auty of proportion, the charm of austere simplicity. Generation
after generation must have loved the gentle dignified house, with its
narrow casements, its high rooms. Though the name of the house, though
the tale of its dwellers was unknown to me, I felt the appeal of the
old associations that must have centred about it. The whole air, that
quiet afternoon, seemed full of the calling of forgotten voices, and
dead faces looked out from the closed lattices. So near to my heart
came the spirit of the ancient house, that, as I mused, I felt as
though even I myself had made a part of its past, and as though I were
returning from battling with the far-off world to the home of
childhood. The house seemed to regard me with a mournful and tender
gaze, as though it knew that I loved it, and would fain utter its
secrets in a friendly ear. Is it strange that a thing of man's
construction should have so wistful yet so direct a message for the
spirit? Well, I hardly know what it was that it spoke of; but I felt
the care and love that had gone to the making of it, and the dignity
that it had won from rain and sun and the kindly hand of Nature; it
spoke of hope and brightness, of youth and joy; and told me, too, that
all things were passing away, that even the house itself, though it
could outlive a few restless generations, was indeed _debita morti_,
and bowed itself to its fall.

And then I too, like a bird of passage that has alighted for a moment
in some sheltered garden-ground, must needs go on my way. But the old
house had spoken with me, had left its mark upon my spirit. And I know
that in weary hours, far hence, I shall remember how it stood, peering
out of its tangled groves, gazing at the sunrise and the sunset over
the green flats, waiting for what may be, and dreaming of the days that
are no more.

III

Leucocholy

I have had to taste, during the last few days, I know not why, of the
cup of what Gray called Leucocholy; it is not Melancholy, only the pale
shadow of it. That dark giant is, doubtless, stalking somewhere in the
background, and the shadow cast by his misshapen head passes over my
little garden ground.

I do not readily submit to this mood, and I would wish it away. I
would rather feel joyful and free from blame; but Gray called it a good
easy state, and it certainly has its compensations. It does not, like
Melancholy, lay a dark hand on duties and pleasures alike; it is
possible to work