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We would fain lower our tone-and on this are almost stern even in their beauty, and in theme speak like what we are, one of the their sublimity overawing; look at yon precihumblest children of Mother Earth. We can- pice that dwindles into pebbles the granite not leap now twenty-three feet on level ground, blocks that choke up the shore ! (our utmost might be twenty-three inches,) Now all this, and a million times more than nevertheless, we could “put a girdle round all this, have we too done in our Youth, and the globe in forty minutes,"-ay, in half an yet ’tis all nothing to what we do whenever hour, were we not unwilling to dispirit Ariel. we will it in our Age. For almost all that What are feats done in the flesh and by the is passion; spiritual passion indeed and as muscle? At first-worms though we be-we all emotions are akin, they all work with, cannot even crawl;- disdainful next of that and into one another's hands, and, however acquirement, we creep, and are distanced by remotely related, recognise and welcome one the earwig ;--pretty lambs, we then totter to another, like Highland cousins, whenever they the terror of our deep-bosomed dames-till the meet. Imagination is not the Faculty to stand welkin rings with admiration to behold, sans aloof from the rest, but gives the one hand to leading-strings, the weanlings walk;—like Fancy and the other to Feeling, and sets to wildfire then we run-for we have found the Passion, who is often so swallowed up in himuse of our feet;~like wild-geese then we fly self as to seem blind to their vis-u-vis, till all at --for we may not doubt we have wings ;--in once he hugs all the Three, as if he were decar, ship, balloon, the lords of earth, sea, and mented, and as suddenly sporting dos-a-dos—is sky, and universal nature. The car runs on off on a gallopade by himself right slick away a post—the ship on a rock--the “air hath over the mountain-tops. bubbles as the water hath"-the balloon is one To the senses of a schoolboy a green sour of them, and bursts like a bladder-and we be crab is as a golden pippin, more delicious than come the prey of sharks, surgeons, or sextons. any pine-apple—the tree which he climbs to Where, pray, in all this is there a single symp- pluck it seems to grow in the garden of Eden tom or particle of Imagination ? It is of Pas--and the parish--moorland though it be sion “all compact.”

over which he is let loose to play-Paradise. True, this is not a finished picture—'tis but It is barely possible there may be such a suba slight sketch of the season of Youth; but stance as matter, but all its qualities worth paint it as you will, as if faithful to nature you having are given it by mind. By a necessity will find Passion in plenty, and a dearth of of nature, then, we are all poets. We all make Imagination. Nor is the season of Youth the food we feed on; nor is jealousy, the greentherefore to be pitied—for Passion respires eyed monster, the only wretch who discolours and expires in bliss ineffable, and so far from and deforms. Every evil thought does dobeing eloquent as the unwise lecture, it is every good thought gives fresh lustre to the mute as a fish, and merely gasps. In Youth grass to the flowers-to the stars. And as we are the creatures the slaves of the senses. the faculties of sense, after becoming finer and But the bondage is borne exultingly in spite of more fine, do then, because that they are earthits severity; for erelong we come to discern ly, gradually lose their power, the faculties of through the dust of our own raising, the pin the soul, because that they are heavenly, benacles of towers and temples serenely ascend- come then more and more and more indepening into the skies, high and holy places for dent of such ministrations, and continue to rule, for rest, or for religion, where as kings deal with images, and with ideas which are we may reign, as priests minister, as saints diviner than images, nor care for either partial adore.

or total eclipse of the daylight, conversant as We do not deny, excellent youth, that to they are, and familiar with a more resplendent your eyes and ears beautiful and sublime are -a spiritual universe. the sights and sounds of Nature-and of Art You still look incredulous and unconvinced her Angel

