these, the last is the most expressive feature; it is that which gives character to the landscape, which imparts the shape and marks the boundary of the plain. If the prairie be small, its greatest beauty consists in the vicinity of the surrounding margin of woodland, which resembles the shore of a lake indented with deep vistas, like bays and inlets, and throwing out long points like capes and headlands, while occasionally these points approach so closely on either hand that the traveler passes through a narrow avenue or strait, where the shadows of the woodland fall upon his path, and then emerges again into another prairie.

4. Where the plain is large, the forest outline is seen in the far perspective like the dim shore when beheld at a distance from the ocean. The smaller prairies often resemble parks in which art has supplemented the work of nature. The eye sometimes roams over the green meadow without discovering a tree, a shrub or any object in the immense expanse but the wilderness of grass and flowers; while at another time the prospect is enlivened by groves, which are seen interspersed like islands, or by a tree standing solitary in the blooming desert.

V.

"These are the gardens of the desert; these
The unshorn fields, boundless and beautiful,
For which the speech of England has no name-
The prairies. . . . Lo! they stretch

In airy undulations far away,

As if the Ocean, in his gentle swell,

Motionless?

Stood still, with all his rounded billows fixed
And motionless for ever.
No; they are all unchained again. The clouds
Sweep over with their shadows, and, beneath,
The surface rolls and fluctuates to the eye;
Dark hollows seem to glide along and chase
The sunny ridges.

VI.

"Breezes of the south!

Who toss the golden and the flame-like flowers,
And pass the prairie-hawk, that, poised on high,
Flaps his broad wings yet moves not, ye have played
Among the palms of Mexico and vines

Of Texas, and have crisped the limpid brooks
That from the fountains of Sonora glide

Into the calm Pacific; have ye fanned

A nobler or a lovelier scene than this?

VII.

Man hath no part in all this glorious work;

The Hand that built the firmament hath heaved

And smoothed these verdant swells and sown their slopes
With herbage, planted them with island

groves

And hedged them round with forests-fitting floor

For this magnificent temple of the sky-

With flowers whose glory and whose multitude
Rival the constellations.

VIII.

"The great heavens

Seem to stoop down upon

the scene in love,

A nearer vault and of a tenderer blue

Than that which bends above the eastern hills.
As o'er the verdant waste I guide my steed,

Among the high, rank grass that sweeps his sides,
The hollow beating of his footsteps seems
A sacrilegious sound."

BRYANT.

SELECT ETYMOLOGIES.-Agitate: L. ag'ito, agita'tum, to put in motion; intens. of ag'o, ac'tum; h., co-gitate (L. co-gito for co-agito): v. EXACT. . . . Carpet: L. L. car'peta; fr. L. car'po, carp'tum, to pluck, to pluck wool, etc. Constellation: L. constella'tio; fr. con and stel'la, a star; h., stellar, etc. Emerge: L. mer'go, mer'sum, to dip, to plunge; h., emergency (lit., a rising out of a fluid; h., sudden uprisal or occasion), e-mergent, immerse, merge, sub-merge, etc. . . . Fluctuate: L. fluc'tuo, fluctua'tum; fr.

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flu'o, flux'um, to flow: v. INFLUENCE. Herbage: fr. L. her'ba, an herb, grass; h., herbaceous, etc. Immigrant: fr. L. im = in and migʼro, migra'tum, to remove from one place to another; h., e-migrant, migrate, migratory... Indent: fr. L. in and dens, tooth; h., dainty (a toothsome bit), dental, dentist, dentifrice (fric'o, I rub), dentition, in-denture, tri-dent (tri-, three), etc. . . . Landscape: A. S. landscipe; fr. land and the termination scipe ship, as in friendship, etc. . . . Margin : L. marʼgo, marʼginis, a brink or edge. . . . Multitude: L. multitu'do, multitu'dinis; fr. mul'tus, many.... Nature: L. nat'ura; fr. nas'cor, na'tus or gna'tus, to be born; h., cog-nate (kindred in origin, co= = con), in-nate, nascent, natal, nation, native, preter-natural, super-natural, etc. . . . Sacrilege: L. sacrileg'ium; fr. sacrileg'us, that steals sacred things; fr. să'cer, sac'ri, sacred, and le'go, lec'tum, to gather; fr. să'cer are con-secrate, de-secrate, ex-ecrate, sacerdotal, sacrament, sacred, sacrifice, etc. . . . Splendid: L. splen'didus; fr. splen'deo, I shine; h., re-splendent. . . . Surround: fr. sur sup'er, above, and round, fr. L. rotun'dus, fr. rot'a, a wheel; h., rotary, rotate, rotund. . Verdure: fr. the L. vir'idis, green; fr. vir'eo, to be green. L. vicin'itas; fr. vici'nus, near; fr. vi'cus, a row of houses.

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Vicinity:

LXXXVI.—THE RETURN OF RAVENSWOOD.

Scott's tragical story of "The Bride of Lammermoor" is founded almost literally on facts in the lives of Lord Rutherford (here called Ravenswood) and Janet Dalrymple (Lucy Ashton). These two solemnly plight their faith to each other to marry, and as a pledge of their troth they break a piece of gold together. Lucy's mother, imperious and selfwilled, finding a rich suitor for her daughter, urges her to write a letter of dismissal to Ravenswood, a poor though high-spirited nobleman, and consent to a union with Bucklaw. Lucy, driven to despair, at length yields, in the absence of Ravenswood, to the threats and entreaties of her mother. The marriage day has come. Bucklaw, the bridegroom, and Craigengelt, his parasite, Bide-the-bent, the clergyman, Lucy's parents and brother, are present. The marriage contract has been signed by all the parties except Lucy. The pen is placed in her hand, and just as she signs she hears the hasty tramp of a horse at the gate. "He is come!" she exclaims, with a faint shriek, and drops the pen. The following extract commences with the entrance of the returning Ravenswood on the scene.

1. HARDLY had Miss Ashton dropped the pen when the door flew open and the master of Ravenswood entered the apartment. Lockhard and another domestic, who had in vain attempted to oppose his passage through the gallery or antechamber, were seen standing on the threshold transfixed with surprise, which was instantly communicated to the whole party

in the state-room. The surprise of Colonel Douglas Ashton was mingled with resentment; that of Bucklaw with haughty and affected indifference; the rest, even Lady Ashton herself, showed signs of fear, and Lucy seemed stiffened to stone by this unexpected apparition. Apparition it might well be termed, for Ravenswood had more the appearance of one returned from the dead than of a living visitor.

2. He planted himself fully in the middle of the apartment opposite to the table at which Lucy was seated, on whom, as if she had been alone in her chamber, he bent his eyes with a mingled expression of deep grief and deliberate indignation. His dark-colored riding cloak, displaced from one shoulder, hung around one side of his person in the ample folds of the Spanish mantle. The rest of his rich dress was travel-soiled and deranged by hard riding. He had a sword by his side and pistols in his belt. His slouched hat, which he had not removed at entrance, gave additional gloom to his dark features, which, wasted by sorrow and marked by the ghastly look communicated by long illness, added to a countenance naturally somewhat stern and wild a fierce and even savage expression. The matted and disheveled locks of hair which escaped from under his hat, together with his fixed and unmoved posture, made his head more resemble that of a marble bust than that of a living man. He said not a single word, and there was a deep silence in the company for more than two minutes.

3. It was broken by Lady Ashton, who in that space partly recovered her natural audacity. She demanded to know the cause of this unauthorized intrusion. "That is a question, madam," said her son, "which I have the best right to ask, and I must request of the master of Ravenswood to follow me, where he can answer it at leisure." Bucklaw interposed, saying, "No man on earth should usurp his previous right in demanding an explanation from the master. Craigengelt," he added, in an undertone, "why do you stand staring as if you saw a ghost? Fetch me my sword from the gallery." "I will relinquish to none," said Colonel Ashton, "my right of