nd that moves them--

"The shepherdess of the sea driving her flocks on shore."

A tall, dark man, that was at the wheel, and bore the very appropriate
name of Bob _Motion_, whether real or assumed, it would be hard to say;
called this short chopping sea, "The white mice being out."

Flora found it no easy matter to keep her feet on the deck while the
vessel was going sideways through the water, but she hung on to the
bulwarks, and was rewarded by the sight of the wild Sutherland coast on
the left, its brown heath-covered hills, and fantastic rocks, conjuring
up the form of the Norna of the fitful Head--

"And of every wild shore that the northern winds knew."

Very few of the emigrants had ventured out of the steerage, being down
with sea-sickness; but Flora never suffered once from this distressing
malady during the voyage. This morning, in particular, she felt well and
in high spirits--a sense of glorious freedom in thus bounding over the
free, glad waves, in feeling their spray upon her lips, and the fresh
wild breath of the wind fanning her cheek, and whistling through her
hair. The ship seemed endowed with life as well as motion, as she
leaped from wave to wave, and breasted the flashing brine as if it were
her servant, and sworn to do her bidding.

"Well, Flora, what do you think of Lord Rae's country?" said Lyndsay.

"It is terrific!" returned Flora; "I cannot look at that confusion of
hills, lifting their tall heads to heaven, but I fancy that the earth
has rebelled against her Maker, and dares to defy Him to his face. It is
odd--a strange madness, you will think--but the sight of these mountains
thrills me with fear. I feel myself grow pale while looking at them, and
tremble while I admire."

"To me, born among the hills, Flora, these sensations of yours are
almost incomprehensible. But look, that broken arch of stone formed by
those immense black rocks round which the wild waves revel, and leap in
a glad frenzy, is the entrance to Loch Gribol. It is one of the grandest
objects on this rugged coast."

How often amid the dark woods of Canada did the stern sublimity of that
awful scene return to Flora Lyndsay in her dreams! The barren coast of
Anticosti, the pine-covered precipices of freestone that frown over
Chaleur Bay, and the mountain range which extends on the north of the
St. Lawrence from the Gulf to Quebec, though they present every variety
of savage scenery, cannot compete with the lon