. Enjoy thy pupilage, as we enjoyed of the truth of our position—but it was esours, and deliver thyself up withouten dread, tablished in our first three paragraphs; and or with a holy dread, to the gloom of woods, the rest, though proofs too, are intended merely where night for ever dwells—to the glory of for illustrations. Age alone understands the skies, where morn seems enthroned for ever. language of old Mother Earth—for Age alone, Coming and going a thousand and a thousand from his own experience, can imagine its times, yet, in its familiar beauty, ever new as meanings in trouble or in rest-often mysteri. a dream-let thy soul span the heavens with ous enough even to him in all consciencethe rainbow. Ask thy heart in the wilderness but intelligible though inarticulate-nor alif that “thunder, heard remote," be from cloud ways inarticulate; for though sobs and sighs or cataract; and ere it can reply, it may shud- are rife, and whispers and murmurs, and der at the shuddering moor, and your flesh groans and gurgling, yea, sometimes yells and creep upon your bones, as the heather seems cries, as if the old Earth were undergoing a to creep on the bent, with the awe of a pass-violent death-yet many a time and oft, within ing earthquake. Let the sea-mew be the guide these few years, have we heard her slowly up the glen, if thy delight be in peace pro- syllabling words out of the Bible, and as in founder than ever sat with her on the lull of listening we looked up to the sky, the fixed summer waves! For the inland loch seems stars responded to their truth, and, like Mercy but a vale overflowing with wondrous light-- visiting Despair, the Moon bore it into the and realities they all look-these trees and heart of the stormy clouds. pastures, and rocks and hills, and clouds--not And are there not now-have there never oftened images, as they are, of realities that been young Poets? Many; for Passion, so

“Her arms

ture.

tossed as to leave, perhaps to give, the sufferer through all the hours, each in itself a springe power to reflect on his ecstasy, grows poetical season, till the figurative words of Milton have because creative, and loves to express itself been fulfilledin “prose or numerous verse," at once its nutriment and relief. Nay, Nature sometimes Branching so broad and long, that in the ground gifts her children with an imaginative spirit,

The bended twigs take root, and daughters grow

About the mother tree, a pillar'd shade that, from slight experiences of passion, re- High overarch’d, and echoing walks between; joices to idealize intentions, and incidents, and

There oft the Ettrick Shepherd, shunning heat, characters all coloured by it, or subject to its

Shelters in cool, and tends his pasturing herds

At loopholes cut through thickest shade.' sway; and these are Poets, not with old heads on young shoulders, but with old hearts in

But alas! for the Odontist! He, the “ Deliyoung bosoms; yet such premature genius

ciæ generis Humani,is dead. The best of all seldom escapes blight, the very springs of life the Bishops of Bristol is no more. Mansel are troubled, and its' possessor sinks, pines, had not a tithe of his wit—nor Kaye a tithe of

his wisdom. fades, and dies. So was it with Chatterton

And can it be that we have not and Keates.

yet edited “His Remains !" “ Alas! poor YoIt may be, after all, that we have only proved skuli of the Jester in his hands, whom when a

rick !" If Hamlet could smile even with the Age to be the strongest season of Imagination; skull of the Jester in his hands, whom when a and if so, we have proved all we wish, for we

princely boy he had loved, hanging on his neck seek not to deny, but to vindicate.

Know many a thousand times, why may not we, in ledge is power to the poet as it is power to all our mind's eye seeing that mirthful face “ quite men-and indeed without Art and Science chap-fallen,” and hearing as if dismally deadwhat is Poetry? Without cultivation the fa- ened by the dust, the voice that “so often set The inner eye is dependent on the outward eye led its horsehair than ever was sent from the culty divine can have but imperfect vision. our table on a roar!" Dr. Parr's wig, too, is

all out of frizzle; a heavier shot has dishevellong familiar with material objects-a finer sense, cognisant of spiritualities, but acquired Shepherd's gun; no more shall it be mistaken by the soul from constant communion with for owl a-blink on the mid-day bough, or shadows-innate the capacity, but awakened ptarmigan basking in the sun high up among

It has vanished, with into power by gracious intercourse with Na- the regions of the snow.

