245 
THE RAINBOW. 
“ I took it for a fairy vision 
Of some gay creature in the element, 
That in the colours of the rainbow live. 
And play i’ the plighted clouds.” 
Milton’s Comus. 
To lose a day out of one's calendar is like having to 
endure the excision of a limb. There is somewhat of a 
life gone, and no after activity will repair the loss. A 
spider or crustacean may restore a lost limb; I have 
seen a triton grow a new tail, after the loss of that elegant 
appendage, but a day of vacuity is a bead dropped out of 
the aggregate allotted us in the order of eternity, and an 
eternity of opportunities cannot restore it. I am think¬ 
ing thus, while in a very idle mood, on an afternoon of 
alternating cloud and sunshine, endeavouring, if I can, 
to quiet my conscience for the inactivity of my mind 
and the idleness of my hands. It seems almost hard to 
think, quite a trouble to observe; but still very unsatis¬ 
fying to lie here on the grass, as immobile as a snail 
ensconced in its winter retreat. Above me fly the fleecy 
clouds, like a panorama of ships, mountains, and angels; 
the sun breaks through their ranks, as if pledged to dis- 
