saw still held its hungry teeth fixed in the heart of a pine. Mr. Churchill took occasion to make known to the company his long cherished purpose of writing a poem called "The Song of the Saw-Mill," and enlarged on the beautiful associations of flood and forest connected with the theme. He delighted himself and his audience with the fine fancies he meant to weave into his poem, and wondered that nobody had thought of the subject before. Kavanagh said that it had been thought of before; and cited Kerner's little poem, so charmingly translated by Bryant. Mr. Churchill had not seen it. Kavanagh looked into his pocket-book for it, but it was not to be found; still he was sure that there was such a poem. Mr. Churchill abandoned his design. He had spoken, and the treasure, just as he touched it with his hand, was gone for ever. The party returned home as it came, all tired and happy, excepting little Alfred, who was tired and cross, and sat sleepy and sugging on his father's knee, with his hat cocked rather fiereely over his eyes. MR. SAMUEL LONGFELLOW, a brother of the preceding, an accomplished Unitarian divine, is the minister of a congregation at Brooklyn, N. Y. He was a graduate of Harvard of the class of 1839. He has written several hymns which are included in the collection of Higginson and Johnston. In 1853 he prepared a tasteful collection of poetry, published by Ticknor and Co., entitled, Thalatta: a Book for the Sea Side. Among its numerous articles we notice this single contribution of his own. EVENING WALK BY THE BAY. The evening hour had brought its peace, I sought the sands that skirt the bay. Its rose-light on the waters threw. I stood, with heart more quiet grown, And watched the pulses of the tide, The huge black rocks, the sea weeds brown, The grey beach stretched on either side, The boat that dropped its one white sail, Where the steep yellow bank ran down, And o'er the clump of willows pale, The white towers of the neighboring town. A cool light brooded o'er the land, A changing lustre lit the bay: The tide just plashel along the sand, And voices sounded far away. The Past came up to Memory's eye, Dark with some clouds of leaden hue, But many a space of open sky Its rose-light on those waters threw. Then came to me the dearest friend, Whose beauteous soul doth, like the sea, To all things fair new beauty lend, Transfiguring the earth to me. The thoughts that lips could never tell, Through subtler senses were made known; I raised my eyes,-the darkness fell, I stood upon the sands, alone. HENRY WILLIAM HERBERT. MR. HERBERT presents the somewhat rare combination in this country, where too little attention is given to physical in connexion with intellectual training, of the scholar, the sportsman, and the novelist. He is the eldest son of the Hon. and Rev. William Herbert, Dean of Manchester, author of the poem of Attila, and a second son of the Earl of Carnarvon. He was born in London, April 7, 1807, was educated at home under a private tutor until twelve years of age, and then, after a year passed at a private school, sent to Eton, April, 1820. In October, 1825, he entered Caius College, Cambridge, and was graduated with distinction in January, 1829. At the close of the following year he removed to the United States, and has since resided in the city of New York and at his country seat, the Cedars, in its vicinity at Newark. During the eight years after his arrival he was employed as principal Greek teacher in the classical school of the Rev. R. Townsend Huddart in the City of New York. In 1833, in company with Mr. A. D. Patterson, he commenced the American Monthly Magazine. which he conducted, after the conclusion of the second year, in connexion with Mr. C. F. Hoffman until 1836, when the periodical passed into the charge of Mr. Park Benjamin. Nearly one half the matter of several numbers was written by Mr. Herbert, who kept up a fine spirit of scholarship in its pages. In 1834 an historical novel, which he had commenced in the magazine, The Brothers, a Tale of the Fronde, vas published by the Harpers. It was followed in 1837 by Cromwell, in 1843 by Marmaduke Wycil, and in 1848 by The Roman Traitor, a classical romance founded on the Conspiracy of Catiline. During the period of the publication of these works Mr. Herbert was also a constant contributor to the New York Spirit of the Times. His sporting articles in that periodical have been collected under the titles of My Shooting Box, The Warwick Woodlands, and Field Sports of the United States. The last of these extends to two volumes octavo, and contains, in addition to the matters Mr. Herbert, in his division of his time, must nearly realize that of Izaak