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“small birds rejoicing in spring's leafy bow- half stifled, and little likely to heave up from ers,” fast-locked we were going to say in each above him a six-feet-deep load of earth to say other's arms, but sitting side by side in the nothing of the improbability of his being able same cozey nuptial nest, to be started out of to unscrew the coffin from the inside. Be that their love-dreams by the great lamp-eyed, as it may, we cleared about a dozen of decent beaked face of a horrible monster with horns, tombstones at three jumps—the fourth took us picked out of feathered bed, and wafted off in over a wall five feet high within and about one bunch, within talons, to pacify a set of fifteen without, and landed us, with a squash, hissing, and snappish, and shapeless powder- in a cabbage-garden inclosed on the other three puffs, in the loophole of a barn? In a house sides by a house and a holly-hedge. The house where a cat is kept, mice are much to be pitied. was the sexton's, who, apprehending the straThey are so infatuated with the smell of a re- mash to proceed from a resurrectionary surspectable larder, that to leave the premises, geon mistaken in his latitude, thrust out a long they confess, is impossible. Yet every hour-duck-gun from a window in the thatch, and nay, every minute of their lives-must they be swore to blow out our brains if we did not inin the fear of being leaped out upon by four stantly surrender ourselves, and deliver up the velvet paws, and devoured with kisses from a corpse. It was in vain to cry out our name, whiskered mouth, and a throat full of that in which he knew as well as his own. He was comprehensible music-a purr. Life, on such deaf to reason, and would not withdraw his terms, seems to us any thing but desirable. patterero till we had laid down the corpse. He But the truth is, that mice in the fields are not swore that he saw the sack in the moonlight. a whit better off. Owls are cats with wings. This was a horse-cloth with which we had inSkimming along the grass tops, they stop in a tended to saddle the “cowte,” and that had remomentary hover, let drop a talon, and away mained, during the supernatural agency under with Mus, his wife, and small family of blind which we laboured, clutched unconsciously children. It is the white, or yellow, or barn, or and convulsively in our grasp. Long was it church, or Screech-Owl, or Gilley-Howlet, that ere Davie Donald would see us in our true behaves in this way; and he makes no bones light-but at length he drew on his Kilmarof a mouse, uniformly swallowing him alive. nock nightcap, and, coming out with a bouet, Our friend, we suspect, though no drunkard, is let us through the trance and out of the front somewhat of a glutton. In one thing we agree door, thoroughly convinced, till we read Bewith him, that there is no sort of harm in a wick, that old Southfield was not dead, although heavy supper. There, however, we are guilty in a very bad way indeed. Let this be a lesson of some confusion of ideas; for what to us, to schoolboys not to neglect the science of nawho rise in the morning, seems a supper, is to tural history, and to study the character of the him who gets up at evening twilight, a break- White Owl. fast. We therefore agree with him in think- Owis-both White and common Brown, are ing that there is no sort of harm in a heavy not only useful in a mountainous country, but breakfast. After having passed a pleasant highly ornamental. How serenely beautiful night in eating and flirting, he goes to bed be- their noiseless flight; a flake of snow is not times, about four o'clock in the morning; and, winnowed through the air more softly-silent ! as Bewick observes, makes a blowing, hissing Gliding along the dark shadows of a wood, noise, resembling the snoring of a man. In- how spiritual the motion-how like the thought deed, nothing can be more diverting to a per- of a dream! And then, during the hushed son annoyed by blue devils, than to look at a midnight hours, how jocund the whoop and White Owl and his wife asleep. With their hollo from the heart of sycamore-gray rock, heads gently inclined towards each other, there or ivyed Tower! How the Owls of Winderthey keep snoring away like any Christian mere must laugh at the silly Lakers, that under couple. Should the one make a pause, the the garish eye of day, enveloped in clouds of other that instant awakes, and, fearing some- dust, whirl along in rattling post-shays in pur thing may be wrong with his spouse, opens a suit of the picturesque! Why, the least ima . pair of glimmering winking eyes, and inspects ginative Owl that ever hunted mice by moonthe adjacent physiognomy with the scrutiniz- light on the banks of Windermere, must know ing stare of a village apothecary. If all be the character of its scenery better than any right, the concert is resumed, the snore some- poetaster that ever dined on char at Bowness times degenerating into a snort of snivel, and or Lowood. The long quivering lines of light the snivel into a blowing hiss. First time we illumining some silvan isle—the evening-star heard this noise was in a churchyard when we shining from the water to its counterpart in the were mere boys, having ventured in after dark sky--the glorious phenomenon of the double to catch the minister's colt for a gallop over to moon—the night-colours of the woods-and, the parish-capital, where there was a dancing- once in the three years perhaps, that loveliest school ball. There had been a nest of Owls and most lustrous of celestial forms, the lunar in some hole in the spire; but we never rainbow-all these and many more beauteous doubted for a moment that the noise of snor- and magnificent sights are familiar to the Owls ing, blowing, hissing, and snapping proceeded of Windermere. And who know half so well from a testy old gentleman that had been buried as they do the echoes of Furness, and Applethat forenoon, and had come alive again a day thwaite, and Loughrigg, and Langdale, all the after the fair. Had we reasoned the matter a way on to Dungeon-Gill and Pavey-Ark, Scaw. little, we must soon have convinced ourselves fell and the Great Gable, and that sea of mounthat there was no ground for alarm to us at tains, of which every wave has a name ? Midleast, for the noise was like that of some one night--when asleep so still and silent-seems

