Fame which is a Religious Temple, an image of the Scoffer. We heard one with a loud voice cry-where there was none to answer him-"This world knows nothing of what Byron thought about the next-the friends with whom he walked here knew not if he be

lieved in a hereafter-the great poet, perhaps, had not made np his mind on the subject,-it matters not-up with him beside Milton."

We think on a sublime passage in Pollok's Course of Time.

"Take one example, to our purpose quite.
A man of rank, and of capacious soul,
Who riches had and fame, beyond desire,
An heir of flattery, to titles born,
And reputation, and luxurious life.
Yet, not content with ancestorial name,
Or to be known because his fathers were ;
He on this height hereditary stood,
And gazing higher, purposed in his heart
To take another step. Above him seemed
Alone the mount of song, the lofty seat
Of canonized bards; and thitherward,
By nature taught, and inward melody,
In prime of youth he bent his eagle eye.

No cost was spared. What books he wished, he read;
What sage to hear, he heard; what scenes to see,
He saw. And first in rambling schoolboy days
Britannia's mountain-walks, and heath-girt lakes,
And story-telling glens, and founts, and brooks,
And maids, as dew-drops pure and fair, his soul
With grandeur filled, and melody and love.
Then travel came, and took him where he wished.
He cities saw, and courts and princely pomp;
And mused alone on ancient mountain-brows;
And mused on battle-fields, where valour fought
In other days; and mused on ruins gray
With years; and drank from old and fabulous wells;
And plucked the vine that first-born prophets plucked;
And mused on famous tombs, and on the wave

Of Ocean mused, and on the desert waste.
The heavens and earth of every country saw,
Where'er the old inspiring Genii dwelt,

Aught that could rouse, expand, refine the soul,
Thither he went, and meditated there.

He touched his harp, and nations heard entranced.

As some vast river of unfailing source,

Rapid, exhaustless, deep, his numbers flowed,
And opened new fountains in the human heart.
Where Fancy halted, weary in her flight,
In other men, his, fresh as morning rose,

And soared untrodden heights, and seemed at home,
Where angels bashful looked. Others, though great,
Beneath their argument seemed struggling whiles;
He from above descending, stooped to touch
The loftiest thought: and proudly stooped, as though
It scarce deserved his verse. With Nature's self
He seemed an old acquaintance, free to jest

At will with all her glorious majesty.
He laid his hand upon "the Ocean's mane,"
And played familiar with his hoary locks:
Stood on the Alps, stood on the Apennines,
And with the thunder talked, as friend to friend;
And wove his garland of the lightning's wing,
In sportive twist, the lightning's fiery wing,
Which, as the footsteps of the dreadful God
Marching upon the storm in vengeance, seemed;
Then turned, and with the grasshopper, who sung

His evening song beneath his feet conversed.
Suns, moons, and stars, and clouds, his sisters were;
Rocks, mountains, meteors, seas, and winds, and storms,
His brothers, younger brothers, whom he scarce
As equals deemed. All passions of all men,
The wild and tame, the gentle and severe;
All thoughts, all maxims, sacred and profane;
All creeds, all seasons, Time, Eternity;
All that was hated, and all that was dear:
All that was hoped, all that was feared, by man,
He tossed about, as tempest-withered leaves;
Then smiling, looked upon the wreck he made.
With terror now he froze the cowering blood,
And now dissolved his heart in tenderness;
Yet would not tremble, would not weep himself:
But baek into his soul retired, alone,

Dark, sullen, proud, gazing contemptuously
On hearts and passions prostrate at his feet.
So Ocean from the plains, his waves had late
To desolation swept, retired in pride,
Exulting in the glory of his might,

And seemed to mock the ruin he had wrought.

"As some fierce comet of tremendous size, To which the stars did reverence as it pass'd, So he through learning and through fancy, took His flights sublime, and on the loftiest top

Of Fame's dread mountain sat; not soiled and worn, As if he from the earth had laboured up;

But as some bird of heavenly plumage fair,

He looked, which down from higher regions came,
And perched it there, to say what lay beneath.