Walton's Scholar, "all summer in the field and all winter in the study," as in addition to the productions we have mentioned he has written a fine metrical translation of the Agamemnon, published in a small volume, with a number of briefer versions from the classics, in the "Literary World" and other periodicals. He has also been a constant contributor of tales and sketches, mostly drawn from romantic incidents in European history, to the monthly magazine. Several of these have been collected into volumes under the titles of The Cavaliers of England, or the Times of the Revolutions of 1642 and 1688; The Knights of England, France, and Scotland; and the Chevaliers of France from the Crusaders to the Mareschals of Louis XIV. He has also collected two volumes on the classical period, The Captains of the Old World, their Campaigns, Character, and Conduct, as Compared with the Great Modern Strategis's, an account of the great military leaders who flourished from the time of the Persian Wars to the Roman Republic; and a work, The Captains of the Roman Republic. Mr. Herbert's style is ample and flowing, with a certain finished elegance marking the true man of letters. Though only occasionally putting his pen to verse, a poetical spirit of enthusiasm runs through his writings. THE LAST BEAR ON THE HILLS OF WARWICK. It was a hot and breathless afternoon, toward the last days of July- -one of those days of fiery, scorching heat, that drive the care-worn citizens from their great red-hot oven, into those calm and peaceful shades of the sweet unsophisticated country, which, to them, savour far more of purgatory than they do of paradise," for quiet, to quick bosoms, is a hell," -and theirs are quick enough, heaven knows, in Wall-street. It was a hot and breathless afternoon -the sun, which had been scourging the faint earth all day long with a degree of heat endurable by those alone who can laugh at one hundred degrees of Fahrenheit, was stooping toward the western verge of heaven; but no drop of diamond dew had as yet fallen to refresh the innocent flowers, that hung their heads like maidens snitten by passionate and illrequited love; no indication of the evening breeze had sent its welcome whisper among the motionless and silent tree-tops. Such was the season and the hour when, having started, long before Dan Phoebus had arisen from his bed, to beat the mountain swales about the greenwood lake, and having bagged, by dint of infinite exertion and vast sudor, present alike to dogs and men, our thirty couple of good summer Woodcock, Archer and I paused on the bald scalp of Round Mountain. Crossing a little ridge, we came suddenly upon the loveliest and most fairy-looking ghyll-for I must have recourse to a north-country word to denote that which lacks a name in any other dialect of the Anglo-Norman tongue-I ever looked upon. Not, at the most, about twenty yards wide at the brink, nor above twelve in depth, it was clothed with a dense rich growth of hazel, birch, and juniper; the small rill brawling and sparkling in a thousand mimic cataracts over the tiny limestone ledges which opposed its progress-a beautiful profusion of wild flowersthe tall and vivid spikes of the bright scarlet habenaria-the gorgeous yellow cups of the low-growing enothera and many gaily-colored creepers decked the green marges of the water, or curled, in clustering beauty, over the neighbouring coppice. We fol lowed for a few paces this fantastic cleft, until it widened into a circular recess or cove-the summitlevel of its waters-whence it dashed headlong, some twenty-five or thirty feet, into the chasm below. The floor of this small basin was paved with the bare rock, through the very midst of which the little stream had worn a channel scarcely a foot in depth, its clear cold waters glancing like crystal over its pebbly bed. On three sides it was hemmed in by steep banks, so densely set with the evergreen junipers, interlaced and matted with cat-briars and other creeping plants, that a small dog could not, without a struggle, have forced its way through the close thicket. On the fourth side, fronting the opening of the rift by which the waters found their egress, there stood a tall, flat face of granite rock, completely blocking up the glen, perfectly smooth and slippery, until it reached the height of forty feet, when it became uneven, and broke into many craggy steps and seams, from one of which shot out the broad stem and guarled branches of an aged oak, overshadowing, with its grateful umbrage, the sequestered source of that wild mountain spring. The small cascade, gushing from an aperture midway the height of the tall cliff, leaped, in a single glittering thread, scarcely