The Argosy — page 394: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

ies Northern Skies. 373 buried ; and here a ruined church—the only one outside the walls— is robbed of its just romance by so melancholy an association. The small harbour of the town, the strong breakwater, the flashing sapphire sea beyond, complete an unrivalled picture. Wisby has so shrunken, deteriorated and died out, that half the space within her walls has become barren and unoccupied. At night all is mysteriously dark and silent, and the shadows of the great walls impress one uncomfortably. The deserted portion is unlighted. Even the chief streets have nothing better than a long pole supporting a branch of iron, looking itself very much like a gallows intended for ‘ ee. (s ai) iy i! i sacrifice. Into this an oil lamp is placed, which just serves to make darkness visible. When the moon is full, Wisby is at its best. She shines with a pure, cold light upon all these ruins, and they look like what they are, ghosts and remnants of a departed world. Every detail is subdued and softened and made wonderfully romantic by the pale light, so intensely bright and silvery under these northern skies. From the hill above the cathedral, the view is matchless; ‘‘ Change and decay in all around I see,” you may well exclaim ; whilst the dark unchanging sea beyond is made visible by the moonbeams. That afternoon we had left the ruins and the town and dismissed our little guide for a time. Committing ourselves to the tender mercies of a primitive driver, and the mercies of a ‘“ Victoria,” primi- tive also, but not tender, we had dashed and crashed up the hilly COnniclbooks Go am