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misery in the Salmon Pool. Oh! that it had you-our Hearty—though not two feet long, been our purse! Who cares for a dozen dirty certainly do the perpendicular to the tune of four sovereigns and a score of nasty notes? And from tail-fin to water-surface—your snout what's the use of them to us now, or indeed at being six nearer the sky than the foam-bells any time? And what's the use of this identi- you break in your descent into your native cal rod ? Hang it, if a little thing would not element. Cayenne, mustard, and ketchup is inake us break it! A multiplying reel indeed! our zest, and we shall assuredly eat you at The invention of a fool. The Tent sees not sunset. Do you know the name of the Fool us again; this afternoon we shall return to at the other end--according to Dr. Johnson? Edinburgh. Don't talk to us of flies at the ChriSTOPHER North. "Tis an honour to be next village. There are no flies at the village captured by the Old Knight of the Bloody --there is no village. O Beelzebub! O Satan! Hand. You deserve to die such a death--for was ever man tempted as we are tempted ? you keep in the middle of the current like a See--see a Fish-a fine Fish-an enormous mort of mettle, and are not one of the skulkers Fish--leaping to insult us! Give us our gun that seek the side, and would fain take to the that we may shoot him-no-no, dang guns bush in hopes of prolonging life by foul en—and dang this great clumsy rod! There-tanglement. Bravely bored, Gil Morrice. There let it lie there for the first person that passes- is as great difference in the moral qualities of for we swear rever to angle more. As for the the finny tribe as among us humans—and we Awe we never liked it—and wonder what in- have known some cowardly wretches escape fatuation brought us here. We shall be made our clutches by madly floundering in among to pay for this yet-whew! there was a twinge floating weeds, or diving down among laby—that big toe of ours we'll warrant is as red rinths of stone at the bottom, in paroxysms of as fire, and we bitterly confess that we deserve fear that no tackle could withstand, not even the gout. Och! och! och!
Mackenzie's. He has broke his heart. Feeble But hark! whoop and hollo, and is that too as the dying gladiator, the arena swims around the music of the hunter's horn? Reverberat- him, and he around the arena--till sailing with ing among the woods a well-known voice sa- snout shore-ward, at sea in his own pool, he lutes our ear, and there! bounds Hamish over absolutely rolls in convulsions in between our the rocks like a chamois taking his pastime. very feet, and we, unprepared for such a mode Holding up our LASCELLES! he places it with of procedure, hastily retreating, discover that a few respectful words—hoping we have not our joints are not so supple as of yore, and missed it-and standing aloof-leaves us to play cloit on our back among the gowans. our own reflections and our flies. Nor do O'Bronte tooths him by the cerebellum, and those amount to remorse~nor these to more carries him up-brae in his mouth like a mawthan a few dozens. Samson's strength having kin. About six pounds. been restored—we speak of our rod, mind ye,
Had we killed such a mort as is now in Ma. not of ourselves-we lift up our downcast eyes, gog, fifty years ago, we should not have rested and steal somewhat ashamed a furtive glance a single instant after basketing him, before reat the trees and stones that must have over- rushing, with a sanguinary aspect, to the work heard and overseen all our behaviour. We of death. Now carelessly diffused, we lie 'on leave those who have been in any thing like our elbow, with our mild cheek on our palm, the same predicament to confess-not pub- and keep gazing—but not lack-a-daisically--on licly-there is no occasion for that-nor on the circumambient woods. Yes! circumamtheir knees —but to their own consciences, if bient-for look where we will, they accompany they have any, their grief and their joy, their our ken like a peristrephic panorama. If men guilt, and, we hope, their gratitude. Trans- have been seen walking like trees, why may ported though they were beyond all bounds, we not trees be seen walking like men-in battaforgive them; for even those great masters of lia-in armies--but oh! how peaceful the arwisdom, the Stoics, were not infallible, nor ray; and as the slow silvan swimming away were they always able to sustain, at their ut- before our eyes subsides and settles, in that most strength, in practice the principles of steadfast variegation of colouring, what a depth their philosophy.
