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apwards, subsisted between Christopher North | in or below their shadow. The great Erne, o and John Fro. We never had a quarrel in all Sea-eagle, pounces on the mallard, as he our lives-and within these two months we mounts from the bulrushes before the wild made a pilgrimage to his grave. He was bu- swans sailing, with all wings hoisted, like a ried- not by our hands, but by the hands of one fleet-but osprey nor eagle dares to try his whose tender and manly heart loved the old, talons on that stately bird-for he is bold in blind, deaf, staggering creature to the very his beauty, and formidable as he is fair; the last-for such in his fourteenth year he truly pinions that swim and soar can also smite; was-a sad and sorry sight to see, to them who and though the one be a lover of war, the other remembered the glory of his stately and ma- of peace, yet of them it may be said, jestic years. One day he crawled with a moan"The eagle he is lord above, like whine to our brother's feet, and expired. Peader, young, bright, and beautiful though thou be-remember all flesh is dust!

This is an episode-a tale in itself complete, yet growing out of, and appertaining to, the main plot of Epic or Article. You will recollect we were speaking of ducks, teals, and widgeons-and we come now to the next clause of the verse-wild geese and swans.

Some people's geese are all swans; but so far from that being the case with ours-sad and sorry are we to say it-now all our swans are geese. But in our buoyant boyhood, all God's creatures were to our eyes just as God made them; and there was ever-especially birds-a tinge of beauty over them all. What an inconceivable difference-distance-to the imagination, between the nature of a tame and a wild goose! Aloft in heaven, themselves in night invisible, the gabble of a cloud of wild geese is sublimc. Whence comes it-whither goes it for what end, and by what power impelled? Reason sees not into the darkness of instinct and therefore the awe-struck heart of the night-wandering boy beats to hear the league-long gabble that probably has winged its wedge-like way from the lakes, and marshes, and dreary morasses of Siberia, from Lapland, or Iceland, or the unfrequented and unknown northern regions of America-regions set apart, quoth Bewick we believe, for summer residences and breeding places, and where they are amply provided with a variety of food, a large portion of which must consist of the larvæ of gnats, and myriads of insects, there fostered by the unsetting sun! Now they are all gabbling good Gaelic over a Highland nightmoor. Perhaps in another hour the descending cloud will be covering the wide waters at the head of the wild Loch Maree-or, silent and asleep, the whole host be riding at anchor around Lomond's Isles!

But 'tis now mid-day-and lo! in that mediterranean-a flock of wild Swans! Have they dropt down from the ether into the water almost as pure as ether, without having once folded their wings, since they rose aloft to shun the insupportable northern snows hundreds of leagues beyond the storm-swept Orcades? To look at the quiet creatures, you might think that they had never left the circle of that little loch. There they hang on their shadows, even as if asleep in the sunshine; and now stretching out their long wings-how apt for flight from clime to clime!-joyously they beat the liquid radiance, till to the loud flapping high rises the mist, and wide spreads the foam, almost sufficient for a rainbow. Safe are they from all birds of prey. The Osprey dashes down or the teal, or sea-trout, swimming with

The swan is lord below!"

To have shot such a creature-so largeso white-so high-soaring-and on the winds of midnight wafted from so far-a creature that seemed not merely a stranger in that loch, but belonging to some mysterious land in another hemisphere, whose coast ships with frozen rigging have been known to visit, driving under bare poles through a month's snow storms-to have shot such a creature was an era in our imagination, from which, had nature been more prodigal, we might have sprung up a poet. Once, and but once, we were involved in the glory of that event. The creature had been in a dream of some river or lake in Kamtschatka-or ideally listening,