inspired with the joyous spirit of the Owls in (tral table in the Palace of Stuffed Birds, you their revelry-—and answers to their mirth and may admire his outward very self—the semmerriment through all her clouds. The Mop- blance of the Owl he was when he used to eye ing Owl, indeed !-the Boding Owl, forsooth! the moon shining over the Northern Sea :---the Melancholy Owl, you blockhead !-why, but if you would see the noble and beautiful they are the most cheerful-joy-portending-- Creature himself, in all his living glory, you and exulting of God's creatures! Their low must seek him through the long summer twiof animal spirits is incessant-crowing-cocks light among the Orkney or the Shetland Isles. are a joke to them-blue devils are to them The Snowy Owl dearly loves the snow-and unknown-not one hypochondriac in a thou- there is, we believe, a tradition among them, sand barns--and the Man-in-the-Moon acknow that their first ancestor and ancestress rose up ledges that he never heard one of them utter a together from a melting snow-wreath on the complaint.

very last day of a Greenland winter, when all But what say ye to an Owl, not only like an at once the bright fields re-appear. The race eagle in plumage, but equal to the largest eagle still inhabits that frozen coast-being comin size--and therefore named, from the King mon, indeed, through all the regions of the of Birds, the EAGLE OWL. Mr. Selby! you have Arctic Circle. It is numerous on the shores done justice to the monarch of the Bubos. We of Hudson's Bay, in Norway, Sweden, and hold ourselves to be persons of tolerable cou- Lapland—but in the temperate parts of Europe rage, as the world goes—but we could not and America, "rara avis in terris, nigroque answer for ourselves showing fight with such simillima cygno.” a customer, were he to waylay us by night in We defy all the tailors on the face of the a wood. In comparison, Jack Thurtell looked habitable globe; and what countless crosse harmless. No-that bold, bright-eyed mur-legged fractional parts of men-who, like the derer, with Horns on his head like those on beings of whom they are constituents, are Michael Angelo's statue of Moses, would never thought to double their numbers every thirty have had the cruel cowardice to cut the wea- years-must not the four quarters of the earth, sand, and smash out the brains of such a mis- in their present advanced state of civilization, erable wretch as Weare! True he is fond of contain !-we defy, we say, all the tailors on blood-and where's the harm in that? It is the face of the habitable globe to construct his nature. But if there be any truth in the such a surtout as that of the Snowy Owl, coscience of Physiognomy-and be that of Phre-vering him, with equal luxury and comfort, in nology what it will, most assuredly there is summer's heat and winter's cold. The eletruth in it-the original of that Owl, for whose ments, in all their freezing fury, cannot reach portrait the world is indebted to Mr. Selby, and the body of the bird through that beautiful Sir Thomas Lawrence never painted a finer down-mail. Well guarded are the openings one of Prince or Potentate of any Holy or Un- of those great eyes. Neither the driving dust, holy Alliance, must have despised Probert from nor the searching sleet, nor the sharp frozen the very bottom of his heart. No prudent snow-stoure, give him the ophthalmia. Gutta Eagle but would be exceedingly desirous of Serena is to him unknown-no snowy Owl keeping on good terms with him-devilish shy, was ever couched for cataract—no need has i' faith, of giving him any offence by the least he for an oculist, should he live an hundred hauteur of manner, or the slightest violation of years; and were they to attempt any operation etiquette. An Owl of this character and cali- on his lens or iris, how he would hoot at Alexbre, is not afraid to show his horns at mid-day ander and Wardrope ! on the mountain. The Fox is not over and Night, doubtless, is the usual season of his above fond of him and his claws can kill a prey; but he does not shun the day, and is cub at a blow. The Doe sees the monster sit sometimes seen hovering unhurt in the sunting on the back of her fawn, and maternal shine. The red or black grouse flies as if instinct overcome by horror, bounds into the pursued by a ghost; but the Snowy Owl, little brake, and leaves the pretty creature to its slower than the eagle, in dreadful silence overfate. Thank Heaven, he is, in Great Britain, takes his flight, and then death is sudden and a rare bird ! Tempest-driven across the North- sure. Hawking is, or was, a noble pastimeern Ocean from his native forests in Russia, and we have now prevented our eyes from an occasional visitant he “frightens this Isle glancing at Jer-falcon, Peregrine, or Goshawk. from its propriety," and causes a hideous but Owling, we do not doubt, would be noways screaming through every wood he haunts. inferior sport; and were it to become prevalent Some years ago, one was killed on the upland in modern times, as Hawking was in times of moors in the county of Durham-and, of old, why, each lady, as Venus already fair, with course, paid a visit to Mr. Bullock's Museum. an Owl on her wrist, would look as wise as Eagle-like in all its habits, it builds its nest on Minerva. high rocks-sometimes on the loftiest trees- But our soul sickens at all those dreams of and seldom lays more than two eggs. One is blood ! and fain would turn away from fierce one more than enough—and we who fly by eye, cruel beak, and tearing talon--war-weanight trust never to fall in with a live speci- pons of them that delight in wounds and death men of the Strix-Bubo of Linnæus.

