"Oh, no!" answered Gowrie; "it has beauties of its own, far different, but not less great. Its skies are often full of clouds, and its air of mists; rugged and stern are many of its features, and its winds are cold and strong. But those clouds give infinite variety to all they pass over; and if it be not a land of sunshine, it is at least a land of gleams. The shadow and the light wreath themselves in airy dance over the prospect, and the purple heath and yellow broom supply to us the myrtle and the gentia, hardly less fragrant, and in nought less beautiful. Then, the grey mists--let them not scare you--for when they rise in the morning rays from out the valleys, winding themselves round the tall hills, they look like a grey cloak trimmed with gold wrapping the limbs of the giant genius of the land. Then, though the features of the landscape are, as I have said, bold and rude, they attain in the sublime what they lose in the beautiful, and striking the imagination elevate the mind.--Yet there are many beauties too, soft and gentle and pleasant to look upon; for it is not all the deep dim lake, the rocky mountains, the roaring cataract; but there are scenes as sweet and placid as any even in this bright land; and where you find them, they seem like a smile upon a warrior's face in a moment of peace and repose." "I shall love it, I am sure," replied Julia; "for though I have seen but little of this wide world, yet I have often gazed at beautiful pictures with feelings that I can hardly describe--a love and a longing to penetrate into the deep glades, to roam amongst the rocky hills, to trace the glistening river through the woods, to see how the lake ends amongst the mountains, to solve all the mysteries which the painter has left to be the sport of fancy. But I have ever, though pleased with both, loved those pictures best which show me grand and striking scenes. They seem to lift up my heart more directly unto God. The rocks and mountains seem the steps of his temple, his altar on the summit of the hills. But what like is your own place at Perth?" "Our place," said Gowrie, pressing the small hand that lay in his; "'tis a large old house in one of the most beautiful cities in the land, with wide chambers and long galleries.--But look, my Julia, there is a horseman coming along the road from Borgonovo, and spurring hither at great speed. It must be my good fellow Austin, who is watching there; and lo! there are two others following at a somewhat slower pace. Hola, Catharina, call out the men! We need not fear the coming of two men, if there be no more behind. I think that second figure looks like Hume. He does not ride in the Italian fashion. But still he could hardly have reached Padua, and followed us hither so soon. The first is certainly Austin, and he spares not the spur."