A CHAT ABOUT PLANTS. 151 



The silvery trunk of some white birch, with "boughs so 

 pendulous and fair" begins already to gleam among the 

 underwood, when he leaves behind him the aspen with its 

 ever-quivering leaves, which almost shed a sense of breezy 

 coolness through the sultry day. 



His next step leads him into the dark woods of truly 

 northern trees : pines, firs, and larches. Their dense shade 

 fills his soul with sombre thoughts ; the gentle murmuring 

 of their boughs sounds to his ear like low complaint, and 

 even the sweet aroma that perfumes the air, brings with 

 it he knows not why feelings of vague pain and sorrow. 

 He gazes up with amazement at the tallest of the tall, 

 worthy to be 



"Hewn on Norwegian hills, to be the mast of some tall admiral," 



and sees in its heaven-aspiring branches and ever-joyous 

 verdure, the true symbol of his own glorious immortality. 

 Now, as he mounts still higher, trees grow fewer and 

 fewer; low bushes stand scattered about, forlorn outposts 

 of their happier brethren below ; they also soon venture 

 no higher, and low but fragrant herbs alone remain to 

 greet his eye and cheer him on his way upward. At 

 last he reaches the eternal snow, that knows no season 

 and no change, and stands in unsullied purity, dazzling 

 white, high in the clear blue ether. All traces of life are 

 left behind he stands there alone in the awful, silent soli- 

 tude, alone in the presence of his Maker. Thus he has 

 seen in rapid succession, and in a few short hours, what 

 it would have cost him months to behold, had he travel- 