a foot broad, and but an inch or two in volume, into the little pool which it had worn out for its own reception in the hard stone at the bottom. Immediately behind this natural fountain, which, in its free leap, formed an arch of several feet in diameter, might be seen a small and craggy aperture, but little larger than the entrance of a common well, situate close to the rock's base, descending in a direction nearly perpendicular for several feet, as might be easily discovered fron without. There, Frank," cried Harry, as he pointed to the cave" there is the scene of my Bear story; and here, as I told you, is the sweetest nook, and freshest spring, you ever saw or tasted!" "For the sight," replied I, "I confess. As to the taste, I will speak more presently." While I replied, I was engaged in producing from my pocket our slight stores of pilot biscuit, salt, and hard-boiled eggs, whereunto Harry contributed his quota in the shape of a small piece of cold salt pork, and—tell it not in Gath-two or three young, green-topped, summer onions. Two modest-sized dram bottles, duly supplied with old Farintosh, and a dozen or two of right Manilla cheroots, arranged in tempting order, beside the brimming basin of the nymph-like cascade, completed our arrangement; and, after having laved our heated brows and hands, begrimed with gunpowder, and stained with the red witness of volucrine slaughter, stretched on the cool granite floor, and sheltered from the fierce rays of the summer sun by the dark foliage of the oak--we feasted, happier and more content with our frugal fare, than the most lordly epicure that ever strove to stimulate his appetite to the appreciation of fresh luxuries. 66 Well, Harry," exclaimed I, when I was satiate with food, and while, having already quaffed two moderate horns, I was engaged in emptying, alas! the last remaining drops of whiskey into the silver cup, sparkling with pure cold water-" Well, Harry, the spring is fresh, and cold, and tasteless, as any water I ever did taste! Pity it were not situate in some Faun-haunted glen of green Arcadia, or some sweet flower-enamelled dell of merry England, that it might have a meeter legend for romantic ears than your Bear story-some minstrel dream of Dryad, or Oread, or of Dian's train, mortal-wooed !-some frolic tale of Oberon and his blithe Titania!—or, stranger yet, some thrilling and disastrous lay, after the German school, of woman wailing for her demon lover! But, sith it may not be, let's have the Bear." "Well, then," replied that worthy, "first, as you must know, the hero of my tale is-alas! that I must say was, rather-a brother of Tom Draw, than whom no braver nor more honest man, no warmer friend, no keener sportsman, ever departed to his long last home, dewed by the tears of all who knew him. He was--but it boots not to weave long reminiscencesyou know the brother who still survives; and, knowing him, you have the veritable picture of the defunct, as regards soul, I mean, and spirit-for he was not a mountain in the flesh, but a man onlyand a stout and good one-as, even more than my assertion, my now forthcoming tale will testify. It was the very first winter I had passed in the United States, that I was staying up here for the first time likewise. I had, of course, become speedily intimate with Tom, with whom, indeed, it needs no longer space so to become; and scarcely less familiar with is brother, who, at that time, held a farm in the valley just below our feet. I had been resident at Tom's above six weeks; and, during that spell, as he would call it, we had achieved much highly pleasant and exciting slaughter of Quail, Woodcock, and Partridge; not overlooking sundry Foxes, red, black, and grey, and four or five right Stags of ten, whose blood had dyed the limpid waters of the Greenwood Lake. It was late in the autumn; the leaves had fallen; and lo one morning we awoke and found the earth carpeted far and near with smooth white snow. Enough had fallen in the night to cover the whole surface of the fields, hill, vale, and cultivated level, with one wide vest of virgin purity-but that was all! for it had cleared off early in the morning, and frozen somewhat crisply; and then a brisk breeze rising, had swept it from the trees, before the sun had gained sufficient power to thaw the burthen of the loaded branches. Tom and I, therefore, set forth, after breakfast, with dog and gun, to beat up a large bevy of Quail which we had found on the preceding evening, when it was quite too late to profit by the find, in a great buckwheat stubble, a quarter of a mile hence on the southern slope. After a merry tramp, we flushed them in a hedgerow, drove them up into this