Yet it is the most melancholy part of all such speculation, to observe what a wide gloom is cast over them by this severe necessity, which is nevertheless the great and constant cause of the improvement of their condition. It is not suffering alone-for that they may be inured to bear,-but the darkness of the understanding, and the darkness of the heart, which comes on under the oppression of toil, that is miserable to see. Our fellowmen, born with the same spirit as ourselves, seem yet denied the common privileges of that spirit. They seem to bring faculties into the world that cannot be unfolded, and powers of affection and desire which not their fault but the lot of their birth will pervert and degrade. There is a humiliation laid upon our nature in the doom which seems thus to rest upon a great portion of our species, which, while it requires our most considerate compassion for those who are thus depressed, compels us to

to take the ready nourishment which is spread for his repast, with that of his fellow-man bearing through the lonely woods the gnawing pang that goads him to his prey. Hunger is in his heart; hunger bears along his unfatiguing feet; hunger lies in the strength of his arm; hunger watches in his eye; hunger listens in his ear; as he couches down in his covert, silently waiting the approach of his expected spoil, this is the sole thought that fills his aching breast-"I shall satisfy my hunger!" When his deadly aim has brought his victim to the ground, this is the thought that springs up as he rushes to seize it, “I have got food for my hungry soul!" What must be the usurpation of animal nature here over the whole man! It is not merely the simple pain as if it were the forlornness of a human creature bearing about his famishing existence in helplessness and despair-though that, too, is indeed a true picture of some states of our race; but here is not a suffering and sinking wretch-humble ourselves under the sense of our own he, is a strong hunter, and puts forth his strength fiercely under the urgency of this passion. All his might in the chase, all pride of speed, and strength, and skill-all thoughts of long and hard endurance-all images of perils past-all remembrances and all foresight-are gathered on that one strong and keen desire-are bound down to the sense of that one bitter animal want. These feelings recurring day by day in the sole toiì of his life, bring upon his soul a vehemence and power of desire in this object, of which we can have no conception, till he becomes subjected to hunger as to a mighty animal passion-a passion such as it rages in those fierce animal kinds which it drives with such ferocity on their prey. He knows hunger as the wolf knows it he goes forth with his burning heart, like the tiger to lap blood. But turn to man in another condition to which he has been brought by the very agency of his physical on his intellectual and moral being! How far removed is he now from that daily contention with such evils as these! How much does he feel himself assured against them by belong-threatenings or assaults of those evils from ing to the great confederacy of social life! which it cannot fly, and though oppressed by How much is it veiled from his eyes by the its own weary wants, forgetting them all in many artificial circumstances in which the that love which ministers to the wants of satisfaction of the want is involved! The others-when we see the brow wrinkled and work in which he labours the whole day-on drenched by incessant toil, the body in the which his eyes are fixed and his hands toil-power of its prime bowed down to the dust, is something altogether unconnected with his own wants-connected with distant wants and purposes of a thousand other men in which he has no participation. And as far as it is a work of skill, he has to fix his mind on objects and purposes so totally removed from himself, that they all tend still more to sever his thoughts from his own necessities: and thus it is that civilization raises his moral character, when it protects almost every human being in a country from that subjection to this passion, to which even noble tribes are bound down in the wildernesses of nature.

"It's an awful thing hunger, Hamish, sure aneugh; but I wush he was dune; for that vice o' his sing-sanging is makin' me unco sleepy-and ance I fa' owre, I'm no easy waukenin'. But wha's that snorrin'?"

participation in the nature from which it flows. Therefore, in estimating the worth, the virtue of our fellow men, whom Providence has placed in a lot that yields to them the means, and little more than the means, of supporting life in themselves and those born of them, let us never forget how intimate is the necessary union between the wants of the body and the thoughts of the soul. Let us remember, that over a great portion of humanity, the soul is in a struggle for its independence and power with the necessities of that nature in which it is enveloped. It has to support itself against sickening, or irritating, or maddening thoughts inspired by weariness, lassitude, want, or the fear of want. It is chained down to the earth by the influence of one great and constant occupation-that of providing the means of its mortal existence. When it shows itself shook and agitated, or overcome in the struggle, what ought to be the thoughts and feelings of the wise for poor humanity! When, on the other hand, we see nature preserving itself pure, bold, and happy amidst the perpetual

and the whole frame in which the immortal spirit abides marked, but not dishonoured, by its slavery to fate-and when, in the midst of all this ceaseless depression and oppression, from which man must never hope to escape on earth, we see him still seeking and still finding joy, delight, and happiness in the finer affections of his spirtiual being, giving to the lips of those he loves the scanty morsel earned by his own hungry and thirsty toil, purchasing by sweat, sickness, and fever, Education and Instruction and Religion to the young creatures who delight him who is starving for their sakes, resting with gratitude on that day, whose return is ever like a fresh fountain to his exhausted and weary heart, and preserving a profound and high sense of his own immortality among all the earth-born toils and

