Do you delight in the study of _Ornithology_? There is the lark soaring high, and pouring forth his lovely notes, and other songsters of the feathered tribes in varied music warbling their wildest notes; and it is hardly an unnatural suggestion, that a new laid egg has cleared the rejoicing throat of the cuckoo that is loudly exulting. Has _Entomology_ any attractions for you? There is the _humble-bee_ pursuing his busy course, too happy to keep his joy to himself, humming aloud while on the wing; but suspending his monotonous song, if song it may be called, the moment he alights upon a flower.—The _butterfly_ of no common kind fluttering up and down the air with his companion, banquetting on pleasure in the sunny beams, enjoying its fourth state of existence. Stand and gaze for a moment on that pretty rainbow-tinted creature; and as you look, consider the different grades of its existence,—metamorphosis to its final transformation,—the egg of the butterfly has one life, and the caterpillar which springs from it has another, and the chrysalis into which the caterpillar changes has a third, and the gay butterfly which rises from the chrysalis has a fourth;—then there is the _gossamer spider_, which has just covered the bush with its webs in every direction, and while spangling with dew, and trembling in the breeze, they glitter in the sun-light like some silver tissue woven with gems; and unnumbered species of insects, of peculiar kind, may be seen buzzing and flying, creeping and jumping, above, around, beneath;— And each, within its little bulk, contains A heart, which drives the torrents through its veins; Muscles to move its limbs aright; a brain And nerves disposed for pleasure and for pain: Eyes to distinguish; sense whereby they know What’s good or bad; is, or is not, its foe. Is the tourist a _Geologist_? Here are unnumbered stones, of different sizes, shapes, and colours, which Nature appears to have thrown up in one of her wildest freaks.—Is he an _Antiquarian_? If he will follow the path chalked out in these pages, he will find materials which will furnish him with an intellectual repast, before he leaves the mountain. But more of this anon. What are these mast-like things just a-head, peeping over the mountain’s brow? A few more steps, enquiring traveller, and they will answer for themselves. Another minute, and you will reach the breathing point. The panoramic view that suddenly opens, after gaining the eminence, baffles all description. You will feel a thrill of pleasure as you stand and gaze on the majestic ocean, ruffled by the breeze, giving back the sun-beam from ten thousand glittering waves, rolling clear and deep, carrying on her liquid bosom her rich and varied burdens. While, however, you form a Pic Nic for a few minutes, I will amuse you with the following apposite poetic effusion:— THE TOURIST’S PIC NIC.