;" . . . . The living clouds on clouds arise, 

 Infinite wings ! till all the plume dark air 

 And rude resounding shore are one wild cry." 



Thomson, 



THERE is a story of a little boy who used to feel 

 sick when he sat in a carriage with his back to the 

 horses. So long as he was small enough to sit on his 

 mother's knee, or as a third on the front seat without 

 crushing his sister's frock and making her a figure, his 

 weakness did not much signify. But when he grew 

 too big for this, his mother told him he must try to 

 be a man, and get over it. He wished to please her ; 

 and, having a fairy godmother who helped him when 

 she saw he was trying in earnest, succeeded so wel-1, 

 that soon he had learned to travel backwards as no 

 other boy before or since has done. Often he would 

 shut his eyes and spin back at first for hundreds, and 

 then, as he grew more accustomed to it, thousands of 

 years, until one very hot steaming day as it seemed 

 to him though at home it was cold enough for a 

 fire in the schoolroom as he skirted, with boots very 

 wet with red mud, a wood of overgrown mares' tales, 

 he nearly trod on a Pterodactyl, which he had not 



