Pleasant is a rainy winter’s day， within doors！ Thebest study for such a day， or the best amusement， call itwhich you will， is a book of travels， describing scenes themost unlike that sombre one， which is mistily presentedthrough the windows. I have experienced， that fancy isthen most successful in imparting distinct shapes andvivid colors to the objects which the author has spreadupon his page， and that his words become magic spells tosummon up a thousand varied pictures. Strange landscapesglimmer through the familiar walls of the room， andoutlandish figures thrust themselves almost within thesacred precincts of the hearth. Small as my chamber is， ithas space enough to contain the ocean-like circumferenceof an Arabian desert， its parched sands tracked by the longline of a caravan， with the camels patiently journeyingthrough the heavy sunshine. Though my ceiling be notlofty， yet I can pile up the mountains of Central Asiabeneath it， till their summits shine far above the cloudsof the middle atmosphere. And， with my humble means，a wealth that is not taxable， I can transport hither themagnificent merchandise of an Oriental bazaar， and call acrowd of purchasers from distant countries， to pay a fairprofit for the precious articles which are displayed on allsides. True it is， however， that amid the bustle of traffic，or whatever else may seem to be going on around me， therain-drops will occasionally be heard to patter against mywindow-panes， which look forth upon one of the quieteststreets in a New England town. After a time， too， thevisions vanish， and will not appear again at my bidding.
Then， it being nightfall， a gloomy sense of unrealitydepresses my spirits， and impels me to venture out， beforethe clock shall strike bedtime， to satisfy myself that theworld is not entirely made up of such shadowy materials，as have busied me throughout the day. A dreamer maydwell so long among fantasies， that the things without himwill seem as unreal as those within.
When eve has fairly set in， therefore， I sally forth，tightly buttoning my shaggy overcoat， and hoisting myumbrella， the silken dome of which immediately resoundswith the heavy drumming of the invisible rain-drops.
Pausing on the lowest doorstep， I contrast the warmthand cheerfulness of my deserted fireside with the drearobscurity and chill discomfort into which I am about toplunge. Now come fearful auguries， innumerable as thedrops of rain. Did not my manhood cry shame upon me，I should turn back within doors， resume my elbow-chair，my slippers， and my book， pass such an evening of sluggishenjoyment as the day has been， and go to bed inglorious.
The same shivering reluctance， no doubt， has quelled，for a moment， the adventurous spirit of many a traveller，when his feet， which were destined to measure the eartharound， were leaving their last tracks in the home-paths.
In my own case， poor human nature may be alloweda few misgivings. I look upward， and discern no sky， noteven an unfathomable void， but only a black， impenetrablenothingness， as though heaven and all its lights wereblotted from the system of the universe. It is as if naturewere dead， and the world had put on black， and the cloudswere weeping for her. With their tears upon my cheek， Iturn my eyes earthward， but find little consolation herebelow. A lamp is burning dimly at the distant corner， andthrows just enough of light along the street， to show， andexaggerate by so faintly showing， the perils and difficultieswhich beset my path. Yonder dingily white remnant ofa huge snow-bank， which will yet cumber the sidewalktill the latter days of March， over or through that wintrywaste must I stride onward. Beyond， lies a certain Sloughof Despond， a concoction of mud and liquid filth， ankle-deep， leg-deep， neck-deep， in a word， of unknown bottom，on which the lamplight does not even glimmer， but whichI have occasionally watched， in the gradual growth of itshorrors， from morn till nightfall. Should I flounder intoits depths， farewell to upper earth！ And hark！ how roughlyresounds the roaring of a stream， the turbulent careerof which is partially reddened by the gleam of the lamp，but elsewhere brawls noisily through the densest gloom.
O， should I be swept away in fording that impetuousand unclean torrent， the coroner will have a job with anunfortunate gentleman， who would fain end his troublesanywhere but in a mud-puddle！
