of the Elle-maid's enchanting strains. He then drew the
bow rapidly across the strings in a backward direction, when all the
sheep instantly appeared on the surrounding heights, and next drew it
lengthways up and down the middle string as the Scotchman had shewn him
how to do. He had now come upon the rear of the stately castle he longed
to call his own, when he perceived it had neither a court-yard nor
back-premises of any sort, and consisted solely of a front wall with
windows, but no rooms behind, like a ruin, though he had hitherto
entertained the notion that he had slept beneath its roof, and on soft
cushions too, which he now plainly perceived could only have been clouds
like his fabulous flock. Eager to pursue his discoveries still further,
he went on fiddling as he came down the hillock towards the lady, when
what was not his horror and surprise on perceiving that the face he had
so much admired was hollow as a mask behind!

On hearing him playing in so unusual a manner, the lady turned round
her head sharply, exhibiting her bewitching countenance to his gaze, and
singing more sweetly than ever, as she offered him a goblet of wine. It
was fortunate he could not hear her sing, or that voice would have
melted all his resolutions, instead of which, he boldly dashed down the
proffered cup, and on her offering to give him a kiss, he dealt her a
box on the ear, which upset her like a card figure, when he became so
horrified at the spectral unreality of the objects about him, that he
ran off as fast as his legs would carry him, fiddling like mad as he
went along. In his frantic flight he passed by streams of water that
seemed to be nothing but tinfoil, and rocks that looked as if they were
made of pasteboard, and hollow like the Elle-maid's face, nor did he
stop to take breath till after all the objects in the landscape had
resumed their natural consistence, and clouds were clouds, and sheep
real woolly sheep, which shewed him to be beyond the limits of Elf-land.

Meantime evening had waned into night, and the moon was beginning to
rise, when Gilbert flung himself down on a bank to rest after his
headlong scamper. The cool air blew refreshingly over his fevered brow,
and he felt like one restored to reason after a fit of madness, or
awaking after a strange uneasy dream. "Now," thought he, "I need only
gather some ragwort and go home." And he looked all about for some, but
as it happened to be very rare in that neighbo