of beauty and grandeur, of joy and peace! We are in a bloody mood, and shall not Phin! this rod is thy masterpiece. And leave this Pool--without twenty mortal mur-what Gut! There she has it! Reel-music for ders on our head. Jump away, TROUTS--with-ever! Ten fathom are run out alreadymand out any bowels of compassion for the race of see how she shoots, Hamish ;-such a somerflies. Devouring Ephemerals! Can you not set as that was never thrown from a springsuffer the poor insects to sport out their day? board. Just the size for strength and agility "They must be insipid eating; but here are twenty pound to an ounce--jimp weight, Hasome savoury exceedingly-it is needless to mish-ha! Harlequin art thou-or Columbine ? mention their name--that carry sauce piquante Assuredly neither Clown nor Pantaloon. Now in their tails. Do try the taste of this bobber we have turned her ladyship's nose up the --but any one of the three you please. There! stream, her lungs, if she have any, must be behold fast KIRBY—for that is a Whopper. Aginning to labour, and we almost hear her Mort! we did not suppose there were any in snore. What! in the sulks alreadysullen the river. Why, he springs as if he were a among the stones. But we shall make you Fish? Go it again, Beauty. We ourselves mudge, madam, were we to tear the very tongue could jump a bit in our day-nearly four times out of your mouth. Aye, once more down the nur own length—but we never could clear our middle to the tune of that spirited country, own height, nor within half-a-foot of it; while dance—“Off she goes!” Set corners, and reel! The gaff, Hamish--the gaff! and the going to pull her through the first few hours landing-net! For here is a shallow of the sil- of the night--along with the flowing tide-up ver sand, spreading into the bay of a ford--and to Kinloch-Etive, to try a cast with their long ere she recovers from her astonishment, here net at the mouth of the river, now winding dim will we land her-with a strong pull, a long like a snake from King's House beneath the pull, and a pull altogether-just on the edge Black Mount, and along the bays at the head of the greensward—and then smite her on of the Loch. A rumour that we were on the the shoulder, Hamish-and, to make assurance river had reached them-and see an awning of doubly sure, the net under her tail, and hoist tartan over the stern, beneath which, as we sit, her aloft in the sunshine, a glorious prize, the sun may not smite our head by day, nor dazzling the daylight, and giving a brighter the moon by night. We embark-and descendverdure to the woods.
ing the river like a dream, rapidly but stilly, He who takes two hours to kill a fish-be its and kept in the middle of the current by cunbulk what it may--is no man, and is not worth ning helmsman, without aid of idle oar, all six his meat, nor the vital air. The proportion is suspended, we drop along through the silvan a minute to the pound. This rule were we scenery, gliding serenely away back into the taught by the “Best at Most” among British mountain gloom, and enter into the wider sportsmen-Scrope the Matchless on moor, moonshine trembling on the wavy verdure of mountain, river, loch, or sea; and with exqui- the foam-crested sea. May this be Loch-Etive? site nicety, have we now carried it into prac- Yea—verily; but so broad here is its bosom, tice. Away with your useless steelyards. Let and so far spreads the billowy brightness, that us feel her teeth with our fore-finger, and then we might almost believe that our bark was held out at arm's length-so--we know by bounding over the ocean, and marching merfeeling, that she is, as we said soon as we saw rily on the main. Are we-into such a dream her side, a twenty pounder to a drachm, and might fancy for a moment half beguile herself we have been true to time within two seconds. ---rowing back, after a day among the savage She has literally no head; but her snout is in islanders, to our ship lying at anchor in the her shoulders. That is the beauty of a fish-offing, on a voyage of discovery round the high and round shoulders, short waisted, no world? loins, but all body, and not long of terminating Where are all the dogs ? Ponto, Piro, Basta, -the shorter still the better in a tail sharp trembling partly with cold, partly with hunger, and pointed as Diana's, when she is crescent partly with fatigue, and partly with fear, among in the sky