swale, and used them up considerable, as Tom said. The last three birds pitched into that bank just above you; and, as we followed thein, we came across what Tom pronounced, upon the instant, to be the fresh track of a Bear. Leaving the meaner game, we set ourselves to work immediately to trail old bruin to his lair, if possible;-the rather that, from the loss of a toe, Tom confidently, and with many oaths, asserted that this was no other than the damndest etarnal biggest Bar that ever had been knowed in Warwick,-one that had been acquainted with the sheep and calves of all the farmers round, for many a year of riot and impunity. In less than ten minutes we had traced him to this cave, whereunto the track led visibly, and whence no track returned. The moment we had housed him, Tom left me with directions to sit down close to the den's mouth, and there to smoke my cigar, and talk to myself aloud, until his return from reconnoitring the locale, and learning whether our friend had any second exit to his snug hiemalia. You needn't be scar't now, I tell you, Archer,' he concluded; 'for he's a deal too 'cute to come out, or even show his nose, while he smells 'bacca and hears woices. I'll be back to-rights!' "After some twenty-five or thirty minutes, back he came, blown and tired, but in extraordinary glee! There's no help for it, Archer; he's got to smell hell anyways!-there's not a hole in the hull hill side, but this!' "But can we bolt him?' inquired I, somewhat dubiously. "Sartain!' replied he, scornfully,- sartain; what is there now to hinder us? I'll bide here qui etly, while you cuts down into the village, and brings all hands as you can raise-and bid them bring lots of blankets, and an axe or two, and all there is in the house to eat and drink, both: and a heap of straw. Now don't be stoppin' to ask me no questions-shin it, I say, and jest call in and tell my brother what we've done, and start him up here right away— leave me your gun, and all o' them cigars. Now, strick it.' "Well, away I went, and, in less than an hour, we had a dozen able-bodied men, with axes, arms, provisions-edible and potable-enough for a week's consumption, on the ground, where we found Tom and his brother, both keeping good watch and ward. The first step was to prepare a shanty, as it was evident there was small chance of bolting him ere nightfall. This was soon done, and our party was immediately divided into gangs, so that we might be on the alert both day and night. A mighty fire was next kindled over the cavern's mouth-the rill having been turned aside-in hopes that we might smoke him out. After this method had been tried all that day, and all night, it was found wholly useless-the cavern having many rifts and rents, as we could see by the fumes which arose from the earth at several points, whereby the smoke escaped without becoming dense enough to force our friend to bolt. We then tried dogs; four of the best the country could produce were sent in, and a most demoniacal affray and hubbub followed within the bowels of the earthfast rock; but, in a little while, three of our canine friends were glad enough to make their exit, mangled, and maimed, and bleeding; more fortunate than their companion, whose greater pluck had only earned for him a harder and more mournful fate. We sent for fire-works; and kept up, for some three hours, such a din, and such a stench, as might have scared the devil from his lair; but bruin bore it all with truly stoical endurance. Miners were summoned next; and we essayed to blast the granite, but it was all in vain, the hardness of the stone defied our labors. Three days had passed away, and we were now no nearer than at first-every means had been tried, and every means found futile. Blank disappointment sat on every face, when Michael Draw, Tom's brother, not merely volunteered, but could not be by any means deterred from going down into the den, and shooting the brute in its very hold. Dissuasion and remonstrance were in vain he was bent on it !