"Across the waves' tumultuous roar,

The wolf's long howl from Oonalashka's shore,' when, guided by our good genius and our brightest star, we suddenly saw him sitting asleep in all his state, within gunshot, in a bay of the moonlight Loch! We had nearly fainted

died on the very spot-and why were we no entitled to have died as well as any other passionate spirit, whom joy ever divorced from life? We blew his black bill into pieces

not a feather on his head but was touched and like a little white-sailed pleasure-boat caught in a whirlwind, the wild swan spun round, and then lay motionless on the water, as if all her masts had gone by the board. We were all alone that night-not even Fro was with us; we had reasons for being alone, for we wished not that there should be any foot-fall but our own round that mountain-hut Could we swim? Ay, like the wild swan him self, through surge or breaker. But now the loch was still as the sky, and twenty strokes carried us close to the glorious creature, which, grasped by both hands, and supporting us as it was trailed beneath our breast, while we floated rather than swam ashore, we felt to be We trembled with a in verity our-Prey! sort of fear, to behold him lying indeed dead on the sward. The moon-the many stars here and there one wondrously large and lustrous-the hushed glittering loch-the hills, though somewhat dimmed, green all winter through, with here and there a patch of snow on their summits in the blue sky, on which lay a few fleecy clouds-the mighty foreign bird, whose plumage we had never hoped to touch but in a dream, lying like the ghost of something that ought not to have been destroyedthe scene was altogether such as made our wild young heart quake, and almost repent of having killed a

creature so surpassingly beautiful. But that was a fleeting fancy-and over the wide moors we went, like an American Indian laden with game, journeying to his

wigwam over the wilderness. As we whitened | hills, not a few mountains, some most exura towards the village in the light of morning, the ordinary cliffs, considerable store of woods earlier labourers held up their hands in wonder and one, indeed, that might well be called The what and who we might be; and Fro, who had Forest. missed his master, and was lying awake for him on the mount, came bounding along, nor could refrain the bark of delighted passion as his nose nuzzled in the soft down of the bosom of the creature whom he remembered to have sometimes seen floating too far off in the lake, or far above our reach cleaving the firmament.—a fate that oft befell thy foes of yore-re.

FYTTE THIRD.

Lift up thy rock-crowned forehead through thy own sweet stormy skies, Auld Scotland! and as sternly and grimly thou look'st far over the hushed or howling seas, remember thee— till all thy moors and mosses quake at thy heart, as if swallowing up an invading army

member thee, in mist-shrouded dream, and cloud-born vision, of the long line of kings, and heroes, and sages, and bards, whose hal O MUCKLE-MOU'D Meg! and can it be that lowed bones sleep in pine-darkened tombs thou art numbered among forgotten things-among the mountain heather, by the side of unexistences!

"Roll'd round in earth's diurnal course,

With rocks, and stones, and trees!"

rivers, and lochs, and arms of ocean-their spirits yet seen in lofty superstition, sailing or sitting on the swift or settled tempest. Lif

"Wha daur meddle wi' me ?"

What would we not now give for a sight-up thy rock-crowned forehead, Auld Scotland! a kiss of thy dear lips! Lips which we re- and sing aloud to all the nations of the earth, member once to have put to our own, even with thy voice of cliffs, and caves, and caverns, when thy beloved barrel was double-loaded! Now we sigh to think on what then made us shudder! Oh! that thy butt were but now What! some small, puny, piteous windpipes resting on our shoulder! Alas! for ever are heard cheeping against thee from the Cockdischarged! Burst and rent asunder, art thou neys-like ragged chickens agape in the pip. now lying buried in a peat-moss? Did some How the feeble and fearful creatures would vulgar villain of a village Vulcan convert thee, crawl on their hands and knees, faint and name and nature, into nails? Some dark-giddy, and shrieking out for help to the heather visaged Douglas of a henroost-robbing Egyp-stalks, if forced to face one of thy cliffs, and tian, solder thee into a pan? Oh! that our foot its flinty bosom! How would the depths passion could dig down unto thee in the of their long ears, cotton-stuffed in vain, ache bowels of the earth-and with loud lamenting to the spray-thunder of thy cataracts! Sick, elegies, and louder hymns of gratulation, restore thee, buttless, lockless, vizyless, burst, rent, torn, and twisted though thou be'st, to the light of day, and of the world-rejoicing Sun! Then would we adorn thee with evergreen wreaths of the laurel and the ivy-and hang On the uncertain footing of a spar," thee up, in memory and in monument of all on a tree felled where it stood, centuries ago, the bright, dim, still, stormy days of our boy-by steel or storm, into a ledgeless bridge, oft hood-when gloom itself was glory-and when -But