—to the contemplation of creatures whose But largest and loveliest of all the silent characteristics are the love of solitude-shy night-gliders--the Snowy Owl! Gentle reader gentleness of manner-the tender devotion of -if you long to see his picture, we have told mutual attachment-and, in field or forest, a you where it may be found ;—and in the Col- lifelong passion for peace. lege Museum, within a glass vase on the cen

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of eight and nine ante-meridian. Happily, howFOURTH CANTICLE.

ever, for our future peace of mind, and not

improbably for the whole conformation of our WELCOME then the Ring-Dove-the Quest character, our Guardian Genius-(every boy

or Cushat, for that is the very bird we have has one constantly at his side, both during had in our imagination. There is his full-school and play hours, though it must be conlength portrait, stealthily sketched as the Soli- fessed sometimes a little remiss in his duty, tary was sitting on a tree. You must catch for the nature even of angelical beings is imhim napping, indeed, before he will allow you perfect)—always so contrived it, that with all an opportunity of colouring him on the spot our cunning we never could kill a Cushat. from nature. It is not that he is more jealous Many a long hour-indeed whole Saturdays“. or suspicious of man's approach than other have we lain perdue among broom and whins, bird ; for never shall we suffer ourselves to the beautiful green and yellow skirting of believe that any tribe of the descendants of the sweet Scotia's woods, watching his egress or Dove that brought to the Ark the olive tidings ingress, our gun ready cocked, and finger on of re-appearing earth, can in their hearts hate trigger, that on the flapping of his wings not a or fear the race of the children of man. But moment might be lost in bringing him to the Nature has made the Cushat a lover of the ground. But couch where we might, no Cushat still forest-gloom; and therefore, when his ever came near our insidious lair. Now and lonesome haunts are disturbed or intruded on, then a Magpie-birds who, by the by, when he flies to some yet profounder, some more they suspect you of any intention of shooting central solitude, and folds his wing in the them, are as distant in their manners hermitage of a Yew, sown in the time of the Cushats themselves, otherwise as impudent ancient Britons.

