of tangled webs in the air, and covering our clothes, as we walk in the fields, as with cotton. These little 
creatures, the gossamer spiders, it has long been known, have the faculty of throwing out several of their 
threads on each side, which serve them as a balloon to buoy them up into the air. With these they sail 
into the higher regions of the atmosphere, or return with great velocity. By recent experiments, it appears 
that the spider and its web are not, as it was supposed, of less specific gravity than the air, and by that 
means ascend. The phenomenon has been supposed to be electrical, but this is doubtful: it yet requires 
explanation. 
There is now a brightness of the sky, and a diaphanous purity of the atmosphere, at once surprising 
and delightful. We remark with astonishment how perfectly and distinctly the whole of the most extensive 
landscape lies in varied, solemn beauty before us; while, such is the reposing stillness of nature, that not a 
sound disturbs the sunny solitude, save perhaps the clapping of pigeons’ wings as they rise from the 
stubbles. The clearness of vision may partly arise from the paucity of vapour ascending from the ground 
at this dry season, and partly from the eye being relieved from the intensity of splendour with which it is 
oppressed in summer ; but be it what it may, the fact has not escaped one of our most beautiful poets. 
There is a harmony 
In autumn, and a lustre in its sky, 
Which through the summer is not heard nor seen, 
As if it could not be, as if it had not been. 
Now it is delightful among mountains. Mountains! how one’s heart leaps up at the very word! 
There is a charm connected with mountains, so powerful that the merest mention of them, the merest 
sketch of their magnificent features, kindles the imagination, and carries the spirit at once into the bosom 
of their enchanted regions. How the mind is filled with their vast solitude! how the inward eye is fixed 
on their silent, their sublime, their everlasting peaks! How our heart bounds to the music of their solitary 
cries, to the tinkle of their gushing rills, to the sound of their cataracts. How inspiriting are the odours 
that breathe from the upland turf, from the rock-hung flower, from the hoary and solemn pine! how 
beautiful are those lights and shadows thrown abroad, and that fine transparent haze which is diffused over 
the valleys and lower slopes, as over a vast, inimitable picture! 
At this season of the year the ascents of our own mountains are become most practicable. The heat 
of summer has dried up the moisture with which winter rains saturate the spongy turf of the hollows; and 
the atmosphere, clear and settled, admits of the most extensive prospects. Whoever has not ascended our 
mountains, knows little of the beauties of this beautiful island. Whoever has not climbed their long and 
heathy ascents and seen the trembling mountain-flowers, the glowing moss, the richly tinted lichens at his 
feet; and scented the fresh aroma of the uncultivated sod, and of the spicy shrubs; and heard the bleat of 
the flock across their solitary expanses, and the wild cry of the mountain-plover, the raven, or the eagle; 
and seen the rich and russet hues of distant slopes and eminences, the livid gashes of ravines and preci- 
pices, the white glittering line of falling waters, and the cloud tumultuously whirling round the lofty 
summit; and then stood panting on that summit, and beheld the clouds alternately gather and break over 
a thousand giant peaks and ridges of every varied hue, — but all silent as images of eternity; and cast his 
gaze over lakes and forests, and smoking towns, and wide lands to the very ocean, in all their gleaming and 
reposing beauty; — knows nothing of the treasures of pictorial wealth which his own country possesses. 
We delight to think of the people of mountainous regions; we please our imaginations with their 
picturesque and quiet abodes ; with their peaceful secluded lives, striking and unvarying costumes, and 
primitive manners. We involuntarily give to the mountaineer heroic and elevated qualities. He lives 
amongst noble objects, and must imbibe some of their nobility ; he lives amongst the elements of poetry, 
and must be poetical; he lives where his fellow-beings are far, far separated from their kind, and surrounded 
by the sternness and the perils of savage nature ; his social affections must therefore be proportionably 
concentrated, his home-ties lively and strong; but, more than all, he lives within the barriers, the strong- 
holds, the very last refuge which Nature herself has reared to preserve alive liberty in the earth, to preserve 
to man his highest hopes, his noblest emotions, his dearest treasures, his faith, his freedom, his hearth and 
his home. How glorious do those mountain-ridges appear when we look upon them as the unconquerable 
abodes of free hearts ; as the stern, heaven-built walls from which the few, the feeble, the persecuted, the 
despised, the helpless child, the delicate woman, have from age to age, in their last perils, in all their weak- 
nesses and emergencies, when power and cruelty were ready to swallow them up, looked down and beheld 
the million waves of despotism break at their feet : — have seen the rage of murderous armies, and tyrants, 
the blasting spirit of ambition, fanaticism, and crushing domination recoil from their bases in despair ! — 
“Thanks be to God for mountains!” is often the exclamation of my heart as I trace the History of the 
World; from age to age, they have been the last friends of man. In a thousand extremities they have saved 
him. What great hearts have throbbed in their defiles from the days of Leonidas to those of Andreas Hofer! 
What lofty souls, what tender hearts, what poor and persecuted creatures have they sheltered in their stony 
bosoms from the weapons and tortures of their fellow-men ! 
