seen from the coast, to be only a narrow ridge of bold alpine heights, rising like a rampart to guard the orchards, and woods, and fields: but these really form long and broad mountain masses, receding, in all the wildness and intricacy of highland

arrangement, to a distant summit line.  Some of the broad clifts and long narrow vales of these mountains form beautiful and romantic pictures; while many of their declivities are practicable to the plough or other instruments of cultivation; so that the bottoms and the reclaimed or reclaimable sides of the valleys are estimated to comprehend about one-third of the entire area.  The lowlands of Moray have long been celebrated for mildness and luxuriousness of climate, and also for a certain dryness of atmosphere, which seems to have some intimate connexion with the mournful calamity about to be described.  The high broad range of mountains on the south-west shelter the lowlands from the prevailing winds of the country, and exhaust many light vapours and thinly-charged clouds, which might otherwise produce gentle rains; but, for just the same reason, they powerfully attract whatever long broad streams of heavy clouds are sailing through the sky, and, among the gullies and the upland glens, amass their discharged contents with amazing rapidity, and in singular largeness of volume.  The rivers of the country are, in consequence, peculiarly liable to become flooded.  One general and tremendous outbreak,

in 1829, “afforded an awful exhibition of the peculiarities of the climate, and will long be remembered, in connexion with the boasted luxuriousness of Moray, as an illustration of how chastisement and comfort are blended in a state of things which is benignly adjusted for the moral discipline of man, and the correction of moral evil.”

The heat in the province of Moray during the summer of 1829 was unusually great.  In May the drought was so excessive, as to kill many of the recently planted shrubs and trees.  As the season advanced, the variations in the barometer became so remarkable, that observers began to lose all confidence in this instrument.

The deluge of rain, which produced the flood of the 3d and 4th of August, fell chiefly on the Monadhlradh mountains, rising between the south-east part of Lochness and Kingussie, in Badenoch, and on that part of the Grampian range forming the somewhat independent groups of the Cairngorums.  The westerly winds, which prevailed for some time previously, seem to have produced a gradual accumulation of vapour to the north of our island, and the column, being suddenly impelled by a strong north-easterly blast, was driven

towards the south-west, its right flank almost sweeping the Caithness and Sutherland coasts, until rushing up and across the Moray Frith it was attracted by the lofty mountains just mentioned, and discharged in fearful torrents.  There fell at a great distance from the mountains, within twenty-four hours, about one-sixth of the annual allowance of rain; on the mountains themselves the deluge that descended, must have been so enormous as to occasion surprise that a flood, even yet more tremendous in its magnitude and consequences, did not result from it.

The mouth of the Findhorn is described as the most important scene of action.  The banks of this river are well defended by rocks on either side, and its whole course is distinguished by the most romantic scenery.  At the part where it is crossed by the old military bridge of Dulsie, the scenery is of the wildest character.  The flood was most tremendous at this bridge, for the water was so confined that it filled the smaller arch altogether, and rose in the great arch to within three feet of the key-stone, that is to say, forty feet above the usual level.  This fine old bridge sustained but little damage, while many of the modern buildings

were entirely swept away.  At another part of the river, it is stated, as a curious illustration of the height to which the stream had risen, that a gardener waded into the water as it had begun to ebb on the haugh, and with his umbrella drove ashore and captured a fine salmon, at an elevation of fifty feet above the ordinary level of the Findhorn.

At Randolph’s bridge the opening expands as the rocks rise upwards, till the width is about seventy or eighty feet; yet, from the sudden turn of the river, as it enters this passage, the stream was so checked in its progress that the flood actually rose over the very top of the rocks, forty-six feet above the usual height, and inundated the level part that lies over them to the depth of four feet, making a total perpendicular rise at this point of not less than fifty feet.

The effects of the deluge of the 3d and 4th of August, remain on the Dorbach, in a bank one hundred feet high, which rose with slopes and terraces covered with birch and alder wood.  The soil being naturally spongy imbibed so much rain, that it became overloaded, and a mass of about an acre in extent, with all its trees on it, gave way at

once, threw itself headlong down, and bounded across the bed of the Dorbach, blocking up the waters, flooded and wide as they were at the time.  A farmer, who witnessed this phenomenon, told Sir Thomas Dick Lauder that it fell “wi’ a sort o’ a dumb sound,” while astonished and confounded

he remained gazing at it.  The bottom of the valley is here some two hundred yards or more wide, and the flood nearly filled it.  The stoppage was not so great, therefore, as altogether to arrest the progress of the stream; but this sudden obstacle created an accumulation of water behind it, which went on increasing for nearly an hour, till, becoming too powerful to be longer resisted, the enormous dam began to yield, and was swept off at once, and hurled onwards like a floating island.  While the farmer stood lost in wonder to behold his farm thus sailing off to the ocean by acres at a time, another half acre, or more, was suddenly rent from its native hill, and descended at once, with a whole grove of trees on it, to the river, where it rested on its natural base.  The flood immediately assailed this, and carried off the greater part of it piecemeal.  At the time when Sir Thomas was writing, part of it remained with the trees growing on it in the upright position, after having travelled through a horizontal distance of sixty or seventy yards, with a perpendicular descent of not less than sixty feet.

At Dunphail, the residence of Mr. Bruce was threatened by the flood, and that gentleman prevailed

on his wife and daughter to quit the house and seek refuge on higher ground.  Before quitting the place, their anxiety had been extremely excited for the fate of a favourite old pony, then at pasture in a broad green, and partially-wooded island, of some acres in extent.  As the spot had never been flooded in the memory of man, no one thought of removing the pony until the wooden bridges having been washed away rendered it impossible to do so.  When the