and below the seats of the rowers-with their And lo, and behold! there is Diana-but not noses somewhat uncomfortably laid between crescent-for round and broad is she as the their fore-paws on the tarry timbers; but sun himself—shining in the south, with as yet O'Bronte boldly sitting at our side, and wista needless light-for daylight has not gone fully eyeing the green swell as it heaves beaudown in the west—and we can hardly call it tifully by, ready at the slightest signal to leap gloaming. Chaste and cold though she seem, overboard, and wallow like a walrus in the a nunlike luminary who has just taken the brine, of which you might almost think he veil-a transparent veil of fine fleecy clouds was born and bred, so native seems the element yet, alas! is she frail as of old, when she de- to the “ Dowg o' Dowgs.” Ay, these are seascended on the top of Latmos, to hold dalliance mews, O'Bronte, wheeling white as silver in with Endymion. She has absolutely the ap- the moonshine; but we shall not shoot thempearance of being in the family way—and not no-no-no-we will not shoot you, ye images far from her time. Lo! two of her children of playful peace, so fearlessly, nay, so lovingly stealing from ether towards her feet. One on attending our bark as it bounds over the breasts her right hand, and another on her left—the of the billows, in motion quick almost as your fairest daughters that ever charmed mother's slowest flight, while ye linger around, and beheart-and in heaven called stars. What a hind, and before our path, like fair spirits wiling celestial trio the three form in the sky! The us along up this great Loch, farther and farther face of the moon keeps brightening as the through gloom and glimmer, into the heart of lesser two twinkle into larger lustre; and now, profounder solitude. On what errands of your though Day is still lingering, we feel that it is own are ye winnowing your way, stooping Night. When the one comes and when the ever and anon just to dip your wing-tips in the other goes, what eye can note, what tongue can waves, and then up into the
waves, and then up into the open air-the blue tell—but what heart feels not in the dewy hush light filling this magnificent hollowmor seen divine, as the power of the beauty of earth de- glancing along the shadows of the mountains cays over us, and a still dream descends upon as they divide the Loch into a succession of us in the power of the beauty of heaven!
separate bays, and often seem to block it up, But hark! the regular twang and dip of oars till another moonlight reach is seen extending coming up the river-and lo! indistinct in the far beyond, and carries the imagination on-on distance, something moving through the moon--on-into inland recesses that seem to lose at shine-and now taking the likeness of a boat-last all connection with the forgotten sea. All a barge-with bonnetted heads leaning back at once the moon is like a ghost ;-and we beat every flashing stroke--and, Hamish, list! lieve-Heaven knows why-in the authenticity a choral song in thine own dear native tongue! of Ossian's Poems. Sent hither by the Queen of the sea-fairies to Was there ever such a man as Ossian ? We bear back in state Christopher North to the devoutly hope there was--for if so, then there Tent? No. 'Tis the big coble belonging to were a prodigious number of fine fellows, bethe tacksman of the Awe-and the crew arel sides his Bardship, who after their death figured away as their glimmering ghosts, with noble | impossible_let all the inconsistencies and effect, among the moonlight mists of the moun- violations of pature ever charged against it tains. The-poetry of Ossian has, it is true, be acknowledged—let all its glaring plagiarsince the days of Macpherson, in no way isms from poetry of modern date inspire what coloured the poetry of the island; and Mr. derision they may-and far worse the perpetual Wordsworth, who has written beautiful lines repetition of its own imbecilities and inanities, about the old Phantom, states that fact as an wearying one down even to disgust and anger; argument against its authenticity. He thinks --yet, in spite of all, are we not inade to feel, Ossian, as we now possess him, no poet; and not only that we are among the mountains, but alleges that if these compositions had been the to forget that there is any other world in existgood things so many people have thought ence, save that which glooms and glimmers, them, they would, in some way or other, have and wails and raves around us in mists and breathed their spirit over the poetical genius clouds, and storms, and snows--full of lakes of the land. Who knows that they may not and rivers, sea-intersected and sea-surrounded, do so yet? The time may not have come with a sky as troublous as the earth--yet both But must all true poetry necessarily create imi- at times visited with a mournful beauty that tation, and a school of imitators ? One sees sinks strangely into the soul-while the shano reason why it must. Besides, the life which dowy life depictured there eludes not our human the poetry of Ossian celebrates, has utterly sympathies ; nor yet, aerial though they bepassed away; and the poetry itself, good, bad, so sweet and sad are their voices-do there or indifferent, is so very peculiar, that to imi- float by as unbeloved, unpitied, or unhonoured tate it at all, you must almost transcribe it. -single, or in bands--the ghosts of the brave That, for a good many years, was often done, and beautiful when the few stars are dim, and but naturally inspired any other feeling than the moon is felt, not seen, to be yielding what delight or admiration. But the simple question faint light there may be in the skies. is, Do the poems of Ossian delight greatly and The boat in a moment is a bagpipe; and not widely? We think they do. Nor can we be- only so, but all the mountains are bagpipes, lieve that they would not still delight such a and so are the clouds.
