IliketothinkofalltheMacintoshes，intheirmackintoshes，descendingonsomedoomedLowlandvillage，theirwetwaterproofsflashinginthesunormoon。Forindeedthisisoneoftherealbeautiesofrainyweather，thatwhiletheamountoforiginalanddirectlightiscommonlylessened，thenumberofthingsthatreflectlightisunquestionablyincreased。
Thereislesssunshine；buttherearemoreshinythings；suchbeautifullyshinythingsaspoolsandpuddlesandmackintoshes。Itislikemovinginaworldofmirrors。
Andindeedthisisthelastandnottheleastgraciousofthecasualworksofmagicwroughtbyrain:thatwhileitdecreaseslight，yetitdoublesit。Ifitdimsthesky，itbrightenstheearth。ItgivestheroadstothesympatheticeyesomethingofthebeautyofVenice。
Shallowlakesofwaterreiterateeverydetailofearthandsky；wedwellinadoubleuniverse。Sometimeswalkinguponbareandlustrouspave-
ments，wetundernumerouslamps，amanseemsablackblotonallthatgoldenlooking-glass，andcouldfancyhewasflyinginayellowsky。Butwherevertreesandtownshangheaddownwardsinapigmypuddle，thesenseofCelestialtopsy-turvydomisthesame。Thisbright，wet，dazzlingconfusionofshapeandshadow，ofrealityandreflection，willappealstronglytoanyonewiththetranscendentalinstinctaboutthisdreamyandduallifeofours。Itwillalwaysgiveamanthestrangesenseoflookingdownattheskies。