THE HAMILTON ASSCkCIATION 53 



The earliest beams of the morning have bathed them in Hving Ught, 

 and theirs too have been the kisses of departing day. Man and his 

 empire have arisen and decayed, but they have remained unchanged, 

 a perpetual mockery. Upon their summits Time has never claimed 

 dominion. There, as of old, does the eagle teach her brood to fly, 

 and the wild beast prowls after his prey. There do the waterfalls 

 still leap and shout on their way to the dells below, even as when 

 the tired hunter, centuries ago, bent him to quaff the liquid element. 

 There, still, does the rank grass rustle in the breeze, and the pine, 

 and the cedar, and the hemlock take part in the howling of the gale. 

 Upon man alone falls the curse of Time. Nature has never sinned, 

 therefore her glory is immortal. In such scenery we can understand 

 the full meaning of the words — " The hills stand round about Jeru- 

 salem," and their unchanging aspect whispers into the ear of man 

 that he is but the moth which flutters in the noontide air. 



Again, the voice of Nature is perpetually singing the saddened 

 strain, "farewell." It is in the sway of the boughs overhead, and by 

 presentiment, when they shall stand bare and stark ; the brook rip- 

 ples already to think how soon it will be choked by frost into a sub- 

 terranean gurgle ; the mountains are beautifying themselves before 

 they lay off their robes of beauty for a season ; even the sea, with its 

 gentle rise and fall, and swelling breast, is telling how its line of 

 beach will soon be driven snow, and its sands no longer warm. 

 What is there in life or Nature that says " farewell " more punctually 

 and more sweetly than Nature herself. In Spring she sends the early 

 flowers, her children, to foretell her coming, and in Autumn, instead 

 of merely disappearing, she summons all her children and all her 

 works, to stand in full array and make their tender adieu. The order 

 of departure reverses that of coming. As Summer goes, she makes 

 this presentation of herself and hers ; then she sends the rest away 

 one by one, lingering herself until the last in our memories of the 

 bygone season. 



There are certain things in Nature in which we can discern a 

 human sympathy, a veritable kinship ; and if we dismiss these 

 things by referring them to a general fixed law, then the sympathy 

 and the friendship are merely transferred to the law. How per- 

 sistently and ingeniously she thrusts herself upon our senses, claiming 

 our notice and beseeching our sympathy. There is nothing 