as Cockneys-would come, hopping in conIt is the Stock-Dove, we believe, not the tinual tail-jerks, with his really beautiful plumRing-Dove, from whom are descended all the age, if one could bring one's-self to think it so, varieties of the races of Doves. What tenderer and then sport the pensive within twenty praise can we give them all, than that the yards of the muzzle of Brown-Bess, impatient to Dove is the emblem of Innocence, and that the let fly. But our soul burned, our heart panted name of innocence-not of frailty-is Woman? for a Cushat; and in that strong fever-fit of When Hamlet said the reverse, he was think- passion, could we seek to slake our thirst for ing, you know, of the Queen-not of Ophelia. I that wild blood with the murder of a thievish Is not woman by nature chaste as the Dove-eavesdropper of a Pye? The Blackbird, too, as the Dove faithful? Sitting all alone with often dropt out of the thicket into an open her babe in her bosom, is she not as a Dove glade in the hazel-shaws, and the distinctness devoted to her own nest? Murmureth she not of his yellow bill showed he was far within a pleasant welcome to her wearied home-re-shot-range. Yet, let us do ourselves justice, turned husband, even like the Dove among the we never in all our born days dreamt of shootwoodlands when her mate re-alights on the ing a Blackbird him that scares away sadpine? Should her spouse be taken from her ness from the woodland twilight gloom, at and disappear, doth not her heart sometimes morn or eve; whose anthem, even in those break, as they say it happens to the Dove? dim days when Nature herself it might be well But oftener far, findeth not the widow that her thought were melancholy, forceth the firmaorphans are still fed by her own hand, that is ment to ring with joy. Once “ the snow-white filled with good things by Providence; till cony sought its evening meal,” unconscious grown up, and able to shift for themselves, of our dangerous vicinity, issuing with erected away they go-just as the poor Dove lamenteth ears from the wood edge. That last was, we for her mate in the snare of the fowler, yet confess, such a temptation to touch the trigger, feedeth her young continually through the that had we resisted it we must have been whole day, till away too go they-alas, in either more or less than boy. We fired; and neither case, perhaps, ever more to return ! kicking up his heels, doubtless in fright, but

We dislike all favouritism, all foolish and as it then seemed to us, during our disappointcapricious partiality for particular bird or ment, much rather in frolic-nay, absolute beast; but dear, old, sacred associations, will derision-away bounced Master Rabbit to his tell upon all one thinks or feels towards any burrow, without one particle of soft silvery place or person in this world of ours, near or wool on sward or bush, to bear witness to our remote. God forbid we should criticise the unerring aim. As if the branch on which he Cushat! We desire to speak of him as tender- had been sitting were broken, away then went ly as of a friend buried in our early youth. the crashing Cushat through the intermingling Tvo true it is, that often and oft, when school-sprays. The free flapping of his wings was boys, have we striven to steal upon him in his soon heard in the air above the tree-tops, and solitude, and to shoot him to death. In morals, ere we could recover from our almost bitter and in religion, it would be heterodox to deny amazement, the creature was murmuring to that the will is as the deed. Yet in cases of his mate on her shallow nest-a far-off murhigh and low-way robbery and murder, there mur, solitary and profound to reach unto does seem, treating the subject not in philoso- which, through the tangled mazes of the forest phical but popular style, to be some little dif- would have required a separate sense, instinct, ference between the two; at least we hope so, or faculty, which we did not possess. So, for otherwise we can with difficulty imagine skulking out of our hiding-place, we made no 'ne person not deserving to be ordered for ex- comment on the remark of a homeward-plodecuti in, on Wednesday next, between the hours | ding labourer, who had heard the report, and

ever.

now smelt the powder—“ Cushats are gayan' all well knowing that their fresh meal on the kittle birds to kill”-but returned, with our tender herbage will not be broken in upon beshooting-bag as empty as our stomach, to the fore the dews of next morning, ushering in a Manse.

new day to them of toil or travel. Why do the birds sing on Sunday ?" said So much for our belief in the knowledge, once a little boy to us and we answered him instinctive or from a sort of reason, possessed, in a lyrical ballad, which we have lost. But by the creatures of the inferior creation, of the although the birds certainly do sing on Sunday heaven-appointed Sabbath to man and beast. -behaviour that with our smallgentle Calvinist, But it is also true that we transfer our inwho dearly loved them, caused some doubts of ward feelings to their outward condition, and their being so innocent as during the week- with our religious spirit imbue all the ongoings days they appeared to be-we cannot set down of animated and even inanimated life. There their fault to the score of ignorance. Is it in is always a shade of melancholy, a tinge of the holy superstition of the world-wearied heart pensiveness, a touch of pathos, in all profound that man believes the inferior creatures to be rest. Perhaps because it is so much in contrast conscious of the calm of the Sabbath, and that with the turmoil of our ordinary being. Perthey know it to be the day of our rest? Or haps because the soul, when undisturbed, will, is it that we transfer the feeling of our inward from the impulse of its own divine nature, have calm to all the goings-on of Nature, and thus high, solemn, and awful thoughts. In such imbue them with a character of reposing state it transmutes all things into a show sanctity, existing only in our own spirits ? Both of sympathy with itself. The church-spire, solutions are true. The instincts of those rising high above the smoke and stir of a creatures we know only in their symptoms town, when struck by the sun-fire, seems, on and their effects, in the wonderful range of market-day, a tall building in the air, that may action over which they reign. Of the instincts serve as a guide to people from a distance themselves—as feelings or ideas-we know flocking into bazaars. The same church-spire, not any thing, nor ever can know; for an im- were its loud-tongued bell to call from aloft on passable gulf separates the nature of those that the gathering multitude below, to celebrate the may be to perish, from ours that are to live for anniversary of some great victory, Waterloo

