JULY. 187 



lustre, through the balmy night air — with a fancy 

 that kindles and soars into the heavens before 

 him ; there, that we have all felt the charm of 

 woods and green fields, and solitary boughs 

 waving in the golden sunshine, or darkening 

 in the melancholy beauty of evening shadows. 

 Who has not thought how beautiful was the 

 sight of a village congregation, pouring out from 

 their old grey church on a summer day, and 

 streaming off through the quiet meadows, in all 

 directions to their homes ? Or who that has 

 visited Alpine scenery, has not beheld with a 

 poetic feeling, the mountaineers come winding 

 down out of their romantic seclusions on a sab- 

 bath morning, pacing the solitary heath-tracks, 

 bounding with elastic step down the fern-clad 

 dells, or along the course of a riotous stream, 

 as cheerful, as picturesque, and yet as solemn 

 as the scenes around them ? 



Again I say, I love field-paths, and stiles of 

 all species, ay, even the most inaccessible piece 

 of rustic erection ever set up in defiance of age, 

 laziness, and obesity. How many scenes of 

 frolic and merry confusion have I seen at a 

 clumsy stile ! What exclamations ! and blushes, 

 and fine eventual vaulting on the part of the 

 ladies ! and what an opportunity does it afford 

 to beaux of exhibiting a variety of gallant and 

 delicate attentions ! I consider a rude stile as 



