|  | page 32 daily and hourly instances of these mysterious attachments.  
Such clouds, cleaving to their stations, or lifting up  
suddenly their glittering heads from behind rocky barriers,  
or hurrying out of sight with speed of the sharpest edge -  
will often tempt an inhabitant to congratulate himself on  
belonging to a country of mists and clouds and storms, and  
make him think of the blank sky of Egypt, and of the  
cerulean vacancy of Italy, as an unanimated and even a sad  
spectacle. The atmosphere, however, as in every country  
subject to much rain, is frequently unfavourable to  
landscape, especially when keen winds succeed the rain which 
are apt to produce coldness, spottiness, and an unmeaning or 
repulsive detail in the distance,; (sic) - a sunless frost,  
under a canopy of leaden and shapeless clouds, is, as far as 
it allows things to be seen, equally disagreeable.
 It has been said that in human life there are moments worth  
ages. In a more subdued tone of sympathy may we affirm, that 
in the climate of England there are, for the lover of  
nature, days which are worth whole months, - I might say -  
even years. One of these favoured days sometimes occurs in  
spring-time, when that soft air is breathing over the  
blossoms and new-born verdure, which inspired Buchanan with  
his beautiful Ode to the first of May; the air, which, in  
the luxuriance of his fancy, he likens to that of the golden 
age, - to that which gives motion to the funereal cypresses  
on the bank of Lethe; - to the air
 
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