92 THROUGH LIBRARY WINDOWS 



"Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul, 

 As the swift seasons roll! 

 Leave thy low-vaulted past! 

 Let each new temple, nobler than the last, 

 Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast, 

 Till thou at length art free, 

 Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unrest- 

 ing sea." 



The evening is perfect and the silence capti- 

 vating. The whole garden white and silvery 

 with most delicious and bewitching moonlight. 

 It is the hour and opportunity of the Fairies — 

 just the kind of evening and weather they de- 

 light in. The noisy avenue feels the spell and 

 hushes its harsher sounds, the electrics move 

 more quietly with hardly a stop, an occasional 

 carriage passes, some belated home-seeker 

 steps quickly along, the rattling automobile has 

 somehow caught the spirit and glides noiseless- 

 ly — the evening dominates and enforces a hal- 

 lowed quiet. 



The peering moon is sifting its light so softly 

 adown through the oriel branches of elm and 

 wistaria, making the exquisitest lawn picturings 

 possible, the cricket is chirping lazily and with 

 no regularity, as if dozing between his notes, 

 the night hawk utters his half suppressed 

 "peep" and gives an occasional swoop after 



