O cold and buoyant air, whose crystal fills
Heaven's amethystine gaol! O speeding streams
That foam and thunder from the cliffs below!
O slippery brinks and solitudes of snow
And granite bleakness, where the vulture screams!
O stormy pines, that wrestle with the breath
Of every tempest, sharp and icy horns
And hoary glaciers, sparkling in the morns,
And broad dim wonders of the world beneath!
I summon ye, and mid the glare that fills
The noisy mart, my spirit walks the hills."

* * * * *

GLADNESS OF NATURE.--Midnight--when asleep so still and
silent--seems inspired with the joyous spirit of the owls in
their revelry--and answers to their mirth and merriment through
all her clouds. The moping owl, indeed!--the boding owl,
forsooth! the melancholy owl, you blockhead! why, they are the
most cheerful, joy-portending, and exulting of God's creatures.
Their flow of animal spirits is incessant--crowing cocks are
a joke to them--blue devils are to them unknown--not one
hypochondriac in a thousand barns--and the Man-in-the-Moon
acknowledges that he never heard one utter a complaint.




_THE NOONING._