"The nations gazed, and wondered much,and praised. Critics before him in humble plight,

Confounded fell, and made debasing signs

To catch his eye; and stretched and swelled themselves To bursting nigh, to utter bulky words

Of admiration vast; and many too,

Many that aimed to imitate his flight,

With weaker wing, unearthly fluttering made,

And gave abundant sport to after days.

"Great man! the nations gazed, and wondered much,

And praised; and many called his evil good.

Wits wrote in favour of his wickedness;
And kings to do him honour took delight.
Thus, full of titles, flattery, honour, fame,
Beyond desire, beyond ambition, full,

He died-he died of what? of wretchedness.

Drank every cup of joy, heard every trump

Of fame, drank early, deeply drank, drank draughts That common millions might have quenched; then died

Of thirst, because there was no more to drink.

His goddess, Nature, wooed, embraced, enjoyed,
Fell from his arms, abhorred; his passions died;
Died all but dreary solitary pride;

And all his sympathies in being died.

As some ill guided bark, well-built and tall,
Which angry tides cast out on desert shore,
And then retiring left it there to rot

And moulder in the winds and rains of heaven;
So he cut from the sympathies of life,

And cast ashore from pleasure's boisterous surge,
A wandering, weary, worn and wretched thing,

A scorched, and desolate, and blasted soul,
A gloomy wilderness of dying thought,-
Repined and groaned, and withered from the earth.
His groanings filled the land his numbers filled;
And yet he seemed ashamed to groan. Poor man!
Ashamed to ask, and yet he needed help."

We wish we were safe down. There is no wind here yet-none to speak of

Where's the Sun? We know not Swainson-and our brother Jamesin what airth to look for him, for we and all shepherds. Little suspects he take it that we have been lying under who is lying so near him with a long this rock in a reverie for some hours, pole. Our snuffy suit is of a color and who knows but it may now be with the storm-strained granite—and if afternoon. It is almost dark enough he walks this way he shall get a buffor evening-but if it be not far on in fet. And he is walking this waythe day then we shall have thunder. his head up, and his tail down-not One o'clock. Usually the brightest hopping like a filthy raven-but one hour of all the twelve-but any thing foot before the other-like a man— but bright at this moment-can there like a King. We do not altogether be an eclipse going on an earthquake like it-it is rather alarming-he may at his toilette-or merely a brewing of not be an Eagle after all-but somestorm? Let us consult our almanac. thing worse" Hurra! you Sky-scrapNo eclipse set down for to-day-the er! Christopher is upon you! take old earthquake dwells in the neigh- that, and that, and that"-all one bourhood of Comrie, and has never tumbling scream, there he goes over been known to journey thus far north the edge of the cliff. Dashed to -besides he has for some years been death-but impossible for us to get bed-ridden; argal there is about to be the body. Whew! dashed to death a storm. What a fool of a land-tor- indeed! There he wheels, all on fire, toise were we to crawl up to the top round the thunder gloom. It is elecof a mountain when we might have tric matter in the atmosphere or fear taken our choice of half-a-dozen glens and wrath that illumine his wings? with cottages in them every other mile, and a village at the end of each with a comfortable Change-house! And up which of its sides was it that we crawled! Not this one-for it is as steep as a church-and we never in our life peeped over the brink of an uglier abyss. Ay, Mister Merlin, tis wise of you to be flying home into your crevice put your head below your wing, and do cease that cry--Croak! croak! croak! Where is the sooty sinner? We hear he is on the wing-but he either sees or smells us, probably both, and the horrid gurgle in his throat is choked by some cloud.-Surely that was the sughing of wings! A Bird! alighted within fifty yards of us and from his mode of folding his wings-an Eagle! This is too much -within fifty yards of an Eagle on his own mountain top. Is he blind? Age darkens even an Eagle's eyes but he is not old-for his plumage is perfect and we see the glare of his far-keekers as he turns his head over his shoulder and regards his eyrie on the cliff. We would not shoot him for a thousand a year for life. Not old-how do we know that? Because he is a creature who is young at a hundred SO says Audubon and

