changing into purple, one tree more or less advanced contrasted with
another. The profusion with which Nature has decked them with
pendant honours, prevents all surprise at seeing in every crevice
some sapling struggling for existence. Vast masses of stone are
thus encircled, and roots torn up by the storms become a shelter for
a young generation. The pine and fir woods, left entirely to
Nature, display an endless variety; and the paths in the woods are
not entangled with fallen leaves, which are only interesting whilst
they are fluttering between life and death. The grey cobweb-like
appearance of the aged pines is a much finer image of decay; the
fibres whitening as they lose their moisture, imprisoned life seems
to be stealing away. I cannot tell why, but death, under every
form, appears to me like something getting free to expand in I know
not what element--nay, I feel that this conscious being must be as
unfettered, have the wings of thought, before it can be happy.

Reaching the cascade, or rather cataract, the roaring of which had a
long time announced its vicinity, my soul was hurried by the falls
into a new train of reflections. The impetuous dashing of the
rebounding torrent from the dark cavities which mocked the exploring
eye produced an equal activity in my mind. My thoughts darted from
earth to heaven, and I asked myself why I was chained to life and
its misery. Still the tumultuous emotions this sublime object
excited were pleasurable; and, viewing it, my soul rose with renewed
dignity above its cares. Grasping at immortality--it seemed as
impossible to stop the current of my thoughts, as of the always
varying, still the same, torrent before me; I stretched out my hand
to eternity, bounding over the dark speck of life to come.

We turned with regret from the cascade. On a little hill, which