—and, at length Tom, who had been the most resolved in opposition, exclaimed, 'If he will go, let him!' so that decided the whole matter. The cave, it seemed, had been explored already, and its localities were known to several of the party, but more particularly to the bold volunteer who had insisted on this perilous enterprise. The well-like aperture, which could alone be seen from without, descended, widening gradually as it got farther from the surface, for somewhat more than eight feet. At that depth the fissure turned off at right angles, running nearly horizontally, an arch of about three feet in height, and some two yards in length, into a small and circular chamber, beyond which there was no passage whether for man or beast, and in which it was certain that the well-known and much-detested Bear had taken up his winter quarters. The plan, then, on which Michael had resolved, was to descend into this cavity, with a rope securely fastened under his arm-pits, provided with a sufficient quantity of lights, and his good musket-to worm himself feet on, forward, on his back, along the horizontal tunnel, and to shoot at the eyes of the fierce monster, which would be clearly visible in the dark den by the reflection of the torches; trusting to the alertness of his comrades from without, who were instructed, instantly on hearing the report of his musket-shot, to haul him out hand over hand. This mode decided it needed no long space to put it into execution. Two narrow laths of pine wood were procured, and half a dozen auger holes drilled into each-as many candles were inserted into these temporary candelabra, and duly lighted. The rope was next made fast about his chest-his musket carefully loaded with two good ounce bullets, well wadded in greased buckskin-his butcher-knife disposed in readiness to meet his grasp-and in he went, without one shade of fear or doubt on his bold, sun-burnt visage. As he descended, I confess that my heart fairly sank, and a faint sickness came across me, when I thought of the dread risk he ran in courting the encounter of so fell a foe, wounded and furious, in that small narrow hole, where valor, nor activity, nor the high heart of manhood, could be expected to avail anything against the close hug of the shaggy monster. "Tom's ruddy face grew pale, and his huge body quivered with emotion, as, bidding him 'God speed,' he griped his brother's fist, gave him the trusty piece which his own hand had loaded, and saw him gradually disappear, thrusting the lights before him with his feet, and holding the long queen's arm cocked and ready in a hand that trembled not-the only hand that trembled not of all our party! Inch by inch his stout frame vanished into the narrow fissure; and now his head disappeared, and still he drew the yielding rope along! Now he has stopped, there is no strain upon the cord!-there is a pause! -a long and fearful pause! The men without stood by to haul, their arms stretched forward to their full extent, their sinewy frames bent to the task, and their rough lineaments expressive of strange agitation! Tom, and myself, and some half dozen others, stood on the watch with ready rifles, lest, wounded and infuriate, the brute should follow hard on the invader of its perilous lair. Hark to that dull and stifled growl! The watchers positively shivered, and their teeth chattered with excitement. There! there! that loud and bellowing roar, reverberated by the ten thousand echoes of the confined cavern, till it might have been taken for a burst of subterraneous thunder!-that wild and fearful howl-half roar of fury-half yell of mortal anguish! With headlong violence they hauled upon the creaking rope, and dragged, with terrible impetuosity, out of the fearful cavern-his head striking the granite rocks, and his limbs fairly clattering against the rude projections, yet still with gallant hardihood retaining his good weapon-the sturdy woodman was whirled out into the open air unwounded; while the fierce brute within rushed after him to the very cavern's mouth, raving and roaring till the solid mountain seemed to shake and quiver. "As soon as he had entered the small chamber, he had perceived the glaring eyeballs of the monster; had taken his aim steadily between them, by the strong light of the flaring candles; and, as he said, had lodged his bullets fairly-a statement which was verified by the long-drawn and painful moanings of the beast within. After a while, these dread sounds died away, and all was still as death. Then once again, undaunted by his previous peril, the bold man-though, as he averred, he felt the hot breath of the monster on his face, so nearly had it followed him in his precipitate retreat-prepared to beard the savage in his hold. Again he vanished from our sight again his musket-shot roared like the voice of a volcano from the vitals of the rock!-again, at mighty peril to his bones, he was dragged into daylight!