i8 5 
A LONELY WANDERER 
There is a weird fascination in the full, round moon 
when the moving dome of hurrying clouds gives the 
silent orb the deceptive aspect of intrepid speed. 
It seems to be driving through the crowding masses 
of floating vapour that hurriedly disappear in the 
uncertain light of the close horizon. It makes its 
swift and luminous way, hiding a moment behind a 
dense mass of impenetrable white, peering resolutely 
through the more transparent fleeces of vapour, and 
sailing out freely across the open spaces of clear 
night sky. The illusion of a swiftly careering moon 
in the great festooned dome seems as real as the 
sensation of speed when forgetfully watching the 
steady flow of a hurrying river. Such a night was 
fixed in memory by a lofty wanderer. The passing 
clouds were so fine and fleecy that the light of the 
great white globe was undimmed. With the easy 
persistence of open day it sought out even the 
shadows and recesses, making all artificial illumina- 
tions seem weak and helpless by contrast. Clouds, 
too attenuated to unfold their shadows, moved 
steadily from the north, assuming a circle of dainty 
rainbow tint around the white globe that peered 
