114 NIGHT IN THE MOUNTAIN COTTAGE. 



time at least, that we sought repose. The wind had 

 increased to a perfect tempest, and though our eyelids 

 weighed heavily, the uproar without would not suffer 

 us to slumher. Indeed each moment threatened a 

 catastrophe, and kept us on the alert. The approach 

 of every consecutive blast could be distinctly traced 

 by the ear, as we lay listening on our heather pallet. 

 First, there was a low sound, a kind of suppressed 

 roar, as the wind soughed and eddied its way along 

 the face of a huge cliff, distant about a mile, and 

 rising perpendicularly to the height of nearly fifteen 

 hundred feet. Then followed a steady rushing noise, 

 as it swept furiously across the loch, and over the open 

 moor below, with nothing to check its progress. This 

 was in turn succeeded by a variety of sounds, as the 

 blast drew nearer, and whistled or cracked among the 

 rocks or banks in the vicinity of the cottage. And 

 lastly, came a furious rush, as it careered madly past 

 our little cabin, catching up the gravel and stones, 

 which rattled violently against the door and window, 

 threatening to tear away the roof over our heads, and 

 making the very walls themselves vibrate around us, 

 though they were fully three feet in thickness. How 

 stones and mortar could hold together, under so 

 fearful and incessant a cannonade, 'twere hard to tell ; 

 but though sorely tried, our stout little castle did 

 nevertheless succeed in keeping its own; and one 

 after another the consecutive blasts slunk away with 

 a sullen murmur of disappointment, after venting 

 their fury, and discharging their artillery upon its 

 walls in vain. 



At length, shortly after midnight, we fancied that the 

 uproar was slightly abated ; presently there was a 

 sensible diminution; and while we were waiting, and 