"As in this varying and uncertain weather, When gloom and glory force themselves together, When calm seems stormy, and tempestuous night At day's meridian lowers like noon of night!"' Whose are these fine lines? Hooky Walker, OUR OWN. Dogs! Down-down-down-be stonelike, O Shelty!-and Hamish, sink thou into the heather like a lizard; for if these old dim eyes of ours may be in aught believed, yonder by the birches stands a Red-Deer snuffing the east wind! Hush! hush! hush! He suspects an enemy in that airt-but death comes upon him with stealthy foot, from the west; and if Apollo and Diana-the divinities we so long have worshipped-be now propi tious-his antlers shall be entangled in the heather, and his hoofs beat the heavens. Hamish, the rifle! A tinkle as of iron, and a hiss accompanying the explosion-and the King of the Wilderness, bounding up into the air with his antlers higher than ever waved chieftain's plume, falls down stone-dead where he stood; for the blue-pill has gone through his vitals, and lightning itself could hardly have withered him into more instantaneous cessation of life!

troubles that would in vain chain him down to the dust,-when we see all this, and think of all this, we feel indeed how rich may be the poorest of the poor, and learn to respect the moral being of man in its triumphs over the power of his physical nature. But we do not learn to doubt or deny the wisdom of the Creator. We do not learn from all the struggles, and all these defeats, and all these victories, and all these triumphs, that God sent us his creatures into this life to starve, because the air, the earth, and the waters have not wherewithal to feed the mouths that gape for food through all the elements! Nor do we learn that want is a crime, and poverty a sin-and that they who would toil, but cannot, and they who can toil, but have no work set before them, are intruders at Nature's table, and must be driven by those who are able to pay for their seats to famine, starvation, and death-almost denied a burial !—Finis. Amen. Often has it been our lot, by our conversational powers, to set the table on a snore. The more stirring the theme, the more soporific the sound of our silver voice. Look there, we beseech you! In a small spot of " stationary sun- He is an enormous animal. What antlers! shine," lie Hamish, and Surefoot, and O'Bronte, Roll him over, Hamish, on his side! See, up and Ponto, and Piro, and Basta, all sound to our breast, nearly, reaches the topmost asleep! Dogs are troubled sleepers-but these branch. He is what the hunter of old called four are now like the dreamless dead. Horses, a "Stag of Ten." His eye has lost the flash too, seem often to be witch-ridden in their of freedom-the tongue that browsed the sleep. But at this moment Surefoot is stretch- brushwood is bitten through by the clenched ed more like a stone than a shelty in the land teeth-the fleetness of his feet has felt that of Nod. As for Hamish, were he to lie so fatal frost-the wild heart is hushed, Hamish, braxy-like by himself on the hill, he would be tame, tame, tame; and there the Monarch awakened by the bill of the raven digging into of the Mountains-the King of the Cliffs-the his sockets. We are Morpheus and Orpheus Grand Lama of the Glens-the Sultan of the in one incarnation-the very Pink of Poppy- Solitudes-the Dey of the Deserts-the Royal the true spirit of Opium-of Laudanum the Ranger of the Woods and Forests-yea, the concentrated Essence-of the black Drop the very Prince of the Air and Thane of Thunder Gnome. -"shorn of all his beams," lies motionless as a dead Jackass by the wayside, whose hide was not thought worth the trouble of flaying by his owners the gipsies! "To this complexion has he come at last"-he who at dawn had bor rowed the wings of the wind to carry him across the cataracts!

