pose, and tranquillise our spirit by its
rustle, or by the "green light" uncheckered by one stirring leaf. From
sunrise to sunset, we can lie below the old mossy tower, till the
darkness that shuts out the day, hides not the visions that glide round
the ruined battlements. Cheerful as in a city can we traverse the
houseless moor; and although not a ship be on the sea, we can set sail
on the wings of imagination, and when wearied, sink down on savage or
serene isle, and let drop our anchor below the moon and stars.

And 'tis well we are so spiritual; for the senses are of no use here,
and we must draw for amusement on our internal sources. A day-like night
we have often seen about midsummer, serenest of all among the Hebrides;
but a night-like day, such as this, ne'er before fell on us, and we
might as well be in the Heart o' Mid-Lothian. 'Tis a dungeon, and a dark
one--and we know not for what crime we have been condemned to solitary
confinement. Were it mere mist we should not mind; but the gloom is
palpable, and makes resistance to the hand. We did not think clouds
capable of such condensation--the blackness may be felt like velvet on a
hearse. Would that something would rustle--but no--all is breathlessly
still, and not a wind dares whistle. If there be anything visible or
audible hereabout, then are we stone-blind and stone-deaf. We have a
vision!

See! a great City in a mist! All is not shrouded--at intervals something
huge is beheld in the sky--what we know not, tower, temple, spire, dome,
or a pile of nameless structures--one after the other fading away, or
sinking and settling down into the gloom that grows deeper and deeper
like a night. The stream of life seems almost hushed in the blind blank,
yet you hear ever and anon, now here, now there, the slow sound of feet
moving to their own dull echoes, and lo! the Sun

"Looks through the horizontal misty air,
Shorn of his beams,"

like some great ghost. Ay, he _looks_! does he not? straight on _your_
face, as if you two were the only beings there--and were held _looking_
at each other in some strange communion. Surely you must sometimes have
felt that emotion, when the Luminary seemed no longer luminous, but a
dull-red brazen orb, sick unto the death--obscure the Shedder of Light
and the Giver of Life lifeless!

The Sea has sent a tide-borne wind to the City, and you almost start in
wonder to behold all the heavens clear of clouds (how beautiful was th