but there is wind enough, to all appearance, in the region towards the west. The main body of the clouds is falling back on the reserve-and observing that movement the right wing deploys as for the left it is broken, and its retreat will soon be a flight. Fear is contagious-the whole army has fallen into irremediable disorder has abandoned its commanding position-and in an hour will be selfdriven into the sea. We call that a Panic.

Glory be to the corps that covers the retreat. We see now the cause of that retrograde movement. In the north-west, "far off its coming shore," and "in numbers without number numberless," lo! the adverse Host! Thrown out in front the beautiful rifle brigade comes swiftly on, extending in open order along the vast plain between the aerial Pinemountains to yon Fire-cliffs. The enemy marches in masses-the space between the divisions now widening aud now narrowing-and as sure as we are alive to hear the sound of trumpets. The routed army has rallied and re-appears-and hark! on the

extreme left a cannonade. Never before had the Unholy Alliance a finer park of artillery-and now its fire opens from the great battery in the centre, and the hurly-burly is general far and wide over the whole field of battle.

All this may be very fine-but these lead drops dancing on our hat tell us to take up our pole and be off, for that by and by the waters will be in flood, and we may have to pass a night on the mountain. Down we go.

We do not call this the same side of the mountain we crawled up? If we do, we lie. There, all was purple except what was green-and we were happy to be a heathered legged body, occasionally skipping like a grasshopper on turf. Here, all rocks save stones. Get out of the way ye ptarmigans. We hate shingles from the bottom of our oh! dear! oh! dear! but this is painful sliddering on shingle away down what is any thing but an inclined plane-feet foremost-accompanied with rattling debris-at railroad speed-every twenty yards or so dislodging a stone as big as oneself, who instantly joins the procession, and they there they go hopping and jumping along with us, some before,some at each side, and, we shudder to think of it, some behind-well somersetted over our head, thou Grey Wacké-but mercy on us, and forgive us our sins, for if this last, in another minute we are all at the bottom of that pond of pitch.

haps, but in a human light, far preferable to a "brown horror." No sulphureous smell the air is balm." No sultriness-how cool the circulating medium! In our youth, when we had wings on our feet-and were a feathered Mercury-Cherub we never were nor Cauliflower-by flying in our weather-wisdom from glen to glen, we have made one day a whole week-with, at the end, a Sabbath. For all over the really mountainous region of the Highlands, every glen has its own indescribable kind of day

all vaguely comprehended under the One Day that may happen to be uppermost-and Lowland meteorologists meeting in the evening after a long absence-having perhaps parted that morning--on comparing notes lose their temper, and have been even known to proceed to extremities in defence of facts well-established of a most contradictory and irreconcilable nature.

you deaf?

Here is an angler fishing with the fly. In the glen beyond that range he would have used the minnow-and in the huge hollow behind our friends to the South-east, he might just as well try the bare hook-though it is not universally true that trouts don't rise when there is thunder. Let us see how he throws. What a cable! Flies! Tufts of heather. Hollo, you there; friend, what sport? What sport we say? No answer; are Dumb! He flourishes his flail and is mute. Let us try what a whack on the back may elicit. Down he flings it, and staring on us with a pair of most extraordinary eyes, and a beard like a goat, is off like a shot. Alas! we have frightened the wretch out of his few poor wits, and he may kill himself among the rocks. He is indeed an idiot-deaf and dumb. We remember seeing him near this very spot forty years ago and he was not young then they often live to extreme old age. No wonder he was terrified

