has its own meaning, its own character; and Light is felt to be like
Music, to have a melody and a harmony of its own--so mysteriously allied
are the powers and provinces of eye and ear, and by such a kindred and
congenial agency do they administer to the workings of the spirit.

Well, that is very extraordinary--Rain--rain--rain! All the eyes of
heaven were bright as bright might be--the sky was blue as violets--that
braided whiteness, that here and there floated like a veil on the brow
of night, was all that recalled the memory of clouds--and as for the
moon, no faintest halo yellowed round her orb, that seemed indeed "one
perfect chrysolite;"--yet while all the winds seemed laid asleep till
morn, and beauty to have chained all the elements into peace--overcast
in a moment is the firmament--an evanishing has left it blank as
mist--there is a fast, thick, pattering on the woods--yes--rain--rain--
rain--and ere we reach Bowness, the party will be wet through to their
skins. Nay--matters are getting still more serious--for there was
lightning--yea, lightning! Ten seconds! and hark, very respectable
thunder! With all our wisdom, we have not been weather-wise--or we
should have known, when we saw it, an electrical sunset. Only look now
towards the West. There floats Noah's Ark--a magnificent spectacle; and
now for the Flood. That far-off sullen sound proclaims cataracts. And
what may mean that sighing and moaning and muttering up among the
cliffs? See--see how the sheet lightning shows the long lake-shore all
tumbling with foamy breakers. A strong wind is there--but here there is
not a breath. But the woods across the lake are bowing their heads to
the blast. Windermere is in a tumult--the storm comes flying on wings
all abroad--and now we are in the very heart of the hurricane. See, in
Bowness is hurrying many a light--for the people fear we may be on the
lake; and faithful Billy, depend on't, is launching his life-boat to go
to our assistance. Well, this is an adventure.--But soft--what ails our
Argand Lamp! Our study is in such darkness that we cannot see our
paper--in the midst of a thunderstorm we conclude, and to bed by a flaff
of lightning.

THE MOORS.

PROLOGUE.

Once we knew the Highlands absolutely too well--not a nook that was not
as familiar to us as our brown study. We had not to complain of the
lochs, glens, woods, and mountains alone, for having so fastened
themselves upon us on a great scale t