American fiction -- 19th century; Historical fiction; Indians of North America -- Fiction
There is nothing imaginary in the fertility of the West. Personal
observation has satisfied us that it much surpasses anything that exists
in the Atlantic States, unless in exceptions, through the agency of
great care and high manuring, or in instances of peculiar natural soil.
In these times, men almost fly. We have passed over a thousand miles of
territory within the last few days, and have brought the pictures at the
two extremes of this journey in close proximity in our mind's eye. Time
may lessen that wonderful fertility, and bring the whole country more
on a level; but there it now is, a glorious gift from God, which it
is devoutly to be wished may be accepted with due gratitude and with
a constant recollection of his unwavering rules of right and wrong, by
those who have been selected to enjoy it.
June, 1848.
THE OAK OPENINGS.
CHAPTER I.
How doth the little busy bee
Improve each shining hour,
And gather honey all the day,
From every opening flower.
WATTS' HYMNS FOR CHILDREN.
We have heard of those who fancied that they beheld a signal instance
of the hand of the Creator in the celebrated cataract of Niagara. Such
instances of the power of sensible and near objects to influence certain
minds, only prove how much easier it is to impress the imaginations
of the dull with images that are novel, than with those that are less
apparent, though of infinitely greater magnitude. Thus it would seem to
be strange indeed, that any human being should find more to wonder at
in any one of the phenomena of the earth, than in the earth itself; or
should especially stand astonished at the might of Him who created the
world, when each night brings into view a firmament studded with other
worlds, each equally the work of His hands!
Nevertheless, there is (at bottom) a motive for adoration, in the study
of the lowest fruits of the wisdom and power of God. The leaf is as
much beyond our comprehension of remote causes, as much a subject of
intelligent admiration, as the tree which bears it: the single tree
confounds our knowledge and researches the same as the entire forest;
and, though a variety that appears to be endless pervades the world,
the same admirable adaptation of means to ends, the same bountiful
forethought, and the same benevolent wisdom, are to be found in the
acorn, as in the gnarled branch on which it grew.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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