embankment gave way, and the patches of green gradually diminished, Dobbin, now in his 27th year, and in shape something like a 74-gun ship cut down to a frigate, was seen galloping about in great alarm as the wreck of roots and trees floated past him, and as the last spot of grass disappeared he was given up for lost.  At this moment he made a desperate effort to cross the stream under the house; the force of the current turned him head over heels, but he rose again with his head up the river; he made boldly up against it, but was again borne down and turned over: every one believed him lost, when rising once more and setting down the waste of water, he crossed both torrents, and landed safely on the opposite bank.

At night Mr. Bruce says there was something inexpressibly fearful and sublime in the roar of the torrent, which by this time filled the valley, the ceaseless plash of the rain, and the frequent and fitful gusts of the north wind that groaned among the woods.  The river had now undermined the bank the house stood on, and this bank had already been carried away to within four paces of the foundation of the kitchen tower, and, as mass after mass fell with a thundering noise, some fine trees, which had stood for more than a century on the terrace above it, disappeared in the stream.  The operations of the flood were only dimly discovered by throwing the faint light of lanterns over its waters, and its progress was judged of by marking certain intervals of what remained of the terrace.  One by one these fell in, and at about eleven o’clock the river was still rising, and only a space of three yards remained about the house, which was now considered as lost.  The furniture was ordered to be removed, and by means of carts and lanterns this was done without any loss.  About one o’clock in the morning, the partial subsidence of the flood awakened a slight hope, but in an hour it rose again higher than before.  The banks

which supported the house were washed away, and the house itself seemed to be doomed, and the people were therefore sent out of it.  But Providence ordered otherwise; about four o’clock the clouds appeared higher, the river began again to subside; by degrees a little sloping beach became visible towards the foot of the precipice; the flood ceased to undermine, and the house was saved.

But the ruin and devastation of the place were frightful to behold.  The shrubbery, all along the river side, with its little hill and moss-house, had vanished; two stone and three wooden buildings were carried off; the beautiful fringe of wood on both sides of the river, with the ground it grew on, were washed to the ocean, together with all those sweet and pastoral projections of the fields which gave so peaceful and fertile a character to the valley; whilst the once green island, robbed of its groups of trees and furrowed by a dozen channels, was covered with large stones, gravel, and torn-up roots.

At another part of the same river (the Divie) Sir Thomas describes, from his own observations, the progress of the flood.  The noise was a distinct combination of two kinds of sound: one, an

uniform continued roar; the other, like rapidly repeated discharges of cannon.  The first of these proceeded from the violence of the water; the other, which was heard through it, and as it were muffled by it, came from the numerous stones which the stream was hurling over its uneven bed of rock.  Above all this was heard the shrieking of the wind.  The leaves were stripped off the trees and whirled into the air, and their thick boughs and stems were bending and cracking beneath the tempest.  The rain was descending in sheets, not in drops: and a peculiar lurid, bronze-like hue pervaded the whole face of nature.  And now the magnificent trees were overthrown faster and faster, offering no more resistance than reeds before the mower’s scythe.  Numerous as they were, they were all, individually, well-known friends.  Each, as it fell, gave one enormous plash on the surface, then a plunge, the root upwards above water for a moment; again all was submerged—and then up rose the stem disbranched and peeled; after which, they either toiled round in the cauldron, or darted, like arrows, down the stream.  “A chill ran through our hearts as we beheld how rapidly the ruin of our favourite and

long-cherished spot was going on.  But we remembered that the calamity came from the hand of God; and seeing that no human power could avail, we prepared ourselves to watch every circumstance of the spectacle.”  In the morning the place was seen cleared completely of shrubs, trees, and soil; and the space so lately filled with a wilderness of verdure was now one vast and powerful red-coloured river.

On the left bank of the Findhorn the discharge of water, wreck, and stones that burst over the extensive plain of Forres, spreading devastation abroad on a rich and beautiful country, was truly terrific.  On the 3d of August, Dr. Brands, of Forres, having occasion to go to the western side of the river, forded it on horseback, but ere he crossed the second branch of the stream, he saw the flood coming thundering down.  His horse was caught by it; he was compelled to swim; and he had not long touched dry land ere the river had risen six feet.  By the time he had reached Moy the river had branched out into numerous streams, and soon came rolling on in awful grandeur; the effect being greatly heightened by the contrary direction of the northerly

wind, then blowing a gale.  Many of the cottages occupied a low level, and the inhabitants were urged to quit them.  Most of them did so; but some, trusting to their apparent distance from the river, refused to move.

About ten o’clock the river had risen and washed away several of the cottages; and on every side were heard reports of suffering cottagers, whose houses were surrounded by water.  One of them was Sandy Smith, an active boatman, commonly called Whins, (or Funns, as it is pronounced,) from his residence on a piece of furzy pasture, at no great distance from the river.  From the situation of his dwelling he was given up for lost; but for a long time the far-distant gleam of light that issued from his window showed that he yet lived.

The barns on the higher grounds accommodated many people; and large quantities of brose (broth) were made for the dripping and shivering wretches.  Candles were placed in all the windows of the principal house (that of Mr. Suter) that poor Funns might see he was not forgotten.  But, alas! his light no longer burns, and in the midst of the tempest and darkness, it was utterly vain to attempt to assist the distressed.

At daybreak the wide waste of waters was only bounded by the rising grounds on the south and west: whilst, towards the north and east, the watery world swept off, uninterruptedly, into the expanding Frith and the German Ocean.  The embankments appeared to have everywhere given way; and the water that covered the fields, lately so beautiful with yellow wheat, green turnips, and other crops, rushed with so great impetuosity in certain directions, as to form numerous currents, setting furiously through the quieter parts of the inundation, and elevated several feet above it.  As far as the eye could reach the brownish-yellow moving mass of water was covered with trees and wreck of every description, whirled along with a force that shivered many of them against unseen obstacles.  There was a sublimity in the mighty power