All the bagpipes poet as Mr. Wordsworth. What dreariness in the world are here, and they fill heaven overspreads them all! What a melancholy and earth. 'Tis no exaggeration-much less spirit shrouds all his heroes, passing before us a fiction--but the soul and body of truth. There on the cloud, after all their battles have been Hamish stands stately at the prow; and as the fought, and their tombs raised on the hill! The boat hangs by midships on the very point that very picture of the old blind Hero-bard him- commands all the echoes, he fills the whole self, often attended by the weeping virgins night with the “Campbells are coming,” till the whom war has made desolate, is always touch- sky yells with the gathering as of all the Clans. ing, often sublime. The desert is peopled with His eyes are triumphantly fixed on ours to lamenting mortals, and the mists that wrap catch their emotions; his fingers cease their them with ghosts, whose remembrances of this twinkling; and still that wild gathering keeps life are all dirge and elegy. True, that the playing of itself among the mountains—faintimages are few and endlessly reiterated; but er and fainter, as it is flung from cliff to cliff, that, we suspect, is the case with all poetry till it dies away far-far off--as if in infinitude composed not in a philosophic age. The great --sweet even and soft in its evanescence as and constant appearances of nature suffice, in some lover's lute. their simplicity, for all its purposes. The poet We are now in the bay of Gleno. For though seeks not to vary their character, and his moonlight strangely alters the whole face of hearers are willing to be charmed over and nature, confusing its most settled features, and over again by the same strains. We believe with a gentle glamoury blending with the greenthat the poetry of Ossian would be destroyed sward what once was the gray granite, and inby any greater distinctness or variety of image- vesting with apparent woodiness what an hour ry. And if, indeed, Fingal lived and Ossian ago was the desolation of herbless cliffs—yet sung, we must believe that the old bard was not all the changes that wondrous nature, in such a man would, in his blindness, think' Ceaseless ebb and flow, ever wrought on her dreamily indeed of the torrents, and lakes, and nition that Glen, in which, one night-longheaths, and clouds, and mountains, moons and long ago stars, which he had leapt, swam, walked,
“In life's morning march, when our spirit was young!" climbed, and gazed on in the days of his rejoicing youth. Then has he no tenderness- we were visited by a dream-a dream that no pathos--no beauty. Alas for thousands of shadowed forth in its inexplicable symbols the hearts and souls if it be even so! For then whole course of our future life-the graves are many of their holiest dreams worthless all, the tombs where many we loved are now and divinest melancholy a mere complaint of buried--that churchyard, where we hope the understanding, which a bit of philosophi- and believe that one day our own bones will cal criticism will purge away, as the leech's rest. phial does a disease of the blood.
But who shouts from the shore, HamishMacpherson's Ossian, is it not poetry? Words and now, as if through his fingers, sends forth worth says it is not—but Christopher North a sharp shrill whistle that pierces the sky? says it is-with all reverence for the King. Ah, ha! we ken his shadow in the light, with Let its antiquity be given up--let such a state the roe on his shoulder. 'Tis the schoolmasof society as is therein described be declared ! ter of Gleno, bringing down our quarry to the boat-kilted, we declare, like a true Son of the and state of the stones over which we make Mist. The shore here is shelving but stony, such a clatter, we shrewdly suspect that the and our prow is aground. But strong-spined parliamentary grant for destroying the old and loined, and strong in their withers, are the Highland torrent-roads has not extended its M'Dougals of Lorn; and, wading up to the red ravages to Glen-Etive. O'Bronte, hairy knees, he has flung the roe into the boat.
* Like panting Time, toils after us in vain ;' and followed it himself like a deer-hound. So bend to your oars, my hearties--my heroes-- and the pointers are following us by our own the wind freshens, and the tide strengthens from scent, and that of the roe, in the distant darkthe sea; and at eight knots an hour we shall ness. Pull up, Hamish, pull up, or otherwise sweep along the shadows, and soon see the we shall overshoot our mark, and meet with lantern, twinkling as from a lighthouse, on the some accident or other, perhaps a capsize on pole of our Tent.
