AUDUBON AND DANIEL WEBSTER 199 



of cities, know anything about. Among all our good people 

 of Boston not one in a thousand sees the sun rise once a 

 year. They know nothing of the morning. Their idea of 

 it is that it is that part of the day which comes along after 

 a cup of coffee and a beefsteak or a piece of toast. With 

 them morning is not a new issuing of light, a new burst- 

 ing forth of the sun, a new waking-up of all that has life, 

 from a sort of temporary death, to behold again the works 

 of God, the heavens and the earth; it is only a part of the 

 domestic day, belonging to breakfast, to reading the news- 

 papers, answering notes, sending the children to school, 

 and giving orders for dinner. The first faint streak of 

 light, the earliest purpling of the east, which the lark 

 springs up to greet, and the deeper and deeper coloring 

 into orange and red, till at length the ' glorious sun is 

 seen, regent of day/ this they never enjoy, for this they 

 never see. 



" Beautiful descriptions of the ' morning ' abound in 

 all languages, but they are the strongest, perhaps, in those 

 of the East, where the sun is so often an object of worship. 

 King David speaks of taking to himself the ' wings of the 

 morning.' This is highly poetical and beautiful. The 

 ' wings of the morning ' are the beams of the rising sun. 

 Kays of light are wings. It is thus said that the Sun of 

 righteousness shall arise c with healing in his wings'; a 

 rising sun, which shall scatter light, and health, and joy 

 throughout the universe. Milton has fine descriptions of 



