my feet, -every height on fire, -every vale in repose, the silver brook flowing into golden streams. The rugged mountain, with all its dark defiles, would not then break my godlike course. Already the sea, with its heated bays, opens on my enraptured sight. Yet the god seems at length to sink away. But the new impulse wakes. I hurry on to drink his everlasting light; the day before me, and the night behind; the heavens above, and under me the waves. A glorious dream; as it is passing-he is gone."* Yes, the wheels of his chariot have just gone down into the waters of the far-off western sea. How beautiful are those clouds ! They seem like fairy islands in a stormless Do you not behold mountains and val sea. * Hayward's Goethe's Faust. leys, and far winding streams? Are they not inhabited by angels? Do you not hear their evening anthem, as they welcome approaching night? They are gone, - all, all gone. The far extending valley before us, is fast melting into the dusk of twilight. "The The flies of evening are on their feeble wings, the hum of their course is on the fields." birds have gone to their nests. The flowers, afraid of the breath of night, have bid adieu to the sun, and closed their petals. No sound is heard save the sighing of the gentle wind, and the dying murmur of rural sounds. And now before we part, kind reader, I wish you to drink in the sad, sweet melody of a favorite minstrel, whose harp was tuned at such an hour as this. “Evening, as slow thy placid shades descend, Veiling with gentlest hush the landscape still, The lonely battlement and farthest hill And woods, I think of those who have no friend, Who now, perhaps, by melancholy led, From the broad blaze of day, where pleasure flaunts, Retiring, wander mid thy lonely haunts Unseen and watch the tints that on thy bed Hang lovely, to their pensive Fancy's eye, Presenting fairy vales, where the tired mind Might rest beyond the murmurs of mankind, Nor hear the hourly moans of misery! Ah! beauteous views, that Hope's fair gleams the while, Should smile like you, and perish as they smile!" Bowles. Silence has again settled upon town, hamlet, and cottage. The woods are dark and solitary. Nature and all her works have retired to repose. God is looking down upon the world in watchfulness and love. SABBATH EVENING REFLECTIONS. EVER since I was a child, I have always thought the Sabbath to be the most beautiful of days. In the pilgrimage of life it is our resting-place; and as we approach it we may lay by all our cares, and prepare the mind for the society and converse of God and holy angels. Who is there, in the Christian world at least, that does not welcome with joy the Sabbath evening? To me it comes fraught with a thousand pleasing recollections of childhood, and in fancy I behold myself innocent and happy. It is the hour best fitted for calm and serious reflection, for the veil of twilight is spread over the landscape, and seems to hide from view the busy cares of the |