I know you do not love me; for your sisters
Have, as I do remember, done me wrong.
You have some cause; they have not.
Cor. No cause, no cause.

Lear. Am I in France?

Cor. In your own kingdom, sir.
Lear. Do not abuse me.

Phys. Be comforted, good madam ;—
Desire him to go in; trouble him no more
Till farther settling.

Cor. Will't please your highness walk?
Lear. You must bear with me;
Pray you now forget and forgive;
I am old and foolish.

LESSON XII.

Scenery at the Notch of the White Mountains.-Dwight.

Nor

THE Notch of the White Mountains is a phrase appropriated to a very narrow defile, extending two miles in length between two huge cliffs, apparently rent asunder by some vast convulsion of nature. This convulsion was, in my own view, that of the deluge. There are here, and throughout New England, no eminent proofs of volcanic violence, nor any strong exhibitions of the power of earthquakes. has history recorded any earthquake or volcano, in other countries, of sufficient efficacy to produce the phenomena of this place. The objects rent asunder are too great, the ruin is too vast and too complete, to have been accomplished by these agents. The change appears to have been effected when the surface of the earth extensively subsided; when countries and continents assumed a new face; and a general commotion of the elements produced a disruption of some mountains, and merged others beneath the common level of desolation. Nothing less than this will account for the sundering of a long range of great rocks, or rather of vast

!

mountains; or for the existing evidences of the immense forde, by which the rupture was effected.

The entrance of the chasm is formed by two rocks, standing perpendicularly, at the distance of twenty-two feet from each other; one about twenty feet in height, the other about twelve. Half of the space is occupied by a brook which is the head stream of the Saco; the other half, by the road. The stream is lost and invisible beneath a mass of fragments, partly blown out of the road, and partly thrown down by some great convulsion.

When we entered the Notch, we were struck with the wild and solemn appearance of every thing before us. The scale, on which all the objects in view were formed, was the scale of grandeur only. The rocks, rude and ragged in a manner rarely paralleled, were fashioned and piled by a hand operating only in the boldest and most irregular manner. As we advanced, these appearances increased rapidly. Huge masses of granite, of every abrupt form, and hoary with a moss which seemed the product of ages, speedily rose to a mountainous height. Before us, the view widened fast to the south-east. Behind us, it closed almost instantaneously, and presented nothing to the eye but an impassable barrier of mountains.

About half a mile from the entrance of the chasm, we saw, in full view, the most beautiful cascade, perhaps, in the world. It issued from a mountain on the right, about eight hundred feet above the subjacent valley, and at the distance from us of about two miles. The stream ran over a series of rocks almost perpendicular, with a course so little broken as to preserve the appearance of a uniform current, and yet so far disturbed as to be perfectly white. The sun shone with the clearest splendor, from a station in the heavens the most advantageous to our prospect; and the cascade glittered down the vast steep, like a stream of burnished silver.

At the distance of three quarters of a mile from the entrance, we passed a brook, known, in this region, by the name of the flume; from the strong resemblance to that object, exhibited by the channel, which it has worn, for a considerable length, in a bed of rocks; the sides being perpendicular to the bottom. This elegant piece of water we

determined to examine farther; and, alighting from our horses, we walked up the acclivity perhaps a furlong. The stream fell from a height of two hundred and forty, or two hundred and fifty, feet over three precipices; the second receding a small distance from the front of the first, and the third from that of the second. Down the first and second it fell in a single current; and down the third in three, which united their streams, at the bottom, in a fine basin, formed, by the hand of Nature, in the rocks immediately beneath us. It is impossible for a brook of this size to be modelled into more diversified or more delightful forms; or for a cascade to descend over precipices more happily fitted to finish its beauty.