Thus Milton saw-after he became other lost things, to the Moon; and its image blind.

alone remains for the next edition of the celeBut know that Age is not made up of a multi- brated treatise “ De Rebus Deperditis,” a suitable tude of years--though that be the vulgar reckon- and a welcome frontispiece, transferred thither ing—but of a multitude of experiences; and by the engraver's cunning from the first of that a man at thirty, if good for much, must be those Eight Tomes that might make the Throne old. How long he may continue in the prime tremble, laid on the shoulders of Atlas who of Age, God decrees ; many men of the most threatens to put down the Globe, by the least magnificent minds-for example, Michael An- judicious and the most unmerciful of editors gelo-have been all-glorious in power and that ever imposed upon the light living the majesty at fourscore and upwards; but one

heavy dead-John Johnson, late of Birmingdrop of water on the brain can at any hour ham, Fellow of the Royal Society, and of the make it barren as dust. So can great griefs.

Royal College of Physicians, whose practice is Yestreen we had rather a hard bout of it in duller than that of all Death's doctors, and his the Tent--the Glenlivet was pithy—and our

prescriptions in that preface unchristianly seTail sustained a total overthrow. They are

vere. O'Doherty, likewise, has been gathered snoring as if it still were midnight. And is it to his fathers. The Standard-bearer has lowthus that we sportsmen spend our time on the ered his colours before the foe who alone is Moors? Yet while “so many of our poorest

invincible. The Ensign, let us not fear, has subjects are yet asleep,” let us repoint the nib been advanced to a company without purchase, of our pen, and in the eye of the sweet-breath'd in the Celestials; the Adjutant has got a Staff morning-moralize.

appointment. Tims was lately rumoured to Wellnigh quarter a century, we said, is over be in a galloping consumption ; but the very and gone since by the Linn of Dee we pitched terms of the report, about one so sedentary,

on that famous excursion-THE Tent. Then were sufficient to give it the lie. Though puny, was the genesis of that white witch Maga.

he is far from being unwell; and still engaged "Like some tall Palm her noiseless fabric grew!"

in polishing tea-spoons and other plated artiNay, not noiseless--for the deafest wight that cles, at a rate cheaper than travelling gipsies ever strove to hear with his mouth wide open, Belgians—but we must put an end in the

do horn. Prince Leopold is now King of the might have sworn that he heard the sound of ten thousand hammers. Neither grew she

Tent to that portentous snore. like a Palm-but like a Banyan-tree. Ever as

Arise, awake, or be for ever fallen!" she threw forth branches from her great unex- Ho-ho! gentlemen----So you have had the hausted ster', they were borne down by the precaution to sleep in your clothes. The sun, weight of their own beauty to the soil—the like Maga, is mounting higher and higher in deep, black rich soil in which she grew, origi- heaven; so let us, we beseech you, to breaknally sown there by a bird of Paradise, that fast, and then off to the Moors. dropt the seed from her beak as she sailed “Substantial breakfast !” by Dugald Dhu, along in the sunshiny ether--and every lim- and by Donald Roy, and by Hamish Bhanberest spray there again taking root, reas- heaped up like icebergs round the pole. How cended a stately scion, and so on ceaselessly nobly stands in the centre that ten-gallon Cask

On

of Glenlivet! Proud is that round to court his, it can be made to hold that bright bend of shade. That twenty-pound Salmon lies be- the river-a silver bow-and that white-sandneath it even as yesterday he lay beneath the ed, shelly, shingly shore at Loch-Etive Head, cliff, while a column of light falls from him on on which a troop of Tritons are “charging that Grouse-Pie. Is not that Ham beautiful in with all their chivalry,” still driven back and the calm consciousness of his protection ? still returning, to the sound of trumpets, of That Tongue mutely eloquent in his praise? “flutes and soft recorders,” from the sea. Tap him with your knuckles, tenderly as if the table, all strewn and scattered “in confuyou loved him-and that with all your heart sion worse confounded,” round the Cask, which and soul you do—and is not the response firm