sick would be their stomachs, storm-swept in a six-oared cutter into the jaws of Staffa ! That sight is sufficient to set the most saturnine on the guffaw-the Barry Cornwall himself, crossing a chasm a hundred yards deep,

sounding and shaking to the hunter's feet in chase of the red-deer! The Cockneys do not "Be hush'd my dark spirit! for wisdom condemns, like us Scotchmen-because of our high cheekWhen the faint and the feeble deplore." bones. They are sometimes very high indeed, Cassandra-Corinna-Sappho-Lucretia-Cle- very coarse, and very ugly, and give a Scotch

opatra-Tighe-De Staël-in their beauty or in their genius, are, with millions on millions of the fair-faced or bright-souled, nothing but dust and ashes; and as they are, so shall Baillie, and Grant, and Hemans, and Landon be-and why vainly yearn "with love and longings infinite," to save from doom of perishable nature -of all created things, but one alone-Mucklemou'd Meg!

As

man a grim and gaunt look, assuredly not to be sneezed at, with any hope of impunity, on a dark day and in a lonesome place, by the most heroic chief of the most heroic clan in all the level land of Lud, travelling all by himself in a horse and gig, and with a black boy in a cockaded glazed hat, through the Heelands o' Scotland, passing of course, at the very least, for a captain of Hussars! Then Scotchmen canna After a storm comes a calm; and we hasten keep their backs straught, it seems, and are alto give the sporting world the concluding ac- ways booin' and booin' afore a great man. count of our education. In the moorland Cannot they, indeed? Do they, indeed? parish-God bless it-in which we had the cend with that Scottish shepherd yon mouninestimable advantage of passing our boyhood tain's breast-swim with him that mountain there were a good many falcons-of course loch-a bottle of Glenlivet, who first stands in the kite or glead-the buzzard-the sparrow-shallow water, on the Oak Isle-and whose hawk-the marsh harrier-that imp the merlin and, rare bird and beautiful! there, on a cliff which, alas! a crutched man must climb no more, did the Peregrine build her nest. You must not wonder at this, for the parish was an extensive one even for Scotland-half Highland, half Lowland-and had not only "muirs and mosses many o," but numerous

back will be straughtest, that of the Caledonian or the Cockney? The little Luddite will be puking among the heather, about some five hundred feet above the level of the sea-higher for the first time in his life than St. Paul's, and nearer than he will again be, either in the spirit or the flesh, to heaven. The little Luddite will be puking in the hitherto unpollute 1 loch,

forgotten tarns, or counting twice over some one of our more darling waters, worthy to aash their waves against the sides of ships-alone wanting to the magnificence of those inland seas! Yes-it was as level, as boggy, as hilly, as mountainous, as woody, as lochy, and as rivery a parish, as ever laughed to scorn Colonel Mudge and his Trigonometrical Survey.