The cliffs, together with a level at their foot, furnished a considerable opening, surrounded by the forest. The sunbeams, penetrating through the trees, painted here a great variety of fine images of light, and edged an equally numerous and diversified collection of shadows; both dancing on the waters, and alternately silvering and obscuring their course. Purer water was never seen. Exclusively of its murmurs, the world around us was solemn and silent. Every thing assumed the character of enchantment; and, had I been educated in the Grecian mythology, I should scarcely have been surprised to find an assemblage of Dryads, Naiads and Oreades, sporting on the little plain below our feet. The purity of this water was discernible, not only by its limpid appearance, and its taste, but from several other circumstances. Its course is wholly over hard granite; and the rocks and the stones, in its bed and at its side, instead of being covered with adventitious substances, were washed perfectly clean; and, by their neat appearance, added not a little to the beauty of the scenery.

From this spot the mountains speedily began to open with increased majesty; and, in several instances, rose to a perpendicular height little less than a mile. The bosom of both ranges was overspread, in all the inferior regions, by a mixture of evergreens with trees, whose leaves are deciduous. The annual foliage had been already changed by the frost. Of the effects of this change it is, perhaps, impossible for an

inhabitant of Great Britain to form an adequate conception, without visiting an American forest.

In this country, it is often among the most splendid beauties of nature. All the leaves of trees, which are not evergreens, are, by the first severe frost, changed from their verdure, towards the perfection of that color, which they are capable of ultimately assuming, through yellow, orange and red, to a pretty deep brown. As the frost affects different trees, and different leaves of the same tree, in very different degrees, a vast multitude of tinctures is commonly found on those of a single tree, and always on those of a grove or forest. These colors also, in all their varieties, are generally full; and, in many instances, are among the most exquisite, which are found in the regions of nature. Different sorts of trees are susceptible of different degrees of this beauty. Among them, the maple is preeminently distinguished by the prodigious varieties, the finished beauty, and the intense lustre of its hues; varying through all the dyes between a rich green and the most perfect crimson, or, more definitely, the red of the prismatic image.

I have remarked, that the annual foliage on these mountains, had been already changed by the frost. Of course, the darkness of the evergreens was finely illumined by the brilliant yellow of the birch, the beech and the cherry, and the more brilliant orange and crimson of the maple. The effect of this universal diffusion of gay and splendid light, was, to render the preponderating deep green more solemn. The mind, encircled by this scenery, irresistibly remembered, that the light was the light of decay, autumnal and melancholy. The dark was the gloom of evening, approximating to night. Over the whole, the azure of the sky cast a deep, misty blue; blending, towards the summit, every other hue, and predominating over all.

As the eye ascended these steeps, the light decayed, and gradually ceased. On the inferior summits rose crowns of conical firs and spruces. On the superior eminences, the trees, growing less and less, yielded to the chilling atmosphere, and marked the limit of forest vegetation. Above, the surface was covered with a mass of shrubs, terminat.

ing, at a still higher elevation, in a shroud of dark-colored

moss.

As we passed onward, through this singular valley, occasional torrents, formed by the rains and dissolving snows, at the close of winter, had left behind them, in many places, perpetual monuments of their progress, in perpendicular, narrow and irregular paths, of immense length, where they had washed the precipices naked and white, from the summit of the mountain to the base. Wide and deep chasms also met the eye, both on the summits and the sides; and strongly impressed the imagination with the thought, that a hand of immeasurable power had rent asunder the solid rocks, and tumbled them into the subjacent valley. Over all, hoary cliffs, rising with proud supremacy, frowned awfully on the world below, and finished the landscape.

By our side, the Saco was alternately visible and lost, and increased, almost at every step, by the junction of tributary streams. Its course was a perpetual cascade; and, with its sprightly murmurs, furnished the only contrast to the scenery around us,

LESSON XIII.

"The Fashion of this World passeth away."-Pierpont.

THE earth, and all that dwell upon the face of it, speak a language that is in mournful and melancholy accordance with that of an apostle-"The fashion of this world passeth away." A testimony, thus concurrent, is solemn, and we cannot distrust it. It is eloquent, and we cannot but feel it. We are wise if we open our eyes and our ears to the evidence, which nature gives to the truths of revelation, and labor that we may impress distinctly and deeply upon our minds the moral lessons, which that evidence is calculated to enforce.

The mournful, but gentle voice of Autumn, invites us forth, that we may see, for ourselves, how the fashion of this world is passing away, in regard to the dress in which it so lately