Wandering thus, through the fields, with Sabbath influences all around us, it is impossible not to be grateful and devout. A holy calm steals upon the mind--a heavenly beatitude, akin to that of angels and the spirits of just men made perfect. "Oh Scotland! much I love thy tranquil dales; But most on Sabbath eve, when low the sun Slants through the upland copse, 'tis my delight, Wandering and stopping oft, to hear the song Of kindred praise arise from humble roofs; Or when the simple service ends, to hear The lifted latch, and mark the grey-haired man, The father and the priest, walk forth alone Into his garden plat and little field, To commune with his God in secret prayer-- To bless the Lord that in his downward years His children are about him: sweet, meantime The thrush that sings upon the aged thorn, Brings to his view the days of youthful years, When that same aged thorn was but a bush! Nor is the contrast between youth and age To him a painful thought; he joys to think His journey near a close; heaven is his home." Thus, in his own simple and charming style, Grahame describes the Sabbath evening. So beautiful it is, so Sabbath-like, in its spirit and tone, that we venture one extract more. "Now, when the downward sun has left the glens, Each mountain's rugged lineaments are traced Upon the adverse slope, where stalks gigantic The shepherd's shadow, thrown athwart the chasm, As on the topmost ridge he homeward hies. How deep the hush! the torrent's channel dry, Presents a stony steep, the echo's haunt. But hark, a plaintive sound floating along! 'Tis from yon heath-roofed shieling; now it dies Away, now rises full; it is the song Which He, who listens to the hallelujahs Of choiring seraphim, delights to hear; It is the music of the heart, the voice Of venerable age, of guileless youth, In kindly circle seated on the ground Before their wicker door. Behold the man, The grandsire and the saint; his silvery locks Beam in the parting ray; before him lies, Upon the smooth-cropt sward the open book, His comfort, stay, and ever new delight; While heedless at his side, the lisping boy Fondles the lamb that nightly shares his couch." CHAPTER XVII. Lochleven--Escape of Queen Mary from Lochleven Castle--Michael Bruce--Sketch of his Life--Boyhood--College Life--Poetry--"Lochleven"--Sickness--"Ode to Spring"--Death--"Ode to the Cuckoo."