Indeed, gentlemen, you have reason to be ashamed of yourselves-but where is the awkward squad? Clean gone. They have stolen a march on us, and while we have been preaching they have been poaching-sans mandate of the Marquis and Monzie. We may catch them ere close of day; and, if they have a smell of slaughter, we shall crack their sconces with our crutch. No apologies, Hamish-'tis only making the matter worse; but we expected better things of the dogs. O'Bronte! fie! fie! sirrah. Your sire would not have fallen asleep during a speech of ours-and such a speech!-he would have sat it out without winking-at each more splendid passage testifying his delight by a yowl. Leap over the Crutch, you reprobate, and let us see thee scour. Look at him, Hamish, already beckoning to us on his hurdis from the hill-top. Let us scale those barriers-and away over the table-land between that summit and the head of Gleno. No sooner said than done, and here we are on the level-such a level as the ship finds on the main sea, when in the storm-lull she rides up and down the green swell, before the tradewinds that cool the tropics. The surface of this main land-sea is black in the gloom, and green in the glimmer, and purple in the light, and crimson in the sunshine. Oh, never 'ocks nature so magnificent

A sudden pang shoots across our heart What right had we to commit this murder? How, henceforth, shall we dare to hold up our head among the lovers of liberty, after having thus stolen basely from behind on him the boldest, brightest, and most beautiful of all her sons! We who for so many years have been just able to hobble, and no more, by the aid of the Crutch-who feared to let the heather-bent touch our toe, so sensitive in its gout-We, the old and impotent, all last winter bed-ridden, and even now seated like a lameter on a shelty, strapped by a patent buckle to a saddle provided with a pummel behind as well as before-such an unwieldy and weary wretch as We-" fat, and scant of breath”—and with our hand almost perpetually pressed against our left side, when a coughing-fit of asthma brings back the stitch, seldom an absentee-to assassinate THAT RED-DEER, whose flight on earth could accompany the eagle's in heaven; and not only to assassinate him, but, in a moral vein, to liken his carcass to that of a Jackass! It will not bear further reflection; so, Hamish,

out with your whinger, and carve him a dish | Yet, 'tis strange how the human soul can fit for the gods-in a style worthy of Sir Tris- descend, pleasantly at every note, from the top trem, Gil Morice, Robin Hood, or Lord Ra- to the bottom of passion's and imagination's nald. No; let him lie till nightfall, when we shall be returning from Inveraw with strength sufficient to bear him to the Tent.

But hark, Hamish, to that sullen croak from the cliff! The old raven of the cove already scents death

"Sagacious of his quarry from afar!"

gamut.

A Tarn-a Tarn! with but a small circle of unbroken water in the centre, and all the rest of its shallowness bristling, in every bay, with reeds and rushes, and surrounded, all about the mossy flat, with marshes and quagmires! What a breeding-place-" procreant cradle" for water fowl! Now comes thy turn, O'Bronte

But where art thou, Hamish? Ay, yonder is Hamish, wriggling on his very belly, like an adder, through the heather to windward of the croaker, whose nostrils, and eyes, and bill, are now all hungrily fascinated, and as it were already fastened into the very bowels of the beast. His days are numbered. That sly serpent, by circuitous windings insinuating his limber length through among all obstructions, has ascended unseen the drooping shoulder of the cliff, and now cautiously erects his crest within a hundred yards or more of the unsuspecting savage, still uttering at intervals his sullen croak, croak, croak! Something crumbles, and old Sooty, unfolding his huge wings, lifts himself up like Satan, about to sail away for a while into another glen; but the rifle rings among the rocks-the lead has broken his spine-and look! how the demon, head over heels, goes tumbling down, down, many hundred fathoms, dashed to pieces and impaled on the sharp-pointed granite! Ere night-play, till all the air be afloat with specks, as if fall the bloody fragments will be devoured by his mate. Nothing now will disturb the carcass of the deer. No corbies dare enter the cove where the raven reigned; the hawk prefers grouse to venison, and so does the eagle, who, however, like a good Catholic as he isthis is Friday-has gone out to sea for a fish dinner, which he devours to the music of the waves on some isle-rock. Therefore lie there, dethroned king! till thou art decapitated; and ere the moon wanes, that haunch will tower gloriously on our Tent-table at the Feast of Shells.