Bachaille-Etive, or the Black Mount. We had In a boat, upon a great sea-arm, at night, no idea the circle of greensward in front of the among mountains, who would be so senseless, Tent was so spacious. Why, there is room so soulless as to speak ? The hour has its for the Lord Mayor of London's state-coach to might,
turn with its eight horses, and that enormous “Because not of this noisy world, but silent and divine !" ass, Parson Dillon, on the dickey. What could
have made us think at this moment of London? A sound there is in the sea-green swell, and Certes, the association of ideas is a droll thing, the hollows of the rocks, that keep muttering, as and also sometimes most magnificent. Dancing their entrances feel the touch of the tide. But no- in the Tent, among strange figures ! thing beneath the moon can be more solemn,now tion of the nuptials of some Arab chief, in an
Celebrathat her aspect is so wan, and that some melan- oasis in the Great Desert of Stony Arabia! choly spirit has obscured the lustre of the stars. Heavens ! look at Tickler! How he hauls the We feel as if the breath of old elegiac poetry Hizzies! There is no time to be lost—he and were visiting our slumber. All is sad within the Admiral must not have all the sport to us, yet why we know not; and the sadness is themselves; and, by and by, spite of age and stranger as it is deeper after a day of almost infirmity, we shall show the Tent a touch of foolish pastime, spent by a being who believes that he is immortal, and that this life is but the Christopher is upon you—behold the Tenth
the Highland Fling. Hollo! you landloupers ! threshold of a life to come. Poor, puny, and
Avatar incarnated in North. paltry pastimes indeed are they all! But are
But what Apparitions at the Tent-door sathey more so than those pursuits of which the moral poet has sung,
lute our approach? “The paths of glory lead but to the grave !"
“Back step these two fair angels, hall afraid
So suddenly to see the Griesly King ! Methinks, now, as we are entering into a sabler mass of shadow, that the doctrine of eternal pun
Goat-herdesses from the cliffs of Glencreran ishment of sins committed in time-but- or Glenco, kilted to the knee, and not uncon“Here's a health to all good lasses,
scious of their ankles, one twinkle of which is Here's a health to all good lasses,
sufficient to bid “Begone dull care” for ever. Pledge it merrily, fill your glasses ;
One hand on a shoulder of each of the mounLet the bumper toast go round, Let the bumper toast go round!”
tain-nymphs-sweet liberties—and then emRest on your oars, lads.
lads. Hamish ! the quech! braced by both, half in their arms, and half give each man a caulker, that his oar may send on their bosoms, was ever Old Man so pleaa bolder twang from its rollock, and our fish- santly let down from triumphal car, on the coble walk the waves like a man-of-war's gig, soft surface of his mother-earth? Ay, there with the captain on board, going ashore, after lies the Red-deer! and what heaps of smaller a long cruise, to meet his wife. Now she spins! slain! But was there ever such a rush of and lo! lights at Kinloch-Etive, and beyond on dogs! We shall be extinguished. Down, the breast of the mountain, bright as Hesperus dogs, down—nay, ladies and gentlemen, be -the pole-star of our Tent!
seated-on one another's knees as before we Well, this is indeed the Londe of Faery! A beseech you-we are but men like yourselves car with a nag caparisoned at the water edge! -and On with the roe, and in with Christopher and “Without the smile from partial beauty won, the fish. Now, Hamish, hand us the Crutch.
Oh! what were man ?-a world without a sun!" After a cast or two, which, may they be success- What it is to be the darling of gods and ful as the night is auspicious, your presence, men, and women and children! Why, the gentlemen, will be expected in the Tent. Now, very stars burn brighter--and thou, O Moon! Hamish, handle thou the ribbons-alias the art like the Sun. We foresee a night of danchair-tether-and we will touch him behind, ing and drinking-till the mountain-dew melt should he linger, with a weapon that might in the lustre of morn. Such a day should - Create a soul under the ribs of death."
have a glorious death-and a glorious resur Linger! why the lightning flies from his heels, rection. Hurra! Hurra! as he carries us along a fine natural causeway, THE MOORS FOR EVER! THE MOORS! THE like Ossian's car-borne heroes. From the size MOORS !
