fair stream,—how they hang in the most ver¬ 
dant and luxuriant masses of foliage ! What a 
soft, hazy, twilight floats about them ! What a 
slumberous calm rests upon them ! Slumberous 
did I say ? no, it is not slumberous ; it has nothing 
of sleep in its profound repose. It is the depth 
of a contemplative trance ; as if every tree were 
a Jiving, thinking spirit, lost in the vastness of 
some absorbing thought. It is the hush of a 
dream-land ; the motionless majesty of an en¬ 
chanted forest, bearing the spell of an irrefrag¬ 
able silence.” Pause here a moment, while 
we repeat a few lines, which this idea has 
brought to our memory ; we have hut to change 
the time from evening to night, and it will be 
exactly applicable:— 
“ Old trees by night are like men in thought, 
By poetry to silence wrought ; 
They stand so still, and they look so wise. 
With folded arms, and half shut eyes, 
More shadowy than the shade they cast 
W^n the wan moonlight on the river passed.” 
F. W. Fa iter. 
And now to continue our examination of the 
beauties of the prospect before us :—“ See over 
