ght over height, forest over
forest, away into the deep summer sky. To the right strutted forth the
bold promontory of Antony's nose, with a solitary eagle wheeling about it;
while beyond, mountain succeeded to mountain, until they seemed to lock
their arms together, and confine this mighty river in their embraces. In
the midst of his admiration, Dolph remarked a pile of bright snowy clouds
peering above the western heights. It was succeeded by another and
another, each seemingly pushing onward its predecessor, and towering with
dazzling brilliancy in the deep blue atmosphere; and now muttering peals
of thunder were faintly heard rolling behind the mountains. The river,
hitherto still and glassy, reflecting pictures of the sky and land, now
showed a dark ripple at a distance, as the breeze came creeping up it. The
fish-hawks wheeled and screamed, and sought their nests on the high dry
trees; the crows flew clamorously to the crevices of the rocks, and all
nature seemed conscious of the approaching thunder gust. The clouds now
rolled in volumes over the mountain tops; their summits still bright and
snowy, but the lower parts of an inky blackness. The rain began to patter
down in broad and scattered drops; the winds freshened, and curled up the
waves; at length it seemed as if the bellying clouds were torn open by the
mountain tops, and complete torrents of rain came rattling down. The
lightning leaped from cloud to cloud, and streamed quivering against the
rocks, splitting and rending the stoutest forest trees; the thunder burst
in tremendous explosions; the peals were echoed from mountain to mountain;
they clashed upon Dunderberg, and then rolled up the long defile of the
Highlands, each headland waking a new echo, until old Bull Hill seemed to
bellow back the storm.'

We think that no one who attentively reads the foregoing extracts can fail
to see the infinite superiority of the latter over the former, in every
thing that pertains to a faithful representation of nature. Irving has
given us the scene just as he saw it, unmixed with any hue or coloring
with which the mood of his own mind might have invested it. We see the
objects themselves, disconnected from the associations of the spectator.
Had there been a thousand persons looking on, each would have heard the
same sounds, and seen the same sights. There is nothing that is
extraneous. He has given us an exact copy of his original, and nothing
more. Thomson, on the co