Here we are sitting! How we were brought to assume this rather uneasy posture we do not pretend to say. We confine ourselves to the fact. Sitting! beside a Tarn. Our escape appears to have been little less than miraculous, and must have been mainly owing, under Providence, to our pole. Who's laughing! Tis you, you old Witch, in hood and cloak, crouching on the cliff, as if you were warming your hands at the fire. Hold your tongue-and you for we are duly sensible of the outrè may sit there to all eternity if you tout ensemble we must have suddenly choose-you cloud-ridden hag! No exhibited in the glimmer that visits -there will be a blow-up some day- those weak red eyes-he is an albino. as there evidently has been here before That whack was rash, to say the least now-but no more Geology-from the of it-our pole was too much for him— tarn, who is a tarnation deep 'un, runs but we hear him whining-and moana rill, and he offers to be our guide ing-and, good God! there he is on down to the Low Country. his knees with hands clasped in supplication-"dinna kill me dinna kill me

Why, this does not look like the same day. No gloom here-but a green serenity-not so poetical per

'am silly-'am silly-and folk say 'am auld-auld—auld.”

The harmless creature is convinced of water on the brain will do it-so wise we are not going to kill him-takes physicians say, and we believe it. For from our hand what he calls his fishing all that, the brain is not a soul. He rod and tackle and laughs like an owl. takes the food with a kind of howl,— Ony meat-ony meat-ony meat?" and carries it away to some distance, Yes, innocent, there is some meat in muttering "a aye eats by mysel!" this wallet, and you and I shall have He is saying grace! And now he is our dinner." "Ho! ho! ho! ho! a eating like an animal. Tis a saying smelled, a smelled! A can say the of old, "Their lives are hidden with Lords Prayer." "What's your name, God." my man?" "Daft Doogy the Haveril." "Sit down, Dugald."

A sad mystery all this-a few drops

Let us read a page of Pollok. Here is a sublime passage.

"Wisdom took up her harp, and stood in place
Of frequent concourse, stood in every gate,
By every way, and walked in every street:
And lifting up her voice proclaimed: 'Be wise,
Ye fools! be of an understanding heart;
Forsake the wicked, come not near his house,
Pass by, make haste, depart and turn away.
Me follow, me, whose days are pleasantness,
Whose paths are peace whose end is perfect jcy.'
The seasons came and went, and went and came,
To teach men gratitude and as they passed,
Gave warning of the lapse of time that else,
Had stolen unheeded by. The gentle flowers
Retired, and stooping o'er the wilderness,
Talked of humility, and peace, and love.
The dews came down unseen at evening tide,
And silently their bounties shed, to teach
Mankind unostentatious charity.

With arm in arm the forest rose on high,
And lesson gave of brotherly regard.
And on the rugged mountain-brow exposed,
Bearing the blast alone, the ancient oak
Stood, lifting high his mighty arm and stil!
To courage in distress exhorted loud.

The flocks, the herds, the birds, the streams,the breeze,
Attuned the heart to melody and love.

Mercy stood in the cloud with eye that wept
Essential love! and from her glorious bow
Bending to kiss the earth in token of peace,
With her own lips, her gracious lips which God
Of sweetest accent made, she whispered still,
She whispered to Revenge, Forgive, forgive.
The Sun rejoicing round the earth announced
Daily the wisdom, power, and love of God.
The Moon awoke, and from her maiden face,
Shedding her cloudy locks, looked meekly forth,
And with her virgin stars walked in the heavens,
Walked nightly there, conversing, as she walked,
Of purity, and holiness, and God.

In dreams and visions, sleep instructed much.
Day uttered speech to day, and night to night
Taught knowledge. Silence had a tongue; the grave,
The darkness, and the lonely waste, had each
A tongue that ever said, Man! think of God!
Think of thyself! think of eternity!-

Fear God, the thunders said, Fear God, the waves.
Fear God, the lightning of the storm replied.
Fear God, deep loudly answered back to deep:
And in the temples of the Holy One,

Messiah's messengers, the faithful few,
Faithful among many false, the Bible opened,