WHITE WEATHER 



A MOUNTAIN REVERIE 



To be far north of the Highland Line and 

 among the mountains, when winter has not 

 only whitened the hill-moors but dusted the 

 green roofs of every strath and corrie, may 

 not have for many people the charm of the 

 southward flight. But to the hill-born it is a 

 call as potent as any that can put the bitter- 

 sweet ache into longing hearts. There is 

 peace there : and silence is there : and, withal, 

 a beauty that is not like any other beauty. 

 The air and wind are auxiliary ; every cloud 

 or mist -drift lends itself to the ineffable 

 conspiracy ; the polar breath itself is a weaver 

 of continual loveliness often more exquisitely 

 delicate than the harebell, often incalculable 

 or immeasurable, or beautiful with strangeness, 

 as moonlight on great waters, or the solitary 

 torch of Jupiter burning his cold flame in the 



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