IN THE GLOAMING. 187 



marigold beds, and calling back the peacocks and 

 bagwigs of the halcyon days. 



Perhaps for the last time in my life I was tak- 

 ing the breath of an English twilight, — sweet- 

 est to those whose childhood and youth have fed 

 on the rhyme and tale the green old land has 

 sent to her world-wide brood, and who come, in 

 riper life, to find the fancies of early years warm 

 and living on every side, in hedge and field, in 

 cowslip and primrose, in nightingale and lark. 

 The thick-coming impressions such musing brings 

 are vague and dreamy, so that there seemed a 

 shade of unreality in the quiet voice that bade 

 me " Good evening," and added, " Yes, it is an 

 engaging old house, and it has a story that you 

 may be glad to hear." 



It was not from perversity that I turned the 

 subject, but no tale of real life could have added 

 interest to the fancies with which the old manse 

 had clad itself in the slowly waning day. Way- 

 side impressions lose their charm if too much 

 considered, and, as my new companion was walk- 

 ing toward Lichfield, I was glad to turn away 