for famous is thy name, almost as thy sire's, among the flappers. Crawl down to leeward, Hamish, that you may pepper them-should they take to flight overhead to the loch. Surefoot, taste that greensward, and you will find it sweet and succulent. Dogs, heel-heel!— and now let us steal, on our Crutch, behind that knoll, and open a sudden fire on the swimmers, who seem to think themselves out of shot at the edge of that line of water-lilies; but some of them will soon find themselves mistaken, whirling round on their backs, and vainly endeavouring to dive after their friends that disappear beneath the agitated surface shot-swept into spray. Long Gun! who oft to the forefinger of Colonel Hawker has swept the night-harbour of Poole all alive with widgeons, be true to the trust now reposed in thee by Kit North! And though these be neither geese, nor swans, nor hoopers, yet, send thy leaden shower among them feeding in their

at the shaking of a feather-bed that had burst the ticking, and the tarn covered with sprawling mawsies and mallards, in death-throes among the ducklings! There it lies on its rest-like a telescope. No eye has discovered the invention--keen as those wild eyes are of the plowterers on the shallows. Lightning and thunder! to which all the echoes roar. But we meanwhile are on our back; for of all the recoils that ever shook a shoulder, that one was the severest-but 'twill probably cure our rheumatism and-Well done-nobly, gloriously done, O'Bronte! Heaven and earth, how otter-like he swims! Ha, Hamish! you have cut off the retreat of that airy voyageryou have given it him in his stern, Hamishand are reloading for the flappers. One at a time in your mouth, O'Bronte! Put about with that tail for a rudder-and make for the shore. What a stately creature! as he comes issuing from the shallows, and, bearing the old mallard breast high, walks all dripping along the greensward, and then shakes from his curled ebony the flashing spray-mist. gives us one look as we crown the knoll, and then in again with a spang and a plunge far into the tarn, caring no more for the reeds than for so many winlestraes, and, fast as a seaserpent, is among the heart of the killed and wounded. In unerring instinct he always Shooting grouse after red-deer is, for a while seizes the dead-and now a devil's dozen lie at first, felt to be like writing an anagram in a along the shore. Come hither, O'Bronte, and lady's album, after having given the finishing caress thy old master. Ay-that showed a touch to a tragedy or an epic poem. "Tis like fine feeling-did that long shake that bedrizzled taking to catching shrimps in the sand with the sunshine. Put thy paws over our shoulone's toes, on one's return from Davis' Straits ders, and round our neck, true son of thy sire in a waler that arrived at Peterhead with six-oh! that he were but alive, to see and share teen fish, each calculated at ten ton of oil. thy achievements; but indeed, two such dogs,

What is your private opinion, O'Bronte, of the taste of Red-deer blood? Has it not a wild twang on the tongue and palate, far preferable to sheep's-head? You are absolutely undergoing transfiguration into a deer-hound! With your fore-paws on the flank, your tail brandished like a standard, and your crimson flews (thank you, Shepherd, for that word) licked by a long lambent tongue red as crimson, while your eyes express a fierce delight never felt before, and a stifled growl disturbs the star on your breast-just as you stand now, O'Bronte, might Edwin Landseer rejoice to paint thy picture, for which, immortal image of the wilderness, the Duke of Bedford would not scruple to give a draft on his banker for one thousand pounds!

He

living together in their prime at one era, would have been too great glory for this sublunary canine world. Therefore Sirius looked on thy sire with an evil eye, and in jealousy

"Tantæne animis cælestibus iræ!"

growled upon some sinner to poison the Dog of all Dogs, who leapt up almost to the ceiling of the room where he slept-our own bed-room -under the agony of that accursed arsenic, gave one horrid howl, and expired. Methinks we know his murderer-his eye falls when it meets ours on the Street of Princes; and let him scowl there but seldom-for though 'tis but suspicion, this fist, O'Bronte, doubles at the sight of the miscreant-and some day, impelled by wrath and disgust, it will smash his nose flat with the other features, till his face is a pancake. Yea! as sure as Themis holds her balance in the skies, shall the poisoner be punished out of all recognition by his parents, and be disowned by the Irish Cockney father that begot him, and the Scotch Cockney mother that bore him, as he carries home a tripelike countenance enough to make his paramour the scullion miscarry, as she opens the door to him on the fifth flat of a common stair. But, we are getting personal, O'Bronte, a vice abhorrent from our nature.

Not the best practice this in the world, certainly, for pointers-and it may teach them bad habits on the hill; but, in some situations, all dogs and all men are alike, and cross them as you will, not a breed but shows a taint of original sin, when under a temptation sufficiently strong to bring it out. Ponto, Piro, and Basta, are now, according to their abilities, all as bad as O'Bronte--and never, to be sure, was there such a worrying in this wicked world. But now we shall cease our fire, and leave the few flappers that are left alive to their own meditations. Our conduct for the last hour must have seemed to them no less unaccountable than alarming; and something to quack over during the rest of the season. Well, we do not remember ever to have seen a prettier pile of ducks and ducklings. Hamish, take census. What do you say-two score? That beats cockfighting. Here's a hank of twine, Hamish, tie them all together by the legs, and hang them, in two divisions of equal weights, over the crupper of Surefoot.

