So may'st thou ravish thought's uncultured mine, From the rude mass harmonious outlines blend, Clothe with true beauty all the fair design, That based on earth shall to the heaven ascend Like Babel's tower,--but no confusion show, By one grand purpose raised from all that's low. UNHORSED AT BOSWORTH. The "silent finger that points to heaven" has, beyond all comparison, its finest exemplar at Salisbury, and this record, although common as a household word, is, notwithstanding, none the less true and impressive, and ever returns with Tithonic vigour at each renewed contemplation. Graceful in the happiest degree in proportion, its great altitude gives a power to its slender beauty of form, altogether beyond the rivalry of its sister spires that spring with humbler charms from this land of ours. Thus it stands in grand isolated dignity, amid the long-swelling undulations of the Wiltshire hills, with base trending earth-ward, yet lost before touching the ground amid the blue mist that creeps with shrouding haze along the wolds,--but its fine-drawn point pierces with no uncertain intention the quiet amber of the evening sky. It would be perhaps difficult to find any where, taken in sympathy with its peculiar associations, a picture more impressive and delightful. The purpose of its builders,--the object of its dedication,--its majesty of size and height, lifting itself as it were far from the busy haunts and homes of those, who living, nestle at its feet, or in death are laid beneath its protective shadow,--its dark-tinted, yet well-defined, heaven-ward rising, beautiful outline,--so suggestive in its form of the design of this life, scarce rooted in the earth, yet with apex cleaving the sky, and tinctured too akin with the gloomy tints of human uncertainty, summon a host of thoughts from the inner recesses of the soul, and bids the gazer on its fair proportion and upward glance ask himself as he views it, how far the resemblance reflects his own condition, what he was designed for, what he has made himself.