Was not that a noble parish for apprenticeship in sports and pastimes of a great master? No need of any teacher. On the wings of joy we were borne over the bosom of nature, and learnt all things worthy and needful to be learned, by instinct first, and afterwards by reason. To look at a wild creature-winged with feathers, or mere feet-and not desire to destroy or capture it-is impossible to passion -to imagination-to fancy. Thus had we longed to feel and handle the glossy plumage of the beaked bird-the wide-winged Birds of Prey-before our finger had ever touched a trigger. Their various flight, in various weather, we had watched and noted with something even of the eye of a naturalist-the wonder of a poet; for among the brood of boys there are hundreds and thousands of poets who never see manhood, the poetry dying away-the boy growing up into mere prose; yet to some even of the paragraphs

after some seven strokes or so, with a strong Scottish weed twisted like an eel round its thigh, and shrieking out for the nearest resuscitating machine in a country, where, alas! there is no Humane Society. The back of the shepherd-even in presence of that "great man"-will be as straught as-do not tremble, Cockney-this Crutch. Conspicuous from afar like a cairn, from the inn-door at Arrochar, in an hour he will be turning up his little finger so on the Cobbler's head; or, in twenty minutes, gliding like a swan, or shooting like a saimon, his back being still straught-leaving Luss, he will be shaking the dewdrops from his brawny body on the silver sand of Inch Morren. And happy were we, Christopher North, happy were we in the parish in which Fate delivered us up to Nature, that, under her tuition, our destinies might be fulfilled. A parish! Why it was in itself a kingdom-a world. Thirty miles long by twenty at the broadest, and five at the narrowest; and is not that a kingdom-is not that a world worthy of any monarch that ever wore a crown? Was it level? Yes, league-long levels were in it of greensward, hard as the sand of the sea-shore, yet springy and elastic, fit training ground for Childers, or Eclipse, or Hambletonian, or Smolensko, or for a charge of cavalry in some great pitched battle, while artillery might keep playing against artillery from innumerous affront-of these Three Fyttes do we appeal, that a few ing hills. Was it boggy? Yes, black bogs sparks of the sacred light are yet alive within were there, which extorted a panegyric from us; and sad to our old ears would be the sound the roving Irishman in his richest brogue of "Put out the light, and then-put out the bogs in which forests had of old been buried, light!" Thus were we impelled, even when a and armies with all their banners. Was it mere child, far away from the manse, for miles, hilly Ay, there the white sheep nibbled, and into the moors and woods. Once it was feared the back cattle grazed; there they baa'd and that poor wee Kit was lost; for having set off they lowed upon a thousand hills-a crowd of all by himself, at sunrise, to draw a night-line cones, all green as emerald. Was it moun- from the distant Black Loch, and look at a trap tainous? Give answer from afar, ye mist- set for a glead, a mist overtook him on the shrouded summits, and ye clouds cloven by moor on his homeward way, with an eel as the eagle's wing! But whether ye be indeed long as himself hanging over his shoulder, and mountains, or whether ye be clouds, who can held him prisoner for many hours within its tell, bedazzled as are his eyes by that long- shifting walls, frail indeed, and opposing no lingering sunset, that drenches heaven and resistance to the hand, yet impenetrable to the earth in one indistinguishable glory, setting feet of fear as the stone dungeon's thraldom. the West on fire, as if the final conflagration If the mist had remained, that would have were begun! Was it woody? Hush, hush, been nothing; only a still cold wet seat on a and you will hear a pine-cone drop in the stone; but as "a trot becomes a gallop soon, central silence of a forest-a silent and soli- in spite of curb and rein," so a Scotch mist tary wilderness-in which you may wander a becomes a shower-and a shower a floodwhole day long, unaccompanied but by the and a flood a storm-and a storm a tempestcushat, the corby, the falcon, the roe, and they and a tempest thunder and lightning—and are all shy of human feet, and, like thoughts, thunder and lightning heaven-quake and pass away in a moment; so if you long for earth-quake-till the heart of poor wee Kit less fleeting farewells from the native dwellers quaked, and almost died within him in the in the wood, lo! the bright brown queen of the desert. In this age of Confessions, need we butterflies, gay and gaudy in her glancings be ashamed to own, in the face of the whole through the solitude, the dragon-fly whirring world, that we sat us down and cried! The bird-like over the pools in the glade; and if small brown Moorland bird, as dry as a toast, your ear desire music, the robin and the wren hopped out of his heather-hole, and cheerfully may haply trill you a few notes among the cheeped comfort. With crest just a thought briery rocks, or the bold blackbird open wide lowered by the rain, the green-backed, whitehis yellow bill in his holly-ree, and set the breasted pease weep, walked close by us in the squirrels a-leaping all within reach of his mist; and sight of wonder, that made even in ringing roundelay. Any rivers? one-to whom that quandary by the quagmire our heart beat a thousand torrents are tributary-as he him- with joy-lo! never seen before, and seldom self is tributary to the sea. Any lochs? How since, three wee peaseweeps, not three days many we know not-for we never counted old, little bigger than shrew-mice, all covered them twice alike-omitting perhaps some with blackish down, interspersed with long

