14 Idylls of the Field. 



looks down, unseen now in the darkness, although the 

 leafage of its sheltering elms has long since fallen 

 away, floats the faint music of the curfew bell. Through 

 a rent in the grey clouds the moon shines out with 

 sudden gleam. There is a touch of light on the wet 

 stems of the willows ; a cold glitter on the flooded 

 fields; a touch of silver on the distant sea. Then, 

 dark and cold, the night descends upon the wintry 

 landscape. 



