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too singular to be mistaken, and I paused to hold serious council with myself. As I stood, I became more than ever sensible of the tomb-like silence in which I was. There was not the slightest sound of running water, whispering leaf, or the voice of any creature; the beating of my own heart, the ticking of my watch were alone heard. It was the deep stillness which has been felt there by others.

The watchmen from the castle top
Almost might hear an acorn drop,

It was so calm and still;
Might hear the stags in Hockwell groan,
And catch, by fits, the distant moan

Of King-garn's little rill.

The Red Kino.

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Whichever way I looked the forest stretched in one dense twilight. It was the very realisation of that appalling hush and bewildering continuity of shade so often described by travellers in the American woods. I had lost now all sense of any particular direction, and the only chance of reaching the outside of the wood was to go, as much as possible, in one direct line. Away then I went—but soon found myself entangled in the thickest underwood—actually overhead in rank weeds; now on the verge of an impassable bog, and NEW FOBEST.

now on that of a deep ravine. Fortunately for me the summer had been remarkably dry, and the ravines were dry too,—I could descend into them, and climb out on the other side. But the more I struggled on, the more I became confounded. Pausing to consider my situation, I saw a hairy face and a large pair of eyes fixed on me. Had it been a satyr, I felt that I should not have been surprised, it seemed so satyr-like a place. It was only a stag—which, with its head just above the tall fern, and its antlers amongst the boughs, looked very much like Kiihleborn of the Undine story. As I moved towards him he dashed away through the jungle, for so only could it be called, and I could long hear the crash of his progress. Ever and anon, huge swine with a fierce guffaw rushed from their lairs—one might have imagined them the wild boars of a German forest. At length I caught the tinkle of a cow-bell—a cheerful sound, for it must be in some open part of the forest, and from its distinctness not far distant. Thitherward I turned, and soon emerged into a sort of island in the sea of woods, a farm, like an American clearing. I sate down on a fallen tree to cool and rest myself, and was struck with the beauty of the place. These green fields lying so peacefully amid the woods, which, in one place pushed forward their scattered trees, in another retreated; here sprinkling them out thinly on the common, and there hanging their masses of dark foliage over a low hut or two. The quiet farm-house, too, surrounded by its belt of tall hollies; the flocks of geese dispersed over the short turf, and the cows coming home out of the forest to be milked; it was a most peaceful picture, and unlike all that citizens are accustomed to contemplate, except in Spenser or the German writers. These cow-bells too, have something in their sound so quaint and woodland. They are slung by a leathern strap from the neck of the leader, having neither sound nor shape of a common bell, but are like a tin cannister, with a ring at the bottom to suspend them by. They seem like the first rudimental attempt at a bell, and have a sound dull and horny rather than clear and ringing. The leaders of these herds are said to have a singular sagacity in tracking the woods and finding their way to particular spots and home again.— HoWitt's Rural Life.

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The weather, says Gilpin, is a fruitful source of incidental beauty to forest scenery, and there are few states of the weather which do not impress some peculiar and picturesque character on landscape, to which it gives the leading tint. A country is chiefly affected by the weather when it is hazy or misty, or when the sky is invested with some cold tints, or when the sun rises, or when it shines full at noon, or when it sets, or lastly, when the day is stormy. Each of these different states of the weather admits much variation.

The calm, overcast, soft day, such as these climates often produce in the beginning of autumn, hazy, mild and undisturbed, affords a beautiful medium, spreading over the woods a sweet, grey tint, which is especially favourable to their distant appearance. The internal parts of the forest receive little advantages from this hazy medium; but the various tuftings of distant woods are wonderfully softened by it; and many a form, and many a hue, which in the full

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