white hair running after their mother! But killed him for not building a house of his owu the large hazel eye of the she peaseweep, rest- in a country where there was no want of less even in the most utter solitude, soon sticks. But the kite or glead, as the same disspied us glowering at her, and her young ones, tinguished ornithologist rightly says, is prothrough our tears; and not for a moment verbial for the ease and gracefulness of its doubting-Heaven forgive her for the shrewd flight, which generally consists of large and but cruel suspicion!-that we were Lord Eg- sweeping circles, performed with a motionless linton's gamekeeper-with a sudden shrill cry wing, or at least with a slight and almost imthat thrilled to the marrow in our cold back- perceptible stroke of its pinions, and at very bone-flapped and fluttered herself away into distant intervals. In this manner, and directthe mist, while the little black bits of down ing its course by its tail, which acts as a ruddisappeared, like devils, into the moss. The der, whose slightest motion produces effect, it croaking of the frogs grow terrible. And frequently soars to such a height as to become worse and worse, close at hand, seeking almost invisible to the human eye. Him we his lost cows through the mist, the bellow loved to slay, as a bird worthy of our barrel. of the notorious red bull! We began saying Him and her have we watched for days, like our prayers; and just then the sun forced a lynx, till we were led, almost as if by an himself out into the open day, and, like instinct, to their nest in the heart of the forest the sudden opening of the shutters of a room, a nest lined with wool, hair, and other soft the whole world was filled with light. The materials, in the fork of some large tree. frogs seemed to sink among the pow-heads-They will not, of course, utterly forsake their as for the red bull who had tossed the tinker, nest, when they have young, fire at them as he was cantering away, with his tail towards you will, though they become more wary, and us, to a lot of cows on the hill; and hark-a long, a loud, an oft-repeated halloo! Rab Roger, honest fellow, and Leezy Muir, honest lass, from the manse, in search of our dead body! Rab pulls our ears lightly, and Leezy kisses us from the one to the other-wrings the rain out of our long yellow hair—(a pretty | contrast to the small gray sprig now on the crown of our pericranium, and the thin tail a-cock_behind)—and by and by stepping into Hazel-Deanhead for a drap and a "chitterin' piece," by the time we reach the manse we are as dry as a whistle-take our scold and our parmies from the minister-and, by way of punishment and penance, after a little hot whisky toddy, with brown sugar and a bit of bun, are bundled off to bed in the daytime!

Thus we grew up a Fowler, ere a loaded gun was in our hand-and often guided the city-fowler to the haunts of the curlew, the plover, the moorfowl, and the falcon. The falcon! yes-in the higher region of clouds and cliffs. For now we had shot up into a stripling-and how fast had we so shot up you may know, by taking notice of the schoolboy on the play-green, and two years afterwards discovering, perhaps, that he is that fine tall ensign carrying the colours among the light-bobs of the regiment, to the sound of clarion and flute, cymbal and great drum, marching into the city a thousand strong..

