over head; or the cry of the lapwing—or the bark miles away of a collie dog; or the dripping and murmuring and bubbling of the little burns in the gullies!

p. 81

p. 82

Light still dying away! What was left only “dealt a doubtful sense of things not so much seen as felt.” And then it was that I realized what Robert Burns had sung:—

CONTENTS

“Gie me the hour o’ gloamin grey, For it mak’s my heart sae cheery O.”

p. 83SKETCHES.

p. 83

Sketches of life upon the slabs of death Our loving hand on living stone indites: Sketches of death upon the screens of life Time, the great limner, for a warning writes.

Sketches

Sketches of joy upon the face of sorrow, Still credulous, our aching fingers trace: Time steals the pencil, and with bitter scorn, Sketches old sorrow on our young joy’s face.

E’en so our sketch of life is framed and fashion’d; In vain with glowing touches we begin— By day we work upon the light and colour, Time comes by night and puts the shadows in.

p. 84SKETCHES. A CONVERSATION. KATEY.

p. 84

A CONVERSATION.

KATEY.

“There! I have finished my sketch of the sloping field, and the misty strip of woodland above, in its autumn dress, by putting you in in the foreground, the only living thing in my misty-autumn picture; though, after all, you don’t look much more than a brown spot on the green, with your brown hat and skirt and your old brown book. I am much obliged to it for keeping you still so long this misty morning. What is there in it?”

There

“Sketches,” I answered. “Misty sketches like this of yours.” And I stretched out my hand for my cousin’s drawing, 

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