ight even of a boy, and that the lowest
point was a foot or two above my head. But what of that? I was young
and active in those days, and somewhat bold withal; and without a
spice of danger, where were the pleasure or excitement of adventure?

It did not take me long to make up my mind, and before I had well
thought of the risk, I had swung myself up into the branches, and was
creeping, with even less difficulty than I had anticipated, along the
great gnarled bough above the mirrored pool.

Danger, in fact, there was none; for slender as the extremities
appeared, they were tough English oak, and the parent branch once
gained, would have supported the weight of Otus and Ephialtes, and all
their giant crew, much more of one slight Etonian.

In five minutes, or less, I had reached the fork of the trunk, and,
swarming down on the further side, stood in the full fruition of my
hopes, on that enchanted ground.

It was as I had expected to find it, a singular and gloomy spot; the
tall elm trees which formed the avenue, and the black wall of clipped
yew, which followed their course, diverging to the right and left,
formed a semicircle, the chord of which was the low wall and hawthorn
hedge, the summer-house standing, as I entered, in the angle on my
left hand.

Although, as I have said, the sun was still high in heaven, the little
area was almost dark already; and it was difficult, indeed, to
conjecture for what end the wisdom of our ancestors had planted a
sun-dial in the centre of the grass-plat, where it seemed physically
impossible that a chance sunbeam should ever strike it, to tell the
hour.

If it had not been for the narrow open space between the oak tree and
the summer-house, the little lawn would even now have been as black as
night; as it was, a sort of misty-gray twilight, increased, perhaps,
by the thin vapors rising from the tranquil