The pensile character of its foliage has obtained for it 
the designation of “ the weeping birch.” We are here 
reminded of a glowing passage (in the article on trees, 
before referred to) denying the applicability of such an 
epidiet to any thing in inanimate nature. “ That stem, 
white as silver and smooth as silk, seen so straight in 
the green sylvan light, and thus airily overarching the 
coppice with lambent tresses such as fancy might picture 
for the mermaid’s hair, is said by us, who vainly 
attribute our own sadness, to belong to a tree that weeps; 
though a weight of joy it is, and of exceeding gladness, 
that thus depresses her pendant beauty till it droops, as 
we think, like that of a being overcome with grief.” 
We are glad the eloquent writer does not quarrel with 
Fancy, for attributing to inanimate objects feelings and 
passions in common with sentient beings, but merely with 
this particular appropriation of them. His creed, 
perhaps, is, — 
“ In nature there is nothing melancholy; ” 
yet as uninterrupted happiness is not the lot of the most 
favoured of mortals, we i - ob natui’e of her dearest 
charm of companionship, if we may not call on her to 
sympathise with us in sorrow as well as in joy. 