.dilated stands as from the trunk of the gnarled oak? He is Like Teneriffe or Atlas unremoved," yet “Virgin of Proserpina”—“ by Jove” he is; what “ buttery touches” might be given to the no wanton lip has ever touched his mouth so chaste; so knock out the bung, and let us hear

"reliquias Danaum atque inmitis Achillei !" him gurgle. With diviner music does he fill Then the camp-beds tidily covered and arrangthe pitcher, and with a diviner liquidity of lighted along their own department of the circle than did ever Naiad from fount of Helicon or quaint dresses hanging from loops, all the vaCastaly, pour into classic urn gracefully up- rious apparelling of hunter, shooter, fisher, and lifted by Grecian damsel to her graceful head, forester-rods, baskets, and nets occupying and borne away, with a thanksgiving hymn, their picturesque division--fowling-pieces, to her bower in the olive-grove.

double and single, rejoicing through the oilAll eggs are good eating; and 'tis a vulgar smooth brownness of their barrels in the exheresy which hold that those laid by sea-fowl quisite workmanship of a Manton and a Lanhave a fishy taste. The egg of the Sea-mew caster--American rifles, with their stocks more is exceeding sweet; so is that of the Gull. richly silver-chased than you could have Pleasant is even the yolk of the Cormorant, thought within reach of the arts in that young in the north of England ycleped the Scarth, and prosperous land-duck-guns, whose forand in the Lowlands of Scotland the Black By- midable and fatal length had in Lincolnshire uter. Try a Black Byuter's egg, my dear boy; often swept the fens-and on each side of the for though not newly laid, it has since May door, a brass carronade on idle hours to awabeen preserved in butter, and is as fresh as a ken the echoes-sitting erect on their hurdies, daisy after a shower. Do not be afraid of deerhound, greyhound, lucher, pointer, setter, stumbling on a brace of embryo Black Byu- spaniel, varmint, and though last, not least, ters in the interior of the globe, for by its O'Bronte watching Christopher with his steadweight we pronounce it an egg in no peril of fast eyes, slightly raised his large hanging parturition. You may now smack your lips, triangular ears, his Thessalian bull dewlaps loud as if you were smacking your palms, for betokening keen anxiety to be off and away to that yellow morsel was unknown to Vitellius. the mountain, and with a full view of the white Don't crush the shell, but throw it into the star on his coal-black breast,Etive, that the Fairies may find it at night, and

“ Plaided and plumed in their Tartan array,go dancing in the fragile but buoyant canoe, in fits of small shrill laughter, along with the our three chosen Highlanders, chosen for their foam-bells over the ebbtide Rapids above Con- strength and their fleetness from among the nal's raging Ferry.

prime Children of the Mist-and Tickler the The salmon is in shivers, and the grouse-pie Tall, who keeps growing after threescore and has vanished like a dream.

ten like a stripling, and leaves his mark within

a few inches of the top of the pole, arrayed in “So fades, so languishes, grows dim, and dies, tights of Kendal green, bright from the skylight All that this world is proud of!"

of the inimitable Vallance or the matchless Only a goose remains ! and would that he too Williams-green too his vest, and green also were gone to return no more; for he makes us his tunic--while a green feather in a green an old man. No tradition survives in the bonnet dances in its airy splendour, and gold Glen of the era at which he first flourished. He button-holes give at once lustre and relief to seems to have belonged to some tribe of the the glowing verdure, (such was Little John, Anseres now extinct; and as for his own single when arrayed in all his glory, to walk behind individual self, our senses tell us, in a language Robin Hood and Maid Marian, as they glided not to be misinterpreted, that he must have be- from tree to tree, in wait for ihe sallow-deer in come defunct in the darkness of antiquity. But merry Sherwood,)-North in his Quaker garb nothing can be too old for a devil-so at sup-1 -Quaker-like all but in cuffs and flaps, which, per let us rectify him in Cayenne.