E

FLIGHT THIRD-STILL LIFE.

reach yonder altitudes, she must be a gray deceiver, and we shall never again kneel at her footstool, or sing a hymn in her praise.

There goes our Crutch, Hamish, whirling We have been sufficiently slaughterous for aloft in the sky a rainbow flight, even a man of our fine sensibilities and moderate like the ten-pound hammer from the fling of desires, Hamish; and as, somehow or other, George Scougal at the St. Ronan's games. Our the scent seems to be beginning not to lie well gout is gone-so is our asthma-eke our-yet the air cannot be said to be close and rheumatism-and, like an eagle, we have re- sultry either--we shall let Brown Bess cool newed our youth. There is hop, step, and herself in both barrels-relinquish, for an hour jump, for you, Hamish-we should not fear, or so, our seat on Shelty, and, by way of a young and agile as you are, buck, to give you change, pad the hoof up that smooth ascent, a yard. But now for the flappers. Pointers strangely left stoneless-an avenue positively all, stir your stumps and into the water. This looking as if it were artificial, as it stretches is rich. Why, the reeds are as full of flappers away, with its beautiful green undulations, as of frogs. If they can fly, the fools don't among the blocks; for though no view-hunter, know it. Why, there is a whole musquito-fleet we are, Hamish, what in fine language is callof yellow boys, not a month old. What a pro-ed a devout worshipper of Nature, an enthulific old lady must she have been, to have kept siast in the sublime; and if Nature do not on breeding till July. There she sits, cower-show us something worth gazing at when we ing, just on the edge of the reeds, uncertain whether to dive or fly. By the creak and cry of the cradle of thy first-born, Hamish, spare the plumage on her yearning and quaking breast. The little yellow images have all melted away, and are now, in holy cunning of instinct, deep down beneath the waters, shifting for themselves among the very mud at the bottom of the reeds. By and by they will be floating with but the points of their bills above the surface, invisible among the air-bells. The parent duck has also disappeared; the drake you disposed of, Hamish, as the coward was lifting up his lumbering body, with fat doup and long neck in the air, to seek safer skies. We male creatures-drakes, ganders, and men alike-what are we, when affection pleads, in comparison with females! In our passions, we are brave, but these satiated, we turn upon our heel and disappear from danger, like dastards. But doves, and ducks, and women, are fearless in affection, to the very death. Therefore have we all our days, sleeping or waking, loved the sex, virgin and matron, nor would we hurt a hair of their heads, gray or golden, for all else that shines beneath the sun.

The truth is, we have a rending headache, for Bess has been for some hours on the kick, and Surefoot on the jog, and our exertions in the pulpit were severe-action, Hamish, action, action, being, as Demosthenes said some two or three thousand years ago, essential to oratory; and you observed how nimbly we kept changing legs, Hamish, how strenuously brandishing arms, throughout our discoursesaving the cunning pauses, thou simpleton, when, by way of relief to our auditors, we were as gentle as sucking-doves, and folded up our wings as if about to go to roost, whereas we were but meditating a bolder flight-about to soar, Hamish, into the empyrean. Over and above all that, we could not brook Tickler's insolence, who, about the sma' hours, challenged us, you know, quech for quech; and though we gave him a fair back-fall, yet we suffered in the tuilzie, and there is at this moment a throbbing in our temples that threatens a regular brain-fever. We burn for an a bath on the mountain-top. Moreover, we

seized with a sudden desire for solitude-to be | speak to the stranger. In such places he will

plain, we are getting sulky; so ascend, Surefoot, Hamish, and be off with the pointersO'Bronte goes with us-north-west, making a circumbendibus round the Tomhans, where Mhairhe M'Intyre lived seven years with the fairies; and in a couple of hours or so, you will find us under the Merlin Crag.

