thinly covered rock, over which its
roots wander afar in the wildest reticulation, whilst its tall,
furrowed, and often gracefully sweeping red and grey trunk, of enormous
circumference, rears aloft its high umbrageous canopy, then would the
greatest sceptic on this point be compelled to prostrate his mind before
it with a veneration which perhaps was never before excited in him by
any other tree." The colour of the pine has been objected to as
murky--and murky it often is, or seems to be; and so then is the colour
of the heather, and of the river, and of the loch, and of the sky itself
thunder-laden, and murkiest of all are the clouds. But a stream of
sunshine is let loose, and the gloom is confounded with glory; over all
that night-like reign the jocund day goes dancing, and the forest revels
in green or in golden light. Thousands and tens of thousands of pines
are there, and as you gaze upon the whole mighty array, you fear, lest
it might break the spell, to fix your gaze on any one single tree. But
there are trees there that will force you to look on themselves alone,
and they grow before your eyes into the kings of the forest. Straight
stand their stems in the sunshine, and you feel that as straight have
they stood in the storm. As yet you look not up, for your heart is awed,
and you see but the stately columns reddening away into the gloom. But
all the while you feel the power of the umbrage aloft, and when
thitherwards you lift your eyes, what a roof to such a cathedral! A cone
drops at your feet--nor other sound nor other stir--but afar off you
think you hear a cataract. Inaudible your footsteps on the soft yellow
floor, composed of the autumnal sheddings of countless years. Then it is
true that you can indeed hear the beating of your own heart; you fear,
but know not what you fear; and being the only living creature there,
you are impressed with a thought of death. But soon to that severe
silence you are more than reconciled; the solitude, without ceasing to
be sublime, is felt to be solemn and not awful, and ere long, utter as
it is, serene. Seen from afar, the forest was one black mass; but as you
advance, it opens up into spacious glades, beautiful as gardens, with
appropriate trees of gentler tribes, and ground-flowering in the sun.
But there is no murmur of bee--no song of bird. In the air a thin
whisper of insects--intermittent--and wafted quite away by a breath. For
we are now in the very centre of the fo