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CHAP. VII.
When the sun sets, shadows that show'd at noon
But small, appear most long and terrible;—
So when we think Fate hovers o'er our heads,
Our apprehensions shoot beyond all bounds;
Owls, ravens, crickets, seem the watch of death;
Nature's worst vermin scare her God-like sons;
Echoes, the very leavings of a voice,
Grow babbling ghosts, and call us to our graves;
Each mole-hill thought swells to a huge Olympus,
While we, fantastic dreamers! heave and puff,
And sweat with an imagination's weight. Lee.
Madeline went upon a high and graveled terrace to avoid the wetness of the low and grassy paths beneath it. But though the rain was over, the evening was
