Tussy-mussies. 
307 
“ ‘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 puffs 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. u That line, c 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 ). u Oh, no ! not at all ! There’s 
the field, all still, and here’s Thyme, and Elder, and there 
are wild Roses !— and see! the moon is coming up — - 
so there’s your liquid light.” 
She. u Well ! Yes, perhaps it is ; at any rate it is a lovely 
night. You’ve read Lavengro? No? Certainly you 