be delighted-perhaps surprised-to find in uncorrupted strength all the primary elements of human character. He will find that his knowledge may be wider than theirs, and better ordered, but that it rests on the same foundation, and comprehends the same matter. There will be no want of sympathies between We offer to walk any man of our age in him and them; and what he knows best, and Great Britain. But what is our age? Con- loves most, will seldom fail to be that also found us if we know within a score or two. which they listen to with greatest interest, and Yet we cannot get rid of the impression that respecting which there is the closest commuwe are under ninety. However, as we seek nion between the minds of stranger and host. no advantage, and give no odds, we challenge He may know the course of the stars accordthe octogenarians of the United Kingdom- ing to the revelation of science-they may fair toe and heel-a twelve-hour match-for have studied them only as simple shepherds, love, fame, and a legitimate exchequer bill for "whose hearts were gladdened" walking on a thousand. Why these calves of ours would the mountain-top. But they know-as he does look queer, we confess, on the legs of a Leith-who sowed the stars in heaven, and that porter; but even in our prime they were none their silent courses are all adjusted by the of your big vulgar calves, but they handled hand of the Most High. like iron-now more like butter. There is Oh! blessed, thrice blessed years of youth! still a spring in our instep; and our knees, would we choose to live over again all your sometimes shaky, are to-day knit as Pan's and forgotten and unforgotten nights and days! neat as Apollo's. Poet we may not be, but Blessed, thrice blessed we call you, although, Pedestrian we are; with Wordsworth we could as we then felt, often darkened almost into innot walk along imaginative heights, but, if not sanity by self-sown sorrows springing out of grievously out of our reckoning, on the turn-our restless soul. No, we would not again pike road we could keep pace with Captain face such troubles, not even for the glorious Barclay for a short distance-say from Dun-apparitions that familiarly haunted us in glens Idee to Aberdeen.

and forests, on mountains and on the great sea. Oh! Gemini! but we are in high spirits. But all, or nearly all that did once so grievousYes-delights there indeed are, which nonely disturb, we can lay in the depths of the past, but pedestrians know. Much-all depends on the character of the wanderer; he must have known what it is to commune with his own thoughts and feelings, and be satisfied with them even as with the converse of a chosen friend. Not that he must always, in the solitudes that await him, be in a meditative mood, for ideas and emotions will of themselves arise, and he will only have to enjoy the pleasures which his own being spontaneously affords. It would indeed be a hopeless thing, if we were always to be on the stretch for happiness. Intellect, Imagination, and Feeling, all work of their own free-will, and not at the order of any taskmaster. A rill soon becomes a stream-a stream a river-a river a loch-and a loch a

sea.

So it is with the current within the spirit. It carries us along, without either oar or sail, increasing in lepth, breadth, and swiftness, yet all the while the easy work of our own wonderful minds. While we seem only to see or hear, we are thinking and feeling far beyond the mere notices given by the senses; aud years afterwards we find that we have been laying up treasures, in our most heedless moments, of imagery, and connecting together trains of thought that arise in startling beauty, almost without cause or any traceable origin. The Pedestrian, too, must not only love his own society, but the society of any other human beings, if blameless and not impure, among whom his lot may for a short season be cast. He must rejoice in all the forms and shows of life, however simple they may be, however humble, however low; and be able to find food for his thoughts beside the ingle of the loneliest hut, where the inmates sit with few words, and will rather be spoken to than

so that scarcely a ghastly voice is heard, a ghastly face beheld; while all that so charmed of yore, or nearly all, although no longer the daily companions of our life, still survive to be recalled at solemn hours, and with a "beauty still more beauteous" to reinvest the earth, which neither sin nor sorrow can rob of its enchantments. We can still travel with the solitary mountain-stream from its source to the sea, and see new visions at every vista of its winding waters. The waterfall flows not with its own monotonous voice of a day or an hour, but like a choral anthem pealing with the hymns of many years. In the heart of the blind mist on the mountain-ranges we can now sit alone, surrounded by a world of images, over which time holds no power but to consecrate or solemnize. Solitude we can deepen by a single volition, and by a single volition let in upon it the stir and noise of the world and life. Why, therefore, should we complain, or why lament the inevitable loss or change that time brings with it to all that breathe? Beneath the shadow of the tree we can yet repose, and tranquillize our spirit by its rustle, or by the "green light" unchequered by one stirring leaf. From sunrise to sunset, we can lie below the old mossy tower, till the darkness that shuts out the day, hides not the visions that glide round the ruined battlements. Cheerful as in a city can we traverse the houseless moor; and although not a ship be on the sea, we can set sail on the wings of imagination, and when wearied, sink down on savage or serene isle, and let drop our anchor below the moon and stars.

And 'tis well we are so spiritual; for the senses are of no use here, and we must draw