42 FIELD AND HEDGEROW. 
ing the mind, through work and conversation, to pensive 
notes. At even the edge of the cloud lifted over the 
forest hill westwards, and a yellow glow, the great beacon 
fire of the sun, burned out, a conflagration at the verge 
of the world. In the nignt, awaking gently as one who 
is whispered to—listen! Ah! all the orchestra is at 
work—the keyhole, the chink, and the chimney ; whoo- 
hooing in the keyhole, whistling shrill whew-w-w! in 
the chink, moaning long and deep in the chimney. 
Over in the field the row of pines was sighing ; the wind 
lingered and clung to the close foliage, and each needle 
of the million million leaflets drew its tongue across the 
organ blast. A countless multitude of sighs made one 
continued distant undertone to the wild roar of the gable 
close at hand. Something seemed to be running with in- 
numerable centipede feet over the mouth of the chimney, 
for the long deep moan, as I listened, resolved itself into 
a quick succession of touches, just as you might play 
with your finger-tips, fifty times a second tathooine on 
the hollow table. In the midst of the clangour the hear- 
ing settled down to the sighing of the pines, which drew 
the mind towards it, and soothed the senses to sleep. 
Towards dawn, awake again—another change: the 
battering-ram at work now smainst the walls. Swinging. 
back, the solid thickness of the wind came forward— 
crush! as the iron-shod ram’s head hanging from its chains 
rushed to the tower. Crush! It sucked back again as - 
if there had been a vacuum—a moment’s silence, and 
crush! Blow after blow—the floor heaved ; the walls were 
ready to come together—alternate sucking back and 
heavy billowy advance. Crush! crush! Blow after blow, 
heave and batter and hoist, as if it-would tear the house 
up by the roots. Forty miles that battering-ram wind 
had travelled without so much as a bough to check it 
