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tures of her beauty and grandeur — the forest-crowned 

 height ; the abrupt acclivity ; the sheltered valley ; 

 the deep glen ; the grassy glade ; and the silent 

 grove. Here are the lofty oak, the beech, that 

 " wreathes its old fantastic roots so high," the rust- 

 ling pine, and the drooping willow ; — the tree, that 

 sheds its pale leaves with every autumn, a fit emblem 

 of our own transitory bloom ; and the evergreen, with 

 its perennial shoots, instructing us, that " the wintry 

 blast of death kills not the buds of virtue." Here is 

 the thick shrubbery to protect and conceal the new- 

 made grave ; and there is the wild-flower creeping 

 along the narrow path, and planting its seeds in the 

 upturned earth. All around us there breathes a 

 solemn calm, as if we were in the bosom of a wil- 

 derness, broken only by the breeze as it murmurs 

 through the tops of the forest, or by the notes of the 

 warbler pouring forth his matin or his evening song. 

 Ascend but a few steps, and what a change of 

 scenery to surprise and delight us. We seem, as it 

 were in an instant, to pass from the confines of death, 

 to the bright and balmy regions of life. Below us 

 flows the winding Charles with its rippling current, 

 like the stream of time hastening to the ocean of 

 eternity. In the distance, the City, — at once the ob- 

 ject of our admiration and our love, — rears its proud 

 eminences, its glittering spires, its lofty towers, its 

 graceful mansions, its curling smoke, its crowded 

 haunts of business and pleasure, which speak to the 

 eye, and yet leave a noiseless loneliness on the ear. 

 Again we turn, and the wails of our venerable Uni- 

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