But their power of memory, we must or Trafalgar, would appear to stretch up its believe is not only capable of minutest reten- stature triumphantly into the sky--so much tion, but also stretches back to afar-and some the more triumphantly, if the standard of Engpower or other they do possess, that gathers up land were floating from its upper battlements. the past experience into rules of conduct that But to the devout eye of faith, doth it not seem guide them in their solitary or gregarious life. to express its own character, when on the SabWhy, therefore, should not the birds of Scot- bath it performs no other office than to point land know the Sabbath-day? On that day the to heaven? Water-Ouzel is never disturbed by angler So much for the second solution. But inamong the murmurs of his own water-fall; dependently of both, no wonder that all na and as he flits down the banks and braes of the ture seems to rest on the Sabbath; for it doth burn, he sees no motion, he hears no sound rest-all of it, at least, that appertains to man about the cottage that is the boundary of his and his condition. If the Fourth Commandfurthest flight-for “the dizzying mill-wheel ment be kept—at rest is all the household rests.” The merry-nodding rooks, that in and all the fields round it are at rest. Calm spring-time keep following the very heels flows the current of human life, on that graof the ploughman-may they not know it to cious day, throughout all the glens and valleys be Sabbath, when all the horses are standing of Scotland, as a stream that wimples in the idle in the field, or taking a gallop by them- morning sunshine, freshened but not flooded selves round the head-rigg? Quick of hearing with the soft-falling rain of a summer-night. are birds-one and all--and in every action The spiral smoke-wreath above the cottage is of their lives are obedient to sounds. May they not calmer than the motion within. True, that not, then-do they not connect a feeling of per- the wood-warblers do not cease their songs; fect safety with the tinkle of the small kirk- but the louder they sing, the deeper is the stillbell? The very jay himself is not shy of peo- ness. And what perfect blessedness, when it ple on their way to worship. The magpie, is only joy that is astir in rest! that never sits more than a minute at a time Loud-flapping Cushat! it was thou that inin the same place on a Saturdav, will on the spiredst these solemn fancies; and we have Sabbath remain on the kirkyard wall with all only to wish thee, for thy part contributed to the composure of a dove. The whole feath-our Recreations, now that the acorns of autumn ered creation know our hours of sleep. They must be wellnigh consumed, many a plentiful awake before us; and ere the earliest labourer repast, amid the multitude of thy now congrehas said his prayers, have not the woods and gated comrades in the cleared stubble landsvalleys been ringing with their hymns? Why, as severe weather advances, and the ground therefore, may not they, who know, each week- becomes covered with snow, regales undisday, the hour of our lying down and our rising turbed by fowler, on the tops of turnip, rape, up, know also the day of our general rest? and other cruciform plants, which all of thy The animals whose lot is labour, shall they race affect so passionately—and soft blow the not know it? Yes; the horse on that day sea-breezes on thy unruffled plumage, when sleeps in shade or sunshine without fear of thou takest thy winter's walk with kindred being disturbed his neck forgets the galling myriads on the shelly shore, and for a season collar, “and there are forty feeding like one,"minglest with gull and seamew-apart every

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tribe, one from the other, in the province of its bodies--the chamber where the spirit breathed own peculiar instinct-yet all mysteriously its final farewell—the spot of its transitory love taught to feed or sleep together within the roar and delight, or of its sin and sorrow-to gaze or margin of the main.

