And so is the Chronometer. Here it is—I was laughing at you—in my sleeve.
BULLER.
Another Herman Boaz!—Bless my eyes, there is Kilchurn! It must be—there is no other such huge Castle, surely, at the head of the Loch—and no other such mountains—
NORTH.
You promised solemnly, sir, not to say a single word about Loch Awe or its appurtenance, this Evening—so did every mother's son of us at your order—and t'was well—for we have seen them and felt them all—at times not the less profoundly—as the visionary pomp keeps all the while gliding slowly by—perpetual accompaniment of our discourse, not uninspired, perhaps, by the beauty or the grandeur, as our imagination was among the ideal creations of genius—with the far-off in place and in time—with generations and empires
"When dark oblivion swallows cities up,
And mighty States, characterless, are grated
To dusty nothing!"
SEWARD.
In the declining light I wonder your eyes can see to read print.
NORTH.