What do you mean by original genius? By presence-if any mortal feeling be somis that fine line in the Pleasures of Hope- sublime. Your imagination is troubled, and
dreams of death, but of no single corpse, of “To muse on Nature with a poet's eye?" Why-genius--one kind of it at least-is for the Hut in which you thus enjoy the storm,
no single grave. Nor fear you for yourselftransfusion of self into all outward things. is safer than the canopied cliff-calm of the The genius that does that-naturally, but no
eagle's velly—is original; and now you know the its deepest and darkest foundations, and all
s nest; but your spirit is convulsed from meaning of one kind of original genius: Have that lay hidden there of the wild and wonderwe, then, Christopher North, that gift? Have ful, the pitiful and the strange, the terrible and
Us the insensate earth, till she speaks, sings, pathetic, is now upturned in dim confusion,
and imagination, working among the hoarded smiles, laughs, weeps, sighs, groans, goes gatherings of the heart, creates out of them mad, and dies. Nothing easier, though per- moods kindred and congenial with the hurrihaps it is wicked, than for original genius like ours, or yours, to drive the earth to distraction. cane, intensifying the madness of the heaven We wave our wizard hand thus--and lo! list! which is seen, that which hears and that
and that she is insane. How she howls to heaven, and which is heard, undergo alternate mutual how the maddened heaven howls back her transfiguration ; and the blind Roaring Day frenzy! Two dreadful maniacs raging apart, at once substance, shadow, and soul-is felt but in communion, in one vast bedlam! The to be one with ourselves--the blended whole drift-snow spins before the hurricane, hissing either the Live-Dead, or the Dead-Alive. like a nest of serpents let loose to torment the
We are in a Highland Hut-if we called it air. What fierce flakes! furies! as if all the
a Shieling we did so merely because we love wasps thai ever stung had been revivified, and the sound of the word Shieling, and the image were now careering part and parcel of the it at once brings to eye and ear—the rustling tempest. We are in a Highland Hut in the of leaves on a summer silvan bower, by simmidst of mountains. But no land is to be seen ple art slightly changed from the form of the any more than if we were in the middle of the growth of nature, or the waving of fern on the
. Yet a wan glare shows that the snow- turf-roof and turf-walls, all covered with wildstorm is strangely shadowed by superincum- flowers and mosses, and moulded by one sinbent cliffs; and though you cannot see, you gle season into a knoll-like beauty, beside its hear the mountains. Rendings are going on, guardian birch-tree, insupportable to all evil frequent, over your head and all around the spirits, but with its silvery stem and drooping blind wilderness—the thunderous tumblings tresses dear to the Silent People that won in down of avalanches, mixed with the moan- the land of peace. Truly this is not the sweet ing:', shriekings, and yellings of caves, as if Shieling-season, when, far away fro all other spirits there were angry with the snow-drift human dwellings, on the dip of some great choking up the fissures and chasms in the mountain, quite at the head of a day's-journeycliffs. Is that the creaking and groaning, and long glen, the young herdsman, haply all al.ne, rocking and tossing of old trees, afraid of be- without one single being with him that has the ing uprooted and flung into the spate ?
use of speech, liveth for months retired far
from kirk and cross-Luath his sole compaThe angry spirit of the water shrieks,"
nion-his sole care the pasturing her ds-the more fearful than at midnight in this nightlike sole sounds he hears the croak of the javen on day-whose meridian is a total sun eclipse. the cliff, or bark of the eagle in the sky. 0 The river runs by, bloodlike, through the sweet, solitary lot of lover! Haply in some snow-and, short as is the reach you can oasis in the wilderness, some steadfast gleam see through the flaky gloom, that short reach of emerald light amid the hyacinthine-hue of shows that all his course must be terrible, the heather, that young herdsman hath pitched more and more terrible—as, gathering his his tent, by one Good Spirit haunted morning, streams like a chieftain his clan-erelong he noon, and night, through the sunny, moonlight, will sweep shieling, and hut, and hamlet to starry months,—the Orphan-girl, whom years the sea, undermining rocks, cutting mounds ago her dying father gave into his arms--the asunder, and blowing up bridges that explode old blind soldier-knowing that the boy would into the air with a roar like that of cannon. shield her innocence when every blood-relaYou sometimes think you hear thunder, though tion had been buried—now Orphan-girl no you know that cannot be-but sublimer than more, but growing there like a lily at the thunder is the nameless noise so like that of Shieling door, or singing within sweetlier than agonized life—that eddies far and wide around any bird-the happiest of all living things-high and huge above--fear all the while be- her own Ronald's dark-haired Bride. ing at the bottom of your heart-an objectless, We are in a Highland Hut among a Highnim dreary, undefinable fear, whose troubled | land Snow-storm--and all at once amidst the
“Red comes the river down, and loud and oft