Welsh Journals

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444 Old Price's Remains. who passed unheeding by the Watergate one summer's evening, when every one else seemed rivetted to the spot, and the walls were lined with gazers at such an exhibition of barred purple, red, and gold as I never beheld either before or after. I have no recollection of observing sky and clouds with anything more than varied delight, or the pleasure inseparable from " sunny," cloudy, rainy, windy, snowy, or even sleety "memories,'' till I met, in our University Library, with that glorious old folio, Borlase's History of Cornwall. There I learnt to look upon clouds as shoals, banks, and islands, first accumulated and then shaped and modified by great streams passing among them—the lighter cirri as the loose sand out of which these masses are drifted, and a " mackerel" sky as the ripple-raarks of vast aerial waves without a shore: Such vapoury imaginings occupied myself and a thoughtful companion or two; (sometimes led by the hand, sometimes perched on my back, sometimes trudging alongside,) for many a happy year, till at last I got a fresh impulse in this upward direction by reading aloud to my children certain chapters of John Ruskin, which made me feel as if I had never looked at the sky in my life I And yet, lest I should seem to have been utterly obfuscated— " clane muddled and stagnated," by wading so much in the slutch of the Mersey, I will mention two things that occurred to me even before I had seen J. R.'s spirit-stirring, im Himmelblaue verlierende sich expatiations into sky scenery:—After long wondering at the phenomena of enormous fans or peacock's trains, formed by bars of cloud apparently diverging from an imaginary point beyond the horizon, we satisfied ourselves, in one of those happy walks to Bryn-y-maen, (so fertile in " new facts,") that the said cloud-bars were in reality parallel, and that the radiating