Staunton Spectator

NIGHT.—There is something beautiful in the approach of night; the god of day silently wheeling his fiery disk below the horizon—the lengthening shadows fading out—the landscape growing more somber—the darkness coming, from whence we know not, yet gradually folding the earth to its bosom—nature, tired nature, going to rest until the approach of another day. The stars, one by one, come gently out, and sparkle and glitter like gems in the azure arch above. The close of a good man's life should be as peaceful as the end of a summer's day. With no remorse to goad him in the dying hour, with no conflict between his Creator and himself to reconcile, he can, with a calm and peaceful eye, turn and look upon his past life as the sun looks back upon his fiery track where there has been desolation and ruin. It is true he may have met temptation in a thousand varied forms, yet he has met but to conquer, and now he is ready to enter upon his reward.