We used in early boyhood, deceived by some uncertainty in size, not to distinguish between a kite and a buzzard, which was very stupid, and unlike us-more like Poietes in Salmonia. The flight of the buzzard, as may be seen in Selby, is slow-and except during the season of incubation, when it often soars to a considerable height, it seldom remains long on the wing. It is indeed a heavy, inactive bird, both in disposition and appearance, and is generally seen perched upon some old and decayed tree, such being its favourite haunt. Him we soon thought little or nothing about-and the last one we shot, it was, we remember, just as he was coming out of the deserted nest of a crow, which he had taken possession of out of pure laziness; and we

seem as if they heard a leaf fall, so suddenly
will they start and soar to heaven. We re
member, from an ambuscade in a briery dell
in the forest, shooting one flying overhead to
its nest; and, on going up to him as he lay on
his back, with clenched talons and fierce eyes,
absolutely shrieking and yelling with fear, and
rage, and pain, we intended to spare his life,
and only take him prisoner, when we beheld
beside him on the sod, a chicken from the
brood of famous ginger piles, then, all but his
small self, following the feet of their clucking
mother at the manse! With visage all in-
flamed, we gave him the butt on his double
organ of destructiveness, then only known to
us by the popular name of "back o' the head,"
exclaiming

"Pallas te hoc vulnere, Palas
Immolat"-

Quivered every feather, from beak to tail and
talon, in his last convulsion,

"Vitaque cum gemitu fugit indignata sub umbras!" In the season of love what combats have we been witness to-Umpire-between birds of prey! The Female Falcon, she sat aloof like a sultana, in her soft, sleek, glossy plumes, the iris in her eye of wilder, more piercing, fiery, cruel, fascinating, and maddening lustre, than ever lit the face of the haughtiest human queen, adored by princes on her throne of diamonds. And now her whole plumage shivers

and is ruffled-for her own Gentle Peregrine appears, and they two will enjoy their dalli ance on the edge of the cliff-chasm-and the Bride shall become a wife in that stormy sunshine on the loftiest precipice of all these our Alps. But a sudden sugh sweeps down from heaven, and a rival Hawk comes rushing in his rage from his widowed eyry, and will win and wear this his second selected bride-for her sake, tearing, or to be torn, to pieces. Both struck down from heaven, fall a hundred fathom to the heather, talon-locked, in the mutual gripe of death. Fair play, gentlemen, and attend to the Umpire. It is, we understan 1. t be an up-and-down fight. Allow us to disen tangle you-and without giving advantage to

either elbow-room to both. Neither of you | bers, from all the impulses that come to them ever saw a human face so near before-nor in solitude gaining more, far more than they ever were captive in a human hand. Both have lost! When we are awake, or half fasten their momentarily frightened eyes on awake, or almost sunk into a sleep, they are us, and, holding back their heads, emit a wild ceaselessly gathering materials for the think ringing cry. But now they catch sight of each ing and feeling soul-and it is hers, in a deep other, and in an instant are one bunch of delight formed of memory and imagination, to torn, bloody plumes. Perhaps their wings are put them together by a divine plastic power, broken, and they can soar no more-so up we in which she is almost, as it were, a very cre fling them both into the air-and wheeling ator, till she exult to look on beauty and on each within a short circle, clash again go both grandeur such as this earth and these heavens birds together, and the talons keep tearing never saw, products of her own immortal and throats till they die. Let them die, then, for immaterial energies, and BEING Once, to BE for both are for ever disabled to enjoy their lady-ever, when the universe, with all its suns and love. She, like some peerless flower in the systems, is no more! days of chivalry at a fatal tournament, seeing her rival lovers dying for her sake, nor ever to wear her glove or scarf in the front of battle, rising to leave her canopy in tears of grief and pride-even like such Angelica, the Falcon unfolds her wings, and flies slowly away from her dying ravishers, to bewail her virginity on the mountains. "O Frailty! thy name is woman!" A third Lover is already on the wing, more fortunate than his preceding peers and Angelica is won, woo'd, and sitting, about to lay an egg in an old eyry, soon repaired and furbished up for the honey-of carrion. Get you behind that briery bield, week, with a number of small birds lying on the edge of the hymeneal couch, with which, when wearied with love, and yawp with hunger, Angelica may cram her maw till she be ready to burst, by her bridegroom's breast.