when he goes to the Forest, are not-North, Oh! for David Wilkie, or William Simpson, with a figure combining in itself all the strength (while we send Gibb to bring away yonder of a William Penn, sans its corpulency, all the Shieling and its cliff,) to paint a picture-co- agility of a Tem Belcher with far more than a loured, if possible, from the life of the Interior Jem Belcher's bottom-with a face exhibiting of our airy Pyramid. Door open, and perpen- in rarest union all the philosophy of a Bacon, dicular canvas walls folded up—that settled the benevolence of a Howard, the wisdom of a but cloudy sky, with here its broad blue fields, Wordsworth, the fire of a Byron, the gnosticity and there its broad blue glimpsing glades--this of a John Bee, and the up-to-trappishness comgreensward mound in the midst of a wilder- bined not only with perfect honesty, but with ness of rock-strewn hether--as much of that honour bright, of the Sporting Editor of Bell's one mountain, and as many of those others, as Life in London-and then, why if Wilkie or Simpson fail in making a Gem of all that, they ducks, for example, to dive if they can, and get are not the men of genius we took them for, out of the way of mischief. It is giving birds that is all, and the art must be at a low ebb in- a chance for their lives, and is it not ungenedeed in these kingdoms.

rous to grudge it? When our gun goes to our Well, our Tail has taken wings to itself and shoulder, that chance is but small; for with flown away with Dugald Dhu and Donald Roy; double-barrel Brown Bess, it is but a word and and we, with Hamish Bhan, with Ponto, Piro, a blow,--the blow first, and long before you Basta, and O'Bronte, are left by ourselves in could say Jack Robinson, the gorcock plays the 'Tent. Before we proceed farther, it may thud on the heather. But we beg leave to set not be much amiss to turn up our little fingers the question at rest for ever by one single --yestreen we were all a leeile opstropelous-clencher. We have killed fifty birds-grouse and spermaceti is not a more “sovereign re--at fifty successive shots—one bird only to the medy for an inward bruise,” than is a hair from shot. And mind, not mere pouts-cheepersthe dog's tail that bit you an antidote to any for we are no chicken-butchers—but all thumppus that produces rabies in the shape of hy- ers—cocks and hens as big as their parents, and drophobia. Fill

Fill up the quech, Hamish ! a the parents themselves likewise; not one of caulker of Milbank can harm no man at any which fell out of bounds, (to borrow a phrase hour of the day—at least in the Highlands. from the somewhat silly though skilful pastime Sma’ Stell, Hamish-assuredly Sma' Stell! of pigeon-shooting,) except one that suddenly

Ere we start, Hamish, play us a Gathering-soared halfway up to the moon, and then and then a Pibroch. 6 The Campbells are

“Into such strange vagaries fell coming" is like a storm from the mountain

As he would dance," sweeping Glen-More, that roars beneath the and tumbled down stone-dead into a loch. hastening hurricane with all its woods. No Now, what more could have done a detonator earthquake like that which accompanies the in the hands of the devil himself? Satan trampling of ten thousand men. So, round might have shot as well, perhaps, as Christothat shoulder, Hamish-and away for a mile pher North-better we defy him; and we canup the Glen--then, turning on your heel, blow not doubt that his detonator-given to him in till proud might be the mother that bore you; a present, we believe, by Joe Manton-is a and from the Tent-mouth Christopher will prime article--one of the best ever manufackeep smart fire from his Pattereroes, answered tured on the percussion system. But what by all the echoes. Hamish-indeed

more could he have done? When we had « The dun-deer's hide

killed our fiftieth bird in style, we put it to the On swifter foot was never tied"

