AUTUMN FROM BRAMBLE HILL. 143 



Less beautiful perhaps to the eye which delights 

 in the play of colour, but not less grand and im- 

 pressive than the scenes we have attempted to 

 describe, is the prospect which a few hours later 

 we obtain from the same high standpoint. There 

 is the most profound silence. Not even the cry 

 of the owl or the harsh note of the nightjar ! 

 Even the wind is perfectly still, and there is not 

 the slightest rustle of foliage, though an ocean of 

 leaves rolls away for miles into the night. It is 

 still the forest over which we look, and the trees 

 are sleeping under the moonbeams. Moonbeams ? 

 Never in our recollection has the silvery radiance 

 of the queen of the night excelled in brilliancy 

 the splendour of this evening. The sky, as we 

 have said, had been cloudy. But the clouds begin 

 rapidly to disperse as darkness creeps on, and 

 soon after the last fiery glow of the sun has 

 departed and night has fairly stolen over the 

 landscape, there is not one tiny speck of cloud to 

 dim the ethereal blueness of the vault of Heaven. 

 Then the great round moon in its full-orbed 

 grandeur slowly rises into the blue firmament, 

 paling the light of the stars and throwing a flood 

 of radiance over the expanse of rolling wood. 