But oftener we and our shadows glided along the gloom at the foot of the cliffs, ear-led by the incessant cry of the young hawks in their nest, ever hungry except when asleep. Left to themselves, when the old birds are hunting, an hour's want of food is felt to be famine, and you hear the cry of the callow creatures, angry with one another, and it may be, fighting with soft beak and pointless claws, till a living lump of down tumbles over the rock-ledge, soon to be picked to the bone by insects, who likewise all live upon prey; for example, Ants

that wild-rose hanging rock, far and wide scenting the wilderness with a faint perfume; or into that cell, almost a parlour, with a Gothic roof formed by large stones leaning one against the other and so arrested, as they tumbled from Forgotten all human dwellings, and all the the frost-riven breast of the precipice. Wait thoughts and feelings that abide by firesides, there, though it should be for hours-but it and doorways, and rooms, and roofs-delight- will not be for hours; for both the old hawks ful was it, during the long, long midsummer are circling the sky, one over the marsh and holyday, to lie all alone, on the green-sward one over the wood. She comes-she comesof some moor-surrounded mount, not far from the female Sparrowhawk, twice the size of her the foot of some range of cliffs, and with our mate; and while he is plain in his dress, as a face up to the sky, wait, unwearying, till a cunning and cruel Quaker, she is gay and speck was seen to cross the blue cloudless gaudy as a Demirep dressed for the pit of the lift, and steadying itself after a minute's qui- Opera-deep and broad her bosom, with an vering into motionless rest, as if hung sus- air of luxury in her eyes that glitter like pended there by the counteracting attraction serpent's. But now she is a mother, and plays of heaven and earth, known to be a Falcon! a mother's part-greedier, even than for her Balanced far above its prey, and, soon as the self, for her greedy young. The lightning right moment came, ready to pounce down, flashes from the cave-mouth, and she comes and fly away with the treasure in its talons to tumbling, and dashing, and rattling through its crying eyry! If no such speck were for the dwarf bushes on the cliff-face, perpendicu hours visible in the ether, doubtless dream lar and plumb-down, within three yards of her upon dream, rising unbidden, and all of their murderer. Her husband will not visit his nest own wild accord, congenial with the wilder- this day-no-nor all night long; for a father's ness, did, like phantasmagoria, pass to and is not as a mother's love. Your only chance fro, backwards and forwards, along the dark- of killing him, too, is to take a lynx-eyed cir ened curtain of our imagination, all the lights cuit round about all the moors within half a of reason being extinguished or removed! In league; and possibly you may see him sitting that trance, not unheard, although scarcely on some cairn, or stone, or tree-stump, afraid noticed, was the cry of the curlew, the murmur to fly either hither or thither, perplexed by the of the little moorland burn, or the din, almost sudden death he saw appearing among the unlike dashing, of the far-off loch. 'Twas thus accountable smoke, scenting it yet with his that the senses, in their most languid state, fine nostrils, so as to be unwary of your apministered to the fancy, and fed her for a fu- proach. Hazard a long shot-for you are right ture day, when all the imagery then received behind him—and a slug may hit him on the so imperfectly, and in broken fragments, into head, and, following the feathers, split his ner mysterious keeping, was to arise in order-skull-cap and scatter his brains. "Tis doney array, and to form a world more lovely and and the eyry is orphan'd. Let the small brown more romantic even than the reality, which moorland birds twitter Io Pean, as they hang then lay hushed or whispering, glittering or balanced on the bulrushes-let the stone-cha! gloomy, in the outward air. For the senses glance less fearfully within shelter of the old hear and see all things in their seeming slum-gray cairn-let the cushat coo his joycus grati

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