with troubled tenderness on the eyes that once Sole-sitting Cushat! We see thee through they worshipped-with cold ear to drink the the yew-tree's shade, on some day of the olden music of the voices long ago adored; and in time, but when or where we remember not all their permitted visitations, to express, if but for what has place or time to do with the vision by the beckoning of the shadow of a hand, of a dream? That we see thee is all we know, some unextinguishable longing after the conand that serenely beautiful thou art! Most verse of the upper world, even within the gates pleasant is it to dream, and to know we dream! of the grave. By sweet volition we keep ourselves. half A change comes over us. Deep and still as asleep and half awake; and all our visions of is the solitude, we are relieved of our awe, and thought, as they go swimming along, partake out of the forest-gloom arise images of beauty at once of reality and imagination. Fiction that come and go, gliding as on wings, or staand truth-clouds, shadows, phantoms and tue-like, stand in the glades, like the sylvan phantasms-ether, sunshine, substantial forms deities to whom of old belonged, by birthright, and sounds that have a being, blending together all the regions of the woods. On-on--onin a scene created by us, and partly impressed further into the Forest!-and let the awe of upon us, and which one motion of the head on imagination be still further tempered by the the pillow may dissolve, or deepen into more delight breathed even from any one of the oppressive delight! In some such dreaming lovely names sweet-sounding through the fastate of mind are we now; and, gentle reader, mous fables of antiquity. Dryad, Hamadryad! if thou art awake, lay aside the visionary vo- Faunus! Sylvanus !--Now, alas! ye are but Jume, or read a little longer, and likely enough names, and no more! Great Pan himself is is it that thou too mayest fall half asleep. If so, dead, or here he would set up his reignt But let thy drowsy eyes still pursue the glimmering what right has such a dreamer to dream of the paragraphs—and wafted away wilt thou feel dethroned deities of Greece? The language thyself to be into the heart of a Highland fo- they spoke is not his language; yet the words rest, that knows no bounds but those of the of the great poets who sang of gods and demiuncertain sky.

gods, are beautiful in their silent meanings as Away from our remembrance fades the noisy they meet his adoring eyes; and, mighty Lyworld of men into a silent glimmer-and now rists! has he not often floated down the templeit is all no more than a mere faint thought. crowned and altar-shaded rivers of your great On-on-on! through briery brake-matted Choral Odes? thicket-grassy glade-On-on--on! further On-on-on!_further into the Forest! into the Forest! What a confusion of huge unless, indeed, thou dreadest that the limbs stones, rocks, knolls, all tumbled together into that bear on thy fleshly tabernacle may fail, a chaos_not without its stern and sterile and the body, left to itself, sink down and die. beauty! Still are there, above, blue glimpses Ha! such fears thou laughest to scorn; for of the sky_deep though the umbrage be, and from youth upwards thou hast dallied with the wide-flung the arms of the oaks, and of pines wild and perilous: and what but the chill dein their native wilderness gigantic as oaks, light in which thou hast so often shivered in and extending as broad a shadow. Now the threatening solitude brought thee here! These firmament has vanished and all is twilight. dens are not dungeons, nor are we a thrall. Immense stems, “in number without number Yet if dungeons they must be called--and they numberless,”—bewildering eye and soul-all are deep, and dark, and grim-ten thousand still-silent-steadfast--and so would they be gates hath this great prison-house, and wide in a storm. For what storm-let it range aloft open are they all. So on-on-on!-further as it might, till the surface of the forest toss into the Forest! But who shall ascend to its and roar like the sea-could force its path summit? Eagles and dreams. Round its base through these many million trunks? The we go, rejoicing in the new-found day, and thunder-stone might split that giant there once more cheered and charmed with the muhow vast! how magnificent!—but the brother sic of birds. Say whence came, ye scientific by his side would not tremble; and the sound world-makers, these vast blocks of granite ? in the awful width of the silence—what Was it fire or water, think ye, that hung in the more would it be than that of the woodpecker air the semblance of yon Gothic cathedral, alarming the insects of one particular tree! without nave, or chancel, or aisle-a mass of

Poor wretch that we are!--to us the uncom- solid rock? Yet it looks like the abode of panioned silence of the solitude hath become Echoes; and haply when there is thunder, terrible. More dreadful is it than the silence rolls out its lengthening shadow of sound to of the tomb; for there, often arise responses to the ear of the solitary shepherd afar off on the unuttered soliloquies of the pensive heart. Cairngorm. But this is as the silence, not of Time, but of On-on-on-further into the Forest! Now Eternity. No burial heaps--no mounds--10 on all sides leagues of ancient trees surround cairns! It is not as if man had perished here, us, and we are safe as in the grave from the and been forgotten; but as if this were a world persecuting love or hatred of friends or foes. in which there had been neither living nor dy- The sun shall not find us by day, nor the moon ing. Too utter is the solitariness even for the by night. Were our life forfeited to what are ghosts of the dead! For they are thought to called the laws, how could the laws discover haunt the burial-places of what once was their the criminal? How could they drag us from

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