The Haze, The Sun's Dust Of Travel, Had A Lethean Influence On The Land And Its Inhabitants, And All Creatures Resigned Themselves To Float Upon The Inappreciable Tides Of Nature.

Woof of the sun, ethereal gauze, Woven of Nature's richest stuffs, Visible heat, air-water, and dry sea, Last

Conquest of the eye; Toil of the day displayed sun-dust, Aerial surf upon the shores of earth. Ethereal estuary, frith of light, Breakers of air, billows of heat Fine summer spray on inland seas; Bird of the sun, transparent-winged Owlet of noon, soft-pinioned, From heath or stubble rising without song; Establish thy serenity o'er the fields

The routine which is in the sunshine and the finest days, as that which has conquered and prevailed, commends itself to us by its very antiquity and apparent solidity and necessity. Our weakness needs it, and our strength uses it. We cannot draw on our boots without bracing ourselves against it. If there were but one erect and solid standing tree in the woods, all creatures would go to rub against it and make sure of their footing. During the many hours which we spend in this waking sleep, the hand stands still on the face of the clock, and we grow like corn in the night. Men are as busy as the brooks or bees, and postpone everything to their business; as carpenters discuss politics between the strokes of the hammer while they are shingling a roof.

This noontide was a fit occasion to make some pleasant harbor, and there read the journal of some voyageur like ourselves, not too moral nor inquisitive, and which would not disturb the noon; or else some old classic, the very flower of all reading, which we had postponed to such a season

"Of Syrian peace, immortal leisure."

But, alas, our chest, like the cabin of a coaster, contained only its well-thumbed "Navigator" for all literature, and we were obliged to draw on our memory for these things.

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