Christian reader, would not the odds have been for even now as that cloud-rather thunderous six to four on the flint? And would not Satan, in his aspect-settles himself over the Tent- at the close of the match, ten birds behind perere five minutes have elapsedma mile off is haps, and with a bag shamefully rich in poor the sullen sound of the bagpipe ! -music pouts, that would have fallen to the ground which, if it rouse you not when heard among had he but thrown salt on their tails, have the mountains, may you henceforth confine looked excessively sheepish? True, that in yourself to the Jew's harp. Ay, here's a clay- rain or snow the percussion-lock will act, from more let us fling away the scabbard-and in its detonating power, more correctly than the upon the front rank of the bayoneted muskets, common flint-lock, which, begging its pardon, till the Saxon array reels, or falls just where will then often not act at all; but that is its it has been standing, like a swathe of grass. only advantage, and we confes a great one, So swept of old the Highlanders--shepherds especially in Scotland, where it is a libel on and herdsmen-down the wooded cliffs of the the country to say that it always rains, for it pass of Killiekrankie, till Mackay's red-coats almost as often snows. However, spite of lay redder in blood among the heather, or wind and weather, we are faithful to flint; nor passed away like the lurid fragments of a shall any newfangled invention, howsoever cloud. “The Campbell's are coming”—and we ingenious, wean us from our First Love. will charge with the heroes in the van. The Let not youthful or middle-aged sportsmen whole clan is maddening along the Moor-and –in whose veins the blood yet gallops, canters, Maccallum More himself is at their head. But or trots--despise us, Monsieur Vieillard, in we beseech you, O'Bronte ! not to look so like whose veins the blood creeps like a wearied a lion-and to hush in your throat and breast pedestrian at twilight hardly able to hobble that truly leonine growl--for after all, 'tis but into the wayside inn-for thus so long prefera bagpipe with ribands

ring the steel-pen to the steel barrel (the style “Streaming like meteors to the troubled air," of both is equally polished)—our Bramah to and all our martial enthusiasm has evaporated our Manton. Those two wild young fellows, in-wind.

Tickler and the Admiral, whose united ages But let us inspect Brown Bess., Till sixty, amount to little more than a century and a half, we used a single barrel. At seventy we took are already slaughtering their way along the to a double ;-but dang detonators--we stick mountain side, the one on Bauchaille Etive, to the flint. “Flint,” says Colonel Hawker, and the other on the Black Mount. But we “shoots strongest into the bird.” A percus- love not to commit murder long before meri sion-gun is quicker, but flint is fast enough; dian-“gentle lover of Nature” as we are; so, and it does, indeed, argue rather a confusion in spite of the scorn of the more passionate than a rapidity of ideas, to find fault with sportsman, we shall continue for an hour or lightning for being too slow. With respect to two longer inditing, ever and anon lifting our the flash in the pan, it is but a fair warning to eyes from whitey-brown paper to whitey-blue sky, from memorandum-book to mountain, rald, and mountains on mountains of amethyst, from inkbottle to loch, and delight ourselves, and streams on streams of silver; and, so and perchance a few thousand others, by a help us Heaven !--for with these eyes we have waking-dream description of Glen-Etive. seen them, a thousand and a thousand times

