Iron/cs 1x1» 11.1 YS. 163

Winter, and one for the (log-days. The scholar must look long for the right hour for Platds Ti- maaus. At last the elect morning‘ arrives, the early dawn, a few lights eonspiciuuis in the heaven, as of a worltl just created and still becoming, and in its wide leisure we dare open that book.

There are days when the great are near us, when there is no fro\vn on their brow, no condescensioir even; when they take us by the hand, and we share their thought. There are days which are the car- nival of the year. The angels zlssmne flesh, and repeatedly become visible. The imagination of the gods is excited and rushes on every side into forms. Yesterday not a bird peeped; the world was barren, peaked, and pining: to-day ’tis inconceivably pop- ulous; creation swarms and melior-ates.

The (lays are made on a loom whereof the warp and woof are past and future time. They are majestically dressed, as if every god brought a thread to the skyey web. ’T is pitiful the things by which we are rich or poor, -— a matter of coins, coats, and carpets, a little more or less stone, or wood, or laaint, the fashion of a eloak or hat; like the luck of naked Indians, of whom one is proud in the possession of a glass bead or a red feather, and the rest miserable in the want of it. But the treasures which Nature spent itself to amass, —the

Secular, refined, composite "anatomy of man, which

Iii 5A