-but this time, maddened with wrath and agony, yelling with rage and pain, streaming with gore, and white with foam, which flew on every side, churned from his gnashing tusks, the Bear rushed after him. One mighty bound brought it clear out of the deep chasm-the bruised trunk of the daring hunter, and the confused group of men who had been stationed at the rope, and who were now, between anxiety and terror, floundering to and fro, hindering one another-lay within three or, at most, four paces of the frantic monster; while, to increase the peril, a wild and ill-directed volley, fired in haste and fear, was poured in by the watchers, the bullets whistling on every side, but with far greater peril to our friends than to the object of their aim. Tom drew his gun up coolly-pulled-but no spark replied to the unlucky flint. With a loud curse he dashed the useless musket to the ground, unsheathed his butcherknife, and rushed on to attack the wild beast, singlehanded. At the same point of time, I saw my sight, as I fetched up my riffe, in clear relief against the dark fur of the head, close to the root of the left ear!-my finger was upon the trigger, when, mortally wounded long before, exhausted by his dying effort the huge brute pitched headlong, without waiting for my shot, and, within ten feet of his destined victims, in one wild roar expired.' He had received all four of Michael's bullets!-the first shot had planted one ball in his lower jaw, which it had shattered fearfully, and another in his neck!—the second had driven one through the right eye into the very brain, and cut a long deep furrow on the crown with the other! Six hundred and odd pounds did he weigh! He was the largest, and the last! None of his shaggy brethren have visited, since his decease, the woods of Warwick!-nor shall I ever more, I trust, witness so dread a peril so needlessly encountered." GEORGE B. CHEEVER Was born April 17, 1807, at Hallowell, Maine. He was educated at Bowdoin and at Andover, and ordained pastor of the Howard Street Church, Salem, in 1832. In the same year he visited Europe, where he remained two years and a half. In 1839 he became pastor of the Allen Street Church, New York, and in 1846 of the Church of the Puritans, a beautiful edifice erected by a congregation formed of his friends, a position which he still retains. In 1844 he again visited Europe for a twelvemonth. Dr. Cheever's first publications were the American Common-Place-Book of Prose, in 1828, and a similar volume of Poetry in 1829. These were followed by Studies in Poetry, with Biographical Sketches of the Poets, in 1830, and in 1832 by Selections from Archbishop Leighton, with an introductory essay. In 1835 he acquired a wide reputation as an original writer by the publication of Deacon Giles's Distillery, a temperance tract, describing a dream in which the demoniacal effects of the spirits therein concocted were embodied in an inferno, which was forcibly described. It was published on a broadside, with rude cuts, by no means behind the text in energy. Deacon Giles was a veritable person, and not relishing the satire as well as his neighbors, brought an action, the result of which confined the author to the Salem jail for thirty days of the month of December. In 1837 Mr. Cheever gave some of the results of his European experiences to the public in the columns of the New York Observer. In 1841 he published God's Hand in America, and the year following The Argument for Punishment by Death, in maintenance of the penalty. In 1843, The Lectures on Pilgrim's Progress, which had been previously delivered with great success in his own church, were published. Whether owing to the writer's sympathy with Bunyan, from his own somewhat similar labors, dangers, and sufferings in the temperance cause, this volume is one of the ablest of his productions. On his return from his second visit to Europe he published The Wanderings of a Pilgrim in the Shadow of Mont Blanc and the Jungfrau Alp, a work which was favorably received. It was followed by The Journal of the Pilgrims at Plymouth, in New England, reprinted from the original volume, with Historical and Local Illustrations of Providences, Principles, and Persons. This volume consists of a reprint of the work usually known as "Mourt's Relation;" the remaining half of the volume being occupied with original remarks on the topics indicated in the title. In 1849 he issued The Hill Difficulty, and other Allegories, illustrative of the Christian career, which was followed by a somewhat similar work, The Windings of the River of the Water of Life. In addition to these volumes Dr. Cheever has written a number of articles for the United States Literary Gazette, Quarterly Register, New Monthly Magazine, North American Review, Quarterly Observer, and Biblical Repository. He edited during the years 1845 and 1846 the New York Evangelist, a Presbyterian weekly journal. PEDESTRIANISM IN SWITZERLAND. A man should always travel in Switzerland as a pedestrian, if possible. There is no telling how much more perfectly he thus communes with nature, how much more deeply and without effort he drinks in