'Tis a vast Glen. Not one single human at sunrise and sunset, rivers on rivers of gold. dwelling any where spec-like on the river-wind- What kind of climate ? All kinds, and all ing plain--or nest-like among the brushwood kinds at once-not merely during the same knolls--or rock-like among the fractured chiffs season, but the same hour. Suppose it three far up on the mountain region do our eyes be- o'clock of a summer afternoon--you have but hold, eager as they are to discover some symp- to choose your weather. Do you desire a close, toms of life. Two houses we know to be in sultry, breathless gloom? You have it in the the solitudemay, two-one of them near the stilling dens of Ben-Anéa, where lions might head of the Loch, and the other near the head breed. A breezy coolness, with a sprinkling of the Glen-but both distant from this our of rain? Then open your vest to the green Tent, which is pitched between, in the very light in the dewy vales of Benlura. Lochs heart of the Moor. We were mistaken in say- look lovely in mist, and so thinks the rainbow ing that Dalness is invisible--for yonder it | --then away with you ere the rainbow fadelooms in sullen light, and before we have fin-away, we beseech you, to the wild shores of ished the sentence, may have again sunk into Lochan-a-Lurich. But you would rather see a the moor. Ay, it is gone--for lights and sha- storm, and hear some Highland thunder? dows coming and going, we know not whence There is one at this moment on Unimore, and nor whither, here travel all day long--the Cruachlia growls to Meallanuir, till the cata. sole tenants-very ghost-like-and seeming-racts of Glashgour are dumb as the dry rocks ly in their shiftings embued with a sort of dim of Craig-Teonan. uncertain life. How far off from our Tent In those regions we were, when a boy, initimay be the Loch? Miles and silently as ated into the highest mysteries of the Highlands. snow are seen to break the waves along the No guide dogged our steps-as well might a shore, while beyond them hangs, in aerial haze, red-deer have asked a cur to show him the the great blue water. How far off from our Forest of Braemar, or Beniglo-an eagle where Tent may be the mountains at the head of the best to build his eyry have advised with the Glen ? Miles—for though that speck in the Glasgow Gander. O heavens! how we were sky into which they upheave their mighty alti- bewildered among the vast objects that fed that tudes, be doubtless an eagle, we cannot hear delirium of our boyhood! We dimly recogits cry. What giants are these right opposite nised faces of cliffs wearing dreadful frowns; our Pyramid ? Co-grim chieftain-and his blind though they looked, they seemed sensible Tail. What an assemblage of thunder-riven of our approach; and we heard one horrid cliffs ! This is what may be well called-Na- monster mutter, “ What brings thee here, inture on a grand scale. And then, how simple! fatuated Pech-begone !" At his impotent We begin to feel ourselves in spite of all we malice we could not choose but smile, and can do to support our dignity by our pride—a shook our staff at the blockhead, as since at mighty small and insignificant personage. We many a greater blockhead even than he have are about six feet high-and every body we shook-and more than shook our Crutch. around us about four thousand. Yes, that is But as through “pastures green and quiet the Four Thousand Feet Club! We had no waters by," we pursued, from sunrise to sunide that in any situation we could be such set, our uncompanioned way, some sweet spot, dwindled dwarfs, such perfect pigmies. Our surrounded by heather, and shaded by fern, Tent is about as big as a fir-cone-and Chris-would woo us to lie down on its bosom, and topher North an insect!

enjoy a visionary sleep! Then it was that What a wild world of clouds all over that the mountains confidentially told us their vast central wilderness of Northern Argyle-names-and we got them all by heart; for shire lying between Cruachan and Melnatorran each name characterized its owner by some of -Corryfinuarach and Ben Slarive a prodigious his peculiar and prominent qualities—as if land ! defying description, and in memory re- they had been one and all christened by poets sembling not realities, but like fragments of baptizing them from a font tremendous dreams. Is it a sterile region?

" Translucent, pure, Very. In places nothing but stones. Not a With touch ethereal of heaven's fiery rod.” blade of grass—not a bent of heather--not O happy pastor of a peaceful flock! Thou

And so they go shouldering up hast long gone to thy reward! One-twointo the sky-enormous masses-huger than three--four successors hast thou had in that churches or ships. And sometimes not unlike manse--(now it too has been taken down and such and other structures--all huddled together the plough gone over it)--and they all did their -yet never jostling, so far as we have seen; and duty; yet still is thy memory fragrant in the though often overhanging, as if the wind might glen; for deeds like thine “smell sweet, and blow them over with a puff

, steadfast in the blossom in the dust!” Under heaven, we storm that seems rather to be an earthquake, owed our life to thy care of us in a brain fever. and moving not a hair's-breadth, while all the Sometimes thy face would grow grave, never shingly sides of the mountains--you know angry, at our sallies-follies-call them what shingle-with an inconstant clatter-hurry- you will, but not sins. And methinks we hear skurry—seem to be breaking up into debris. the mild old man somewhat mournfully say.

Is that the character of the whole region ? ing, “Mad boy! out of gladness often cometh No, you darling; it has vales on vales of eme grief-out of mirth misery; but our prayers,

even moss.

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