184 BRAMBLES AND BAT LEAVES. 



Grandly whirl the seasons in their glorious march — grandly rolls 

 the great old world, round and round for ever and ever; now basking in 

 a blaze of light, now buried in deep winter gloom. Softly sometimes 

 tread the Seasons, softly on their velvet feet ; boldly some'dmes do they 

 dash along, effecting terrible revolutions with their invisible but potent 

 fingers. The astronomer finds in the progress of seasonal changes a 

 verification of his long-laboured theories ; the moralist, illustrations 

 of his choicest dogmas ; the poet, a series of symbols and images ; 

 and the observer of nature, pictures, pleasures, and pursuits innumer- 

 able. While man watches, the tide ebbs and flows, bearing upon its 

 surface the scattered leaves of the tree of life, on which, at every phase 

 of seasonal progression, are developed the emblems of incessant change. 

 To the naturalist the year unfolds a series of subjects for compavison 

 and observation, and, with a keen eye, he watches the footprints of 

 time for the instruction and delight afforded by a knowledge of the 

 changes of the out-door world, where 



" All is concentrated in a life intense, 

 Where not a beam, nor air, nor leaf is lost, 

 But hath a part of being, and a sense 

 Of that which is of all creator and defence." 



In a great city the true character of the soul is lost, and nature 

 becomes a dumb, unmeaning phantasy. How miserable the narrow 

 strip of dingy sky to the dread magnificence of heaven, when seen 

 from the green shoulder of some sky-cleaving hill ! How wretched 

 the monotony of brick walls, compared with the blue uplands, the 

 green meadows, the clustering woods, and the light fleecy clouds, 

 flinging their shadows upon the smiling landscape. How painful the 

 eternal roar, and dust, andtraflficin the narrow streets, compared with 

 the sweet voices, the sunny glades, the green canopies, the solemn 

 solitudes, and the life-inspiring breezes of nature ! And if we can- 

 not dwell upon the heathery hills, or in green shady nooks, let us 

 dwell amid rocks and cairns, and hold communion with nature in her 

 own rugged wilds. Better to be shaken and perilled by the rushing 

 storm, better to seek for music in the howling blast and swoop of the 

 tempest, or *' in the boom of the ocean when coming home ;" for there 

 the soul may drink in beauty, drawing its life from the broad and deep 

 current which sustains the growth of season upon season. 



