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merit “ by the magisterial pedagogue,” as Threlkeld 
quaintly observes, “ to drive the colt out of the man.” 
But this office appears so uncongenial with its elegant 
and gentle aspect, that we would gladly forget it. 
The birch is a beautiful appendage to mountainous and 
rocky scenery, where it may often be observed springing 
out of some tiny fissure, retaining its footing by so slight 
a hold that it seems hanging in air. It is truly a Scottish 
tree; and as such, with great propriety, Sir W. Scott 
gives it a place in his graphic description of Highland 
scenery: — 
“ With boughs that quaked at every breath, 
Grey birch and aspen wept beneath.” 
How frequently too is it introduced into the poetry of 
Burns, and under what alluring denominations, — “ the 
gay green birk,” “ the fragrant birk !” 
“ Down by the burn, where scented birks 
Wi* dew arc hanging clear.” 
“ The birks of Aberfeldy,” indeed, are almost as duly 
immortalised by his little sprightly song bearing that title, 
as even the “ mountain-daisy” itself by the pathetic 
stanzas he has addressed to it. It has been remarked, 
