he records of the low-born Pedlar in the Excursion None. They are both educated among the hills; and according to the nature of their own souls and that of their education, is the progressive growth and ultimate formation of their character. Both are exalted beings -because both are wise and good-but to his own coeval he has given, besides eloquence and genius,

that's

"The vision and the faculty divine,"

"When years had brought the philosophic mind”

he might walk through the dominions of the Intellect and the Imagination, a Sage and a Teacher.

Look into life, and watch the growth of character. Men are not what they seem to the outward eye-mere machines moving about in customary occupations-productive labourers of food and wearing apparel-slaves from morn to night at taskwork set them by the Wealth of Nations. They are the Children of God. The soul never sleeps not even when its wearied body is heard snoring by people living in the next street. All the souls now in this world are for ever awake; and this life, believe us, though in moral sadness it has often been rightly called so, is no dream. In a dream we have no will of our own, no power over ourselves; ourselves are not felt to be ourselves; our familiar friends seem strangers from some far off country; the dead are alive, yet we wonder not; the laws of the physical world are suspended, or changed, or confused by our fantasy; Intellect, Imagination, the Moral Sense, Affection, Pas

sion, are not possessed by us in the same way we possess them out of that mystery: were Life a Dream, or like a Dream, it would never lead to Heaven.

Again, then, we say to you, look into life and watch the growth of character. In a world where the ear cannot listen without hearing the clank of chains, the soul may yet be free as if it already inhabited the skies. For its Maker gave it LIBERTY OF CHOICE OF GOOD OR OF EVIL; and if it has chosen the good it is a King. All its faculties are then fed on their appropriate food provided for them in nature. It then knows where the necessaries and the luxuries of its life grow, and how they may be gathered in a still sunny region inaccessible to blight -"no mildewed ear blasting his wholesome brother." In the beautiful language of our friend Aird

"And thou shalt summer high in bliss upon the Hills of God."

Go, read the EXCURSION then-venerate the PEDLARpity the SOLITARY-respect the PRIEST, and love the POET.

So charmed have we been with the sound of our own voice of all sounds on earth the sweetest surely to our ears—and, therefore, we so dearly love the monologue, and from the dialogue turn averse, impatient of him ycleped the interlocutor, who, like a shallow brook, will keep prattling and babbling on between the still deep pools of our discourse, which nature feeds with frequent waterfalls-so charmed have we been with the sound of our own voice, that scarcely conscious the while of more than a gentle ascent along the sloping sward of a rural

Sabbath day's journey, we perceive now that we must have achieved a Highland league-five miles of rough uphill work, and are standing tiptoe on the Mountaintop. True that his altitude is not very great-somewhere, we should suppose, between two and three thousand feet-much higher than the Pentlands-somewhat higher than the Ochils—a middle-sized Grampian. Great painters and poets know that power lies not in mere measurable bulk. Atlas, it is true, is a giant, and he has need to be so, supporting the globe. So is Andes; but his strength has never been put to proof, as he carries but clouds. The Cordilleras-but we must not be personal-so suffice it to say, that soul, not size, equally in mountains and in men, is and inspires the true sublime. Mont Blanc might be as big again; but what then, if without his glaciers?

These mountains are neither immense nor enormous -nor are there any such in the British Isles. Look for a few of the highest on Riddell's ingenious Scale—in Scotland Ben-nevis, Helvellyn in England, in Ireland the Reeks; and you see that they are mere molehills to Chimborazo. Nevertheless, they are the hills of the Eagle. And think ye not that an Eagle glorifies the sky more than a Condor? That Vulture-for Vulture he is flies league-high-the Golden Eagle is satisfied to poise himself half a mile above the loch, which, judged by the rapidity of its long river's flow, may be based a thousand feet or more above the level of the sea. From that height methinks the Bird-Royal, with the golden eye, can see the rising and the setting sun, and his

march on the meridian, without a telescope. If ever he fly by night-and we think we have seen a shadow passing the stars that was on the wing of life-he must be

a rare astronomer.

"High from the summit of a craggy cliff

Hung o'er the deep, such as amazing frown
On utmost Kilda's shore, whose lonely race
Resign the setting sun to Indian worlds,
The Royal Eagle rears his vigorous young,
Strong-pounced and burning with paternal fire.
Now fit to raise a kingdom of their own

He drives them from his fort, the towering seat
For ages of his empire; which in peace
Unstain'd he holds, while many a league to sea
He wings his course, and preys in distant isles."

Do you long for wings, and envy the Eagle? Not if you be wise. Alas! such is human nature, that in one year's time the novelty of pinions would be over, and you would skim undelighted the edges of the clouds. Why do we think it a glorious thing to fly from the summit of some inland mountain away to distant isles? Because our feet are bound to the dust. We enjoy the eagle's flight far more than the eagle himself driving headlong before the storm; for imagination dallies with the unknown power, and the wings that are denied to our bodies are expanded in our souls. Sublime are the circles the sun-staring creature traces in the heavens, to us who lie stretched among the heather bloom. Could we do the same, we should still be longing to pierce through the atmosphere to some other planet; and an elevation of leagues above the snows of the Himalyas

would not satisfy our aspirations. But we can calcu

П

late the distances of the stars, and are happy as Galile in his dungeon.

Yet an Eagle we are, and therefore proud of You our Scottish mountains, as you are of Us. Stretch yourself up to your full height as we now do to oursand let "Andes, giant of the Western Star" but dare to look at us, and we will tear the "meteor standard to the winds unfurled" from his cloudy hands. There you stand and were you to rear your summits much higher into heaven you would alarm the hidden stars.

Yet we have seen you higher-but it was in storm. In calm like this, you do well to look beautiful-your solemn altitude suits the sunny season, and the peaceful sky. Bnt when the thunder at mid-day would hide your heads in a night of cloud, you thrust them through the blackness, and show them to the glens, crowned with fire.

No-they are mounWaves of water, when

Are they a sea of mountains! tains in a sea. And what a sea! at the prodigious, are never higher than the foretop of a man-of-war. Waves of vapour-they alone are seen flying mountains high-dashing, but howling notand in their silent ascension, all held together by the same spirit, but perpetually changing its beautiful array, where order seems ever aud anon to come in among disorder, there is a grandeur that settles down in the soul of youthful poet roaming in delirium among the mountain glooms, and "pacifies the fever of his heart."

Call not now these vapours waves; for movement there is none among the ledges, and ridges, and roads,