An August Night 



supernal quality of the lunar flood this 

 August night might almost breed dis- 

 traction in any mind that has an 

 established touch with the Infinite. 

 It brings one so very close to the un- 

 fathomable. It is a manifestation of 

 the working of the same unerring 

 Hand that flushed with rose-tints all 

 unthinkable that filmy veil of vapor 

 overhead the evening of the last new 

 moon just after the sun had gone — a 

 cloud, such as had not been set before 

 I think in any sky, that seemed to 

 turn, as Dumbiedykes was neared, 

 into fleecy flaming wreaths of fire. 



But after all I like the dark nights 

 best. A full moon is such a rank 

 monopolist. It dominates all heaven 

 and earth. You can see and think of 

 little else. You get too much of the 

 world and not enough of heaven. The 

 day-time is the earth-time. The night- 

 time is the sky-time. I know that the 

 face of that fair lady shining so bril- 

 liantly up there from out the lunar 

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