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SKETCHES. 361
On she flew still, but not upwards; she flew towards the
deep, deep forest. She felt herself struck by death.
Far into the dark forest she flew, and the dark forest
closed rustling around her, concealing her from all eyes.
With bleeding bosom and a tear in her dimmed eye, the
Eagless perched upon a fir-tree’s branch. “ Happy for
me,” she sighed, “that I die unlamented and alone !”
Then she heard the dove coo to her young ones:
“ Daughters of mine! Do not do as the Eagless! The
proud silly one will surely come to grief in her flight.
Stay at home in your valley, in your peaceful nests, and you
will live many, many years.”
“TIT have erred!” said the Eagless, but proudly her
heart swelled under the deadly wound; “from youthful
presumption have I erred and am punished. [But silently
I submit to my fate; may others be more happy! I do
not complain, for I have beheld the sun nearer!”
“ Kle-vit, kle-vit!” screeched the owls.
“ Kle-vit, kle-vit!” repeated the starlings and parrots.
“ All goes well, all goes well!” tauntingly sang the wild
geese, while they sailed away over the forest.
“T die,” said the Eagless, with expiring strength; “I
die, but —the sun! I have beheld the sun nearer!
Happy for me!”
And from the branch on which she had perched, she fell
down with expanded wings, and was no more.
THE NOVEL AND THE NOVELS.
“THs is the time for Novels; but what is to come after
the Novels?” a literary man said to me one day, half in
jest. Ido not now exactly remember what I answered —
something thoughtless, I believe ; but I began afterwards
to ponder on this subject — the Novels.
I had read, nay devoured, in the course of my life —I
cannot tell how many dozen novels, and I had wept and
laughed over them, loved, reveled, lived, and almost died in
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