Tuss 



y-mussies.. 307 



r « * The evening comes — the fields are still, 

 The tinkle of the thirsty rill, 

 Unheard all day, ascends again. 

 Deserted is the half-mown plain, 

 And from the Thyme upon the height, 

 And from the Elder-blossom white, 

 And pale Dog Roses in the hedge, 

 And from the Mint-plant in the sedge, 

 In puff's of balm the night air blows 

 The perfume which the day foregoes — 

 And on the pure horizon far 

 See pulsing with the first-born star 

 The liquid light above the hill. 

 The evening comes — the fields are still.' " 



Then came the silence and half-stiffness which is 

 ever apt to follow any long quotation, especially any 

 rare recitation of verse by those who are notoriously 

 indifferent to the charms of rhyme and rhythm, 

 and are of another sex than the listener. It seems 

 to indicate an unusual condition of emotion, to be 

 a sort of barometer of sentiment, and the warning 

 of threatening weather was not unheeded by her; 

 hence her response was somewhat nervous in utter- 

 ance, and instinctively perverse and contradictory. 



She. "That line, 'The liquid light above the hill,' is 

 very lovely, but I can't see that it's any of it at all like 

 to-night." 



He (stoutly and resentfully). " Oh, no ! not at all ! There's 

 the field, all still, and here's Thvme, and Elder, and there 

 are wild Roses! — and see! the moon is coming up — 

 so there's your liquid light." 



She. "Well ! Yes, perhaps it is ; at any rate it is a lovely 

 night. You've read Lavengro? No? Certainly' you 



