The night came on while we had yet a great part of the way to go, though not so dark but that we could discern the cataracts which poured down the hills on one side, and fell into one general channel that ran with great violence on the other. The wind was loud, the rain was heavy, and the whistling of the blast, the fall of the shower, the rush of the cataracts, and the roar of the torrent, made a nobler chorus of the rough music of Nature than it had ever been my chance to hear before. But Johnson’s attitude toward the external world was, on the whole, the typical classical one, and is well illustrated by his reply to Mr. Thrale’s attempt to win his admiration of a fine prospect. “Never heed such nonsense; a blade of grass is always a blade of grass, whether in one country or another. Let us, if we _do_ talk, talk about something; men and women are my subjects of inquiry.” Mr. Bray’s “Tour” has a full map and is written somewhat in the guide-book style. Industries, architecture, history, family chronicles, anecdotes, inscriptions, fill up its 135 closely printed folio pages. There is comparatively little about the scenes through which he passed. In describing the various estates which he visited pages are given to house-furnishings for a single paragraph on the grounds. But these seldom go unnoticed. He dislikes the formal garden. He objects to the regular cascades at Matlock. He thinks that the conceits in the water-works at Chatsworth might have been deemed wonderful when they were made, “but those who have contemplated the waterfalls which nature exhibits in this country ... will receive little pleasure from seeing a temporary stream falling down a flight of steps, spouted out of the mouths of dolphins or dragons, or squirted from the leaves of a copper tree.” The most extended description is of the gardens at Stowe, which he praises because, though laid out in the formal style, their regularity has been broken up and disguised. Mr. Bray also shows a liking for wild and romantic scenery. He frequently mentions wide views, and condemns Compton Wyngate because it has no prospect, of which, he adds, “our ancestors appear to have scarce ever thought.” The spots he enjoyed most are Matlock High Tor, and wild places on the Dove and the Derwent, Aysgarth Force in the Ure, and rocky Gordale. He noted especially waterfalls and rivers. Of the Derwent at Matlock he says: It is a most romantic and beautiful ride. The river is sometimes hid behind trees, sometimes it glides smooth and calm, sometimes a distant fall is heard; here it tumbles over a ledge of rocks stretching quite across, there it rushes over rude fragments, torn by storms from the impending masses. Each side, but particularly the farther one, is bordered by lofty rocks, generally clothed with wood, in the most picturesque manner.