the spirit of the meadows, the woods, the running streams and the mountains, going by them and among them, as a friend with a friend. He seems to hear the very breath of Nature in her stillness, and sometimes when the whole world is hushed, there are murmurs come to him on the air, almost like the distant evening song of angels. Indeed the world of Nature is filled with quiet soul-like sounds, which, when one's attention is gained to them, make a man feel as if he must take his shoes from his feet and walk barefooted, in order not to disturb them. There is a language in Nature that requires not so much a fine ear as a listening spirit; just as there is a mystery and a song in religion, that requires not so much a clear understanding as a believing spirit. To such a listener and believer there comes A light in sound, a sound-like power in light, Not to love all things in a world so filled, The music of the brooks and waterfalls, and of the wind among the leaves, and of the birds in the air, and of the children at play, and of the distant villages, and of the tinkling pleasant bells of flocks upon the mountain sides, is all lost to a traveller in a carriage, or rumbling vehicle of any kind; whereas a pedestrian enjoys it, and enjoys it much more perfectly than a man upon a mule. Moreover, the pedestrian at every step is gaining health of body and elasticity of spirits. If he be troubled with weak lungs, let him carry his own knapsack, well strapped upon his shoulders; it opens and throws back the chest, and strengthens the weakest parts of the bodily system. Besides this, the air braces him better than any tonic. By day and by night it is an exhilarating cordial to him, a nepenthe to his frame. The pedestrian is a laboring man, and his sleep is sweet. He rises with the sun, or earlier, with the morning stars, so as to watch the breaking of the dawn. He lives upon simple food with an unsuspicious appetite. He hums his favorite tunes, peoples the air with castles, cons a passage in the gospels, thinks of the dear ones at home, cuts a cane, wanders in Bypath meadow, where there is no Giant Despair, sits down and jots in his note-book, thinks of what he will do, or whistles as he goes for want of thought. All day long, almost every faculty of mind and body may be called into healthful, cheerful exercise. He can make out-of-the-way excursions, go into the cottages, chat with the people, sketch pictures at leisure. He can pray and praise God when and where he pleases, whether he comes to a cross and sepulchre, or a church, or a cathedral, or a green knoll under a clump of trees, without cross, or saint, or angel; and if he have a Christian companion, they two may go together as pleasantly and profitably as Christian and Hopeful in the Pilgrim's Progress. ELEMENTS OF THE SWISS LANDSCAPE. Passing out through a forest of larches, whose dark verdure is peculiarly appropriate to it, and going up towards the baths of Leuk, the interest of the landscape does not at all diminish. What a concentration and congregation of all elements of sublimity and beauty are before you! what surprising contrasts of light and shade, of form and color, of softness and ruggedness! Here are vast heights above you, and vast depths below, villages hanging to the mountain sides, green pasturages and winding paths, chalets dotting the mountains, lovely meadow slopes enamelled with flowers, deep immeasurable ravines, torrents thundering down them; colossal, overhanging, castellated reefs of granite; snowy peaks with the setting sun upon them. You command a view far down over the valley of the Rhone, with its villages and castles, and its mixture of rich farms and vast beds and heaps of mountain fragments, deposited by furious torrents. What affects the mind very powerfully on first entering upon these scenes is the deep dark blue, so intensely deep and overshadowing, of the gorge at its upper end, and at the magnificent proud sweep of the granite barrier, which there shuts it in, apparently without a passage. The mountains rise like vast supernatural intelligences taking a material shape, and drawing around themselves a drapery of awful grandeur; there is a forehead of power and majesty, and the likeness of a kingly crown above it. Amidst all the grandeur of this scenery I remember to have been in no place more delighted with the profuse richness, delicacy, and beauty of the Alpine flowers. The grass of the meadow slopes in the gorge of the Dala had a depth and power of verdure, a clear, delicious greenness, that in its effect upon the mind was like that of the atmosphere in the brightest autumnal morning of the year, or rather, perhaps, like the colors of the sky |