after another rolls by; I do not follow them; my eye rather rests on one particular spot. It is a tumulus, or barrow; brambles and wild sloes grow among its stones. Here is real poetry in nature. How do you think people in general interpret it? I will tell you what I heard only last night.
"First two rich farmers drove by. 'There are some fine trees,' said one. 'There are ten loads of wood in each,' answered the other. 'This will be a hard winter, and last winter we got fourteen dollars a cord,' and they were gone. 'This is a bad bit of road,' said the next man who drove along. 'It's those cursed trees,' answered his companion. 'You don't get a current of air, you only have the breeze from the sea,' and then they rolled by. Next, the diligence came along. The passengers were all asleep at the prettiest part of the road. The driver blew his horn; he only thought 'How well I am blowing it, and it sounds well here. I wonder what they think of it,' and then the diligence, too, was gone. The next to pass were two lads on horseback. Here we have youth and champagne in the blood, I thought. And, indeed, they looked with a smile at the moss-grown hill and the dark thicket. 'Shouldn't I like a walk here with the miller's Christine!' said one, and then they rushed on. The flowers scented the air, and every breeze was hushed; it looked as if the sea was a part of the heavens outspread over a deep valley. A carriage drove by in which were six travellers; four of them were asleep; the fifth was thinking of his new summer coat, and whether it became him. The sixth leant forward and asked the driver if there was anything remarkable about that heap of stones. 'No,' answered the man, 'it's only a heap of stones; but those trees are remarkable. 'Tell me about them.' 'Well, they are very remarkable; you see, sir, in winter when the snow lies deep, and every place looks alike, these trees are a landmark to me, and I know I must keep close to them so as not to drive into the sea. In that way, you see, they are remarkable:' then he drove on. Now an artist came along and his eyes sparkled; he did not say
