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standing up alone in a sea of billow and spray; to the broken boat stranded on a desolate coast; to the cold and ghastly moon glancing through bars of cloud at a wreck just sinking。
I cannot tell what sentiment haunted the quite solitary churchyard; with its inscribed headstone; its gate; its two trees; its low horizon; girdled by a broken wall; and its newly…risen crescent; attesting the hour of eventide。
The two ships becalmed on a torpid sea; I believed to be marine phantoms。
The fiend pinning down the thief’s pack behind him; I passed over quickly: it was an object of terror。
So was the black horned thing seated aloof on a rock; surveying a distant crowd surrounding a gallows。
Each picture told a story; mysterious often to my undeveloped understanding and imperfect feelings; yet ever profoundly interesting: as interesting as the tales Bessie sometimes narrated on winter evenings; when she chanced to be in good humour; and when; having brought her ironing…table to the nursery hearth; she allowed us to sit about it; and while she got up Mrs。 Reed’s lace frills; and crimped her nightcap borders; fed our eager attention with passages of love and adventure taken from old fairy tales and other ballads; or (as at a later period I discovered) from the pages of Pamela; and Henry; Earl of Moreland。
With Bewick on my knee; I was then happy: happy at least in my way。 I feared nothing but interruption; and that came too soon。 The breakfast…room door opened。
“Boh! Madam Mope!” cried the voice of John Reed; then he paused: he found the room apparently empty。
“Where the dickens is she!” he continued。 “Lizzy! Georgy! (calling to his sisters) Joan is not here: tell mama she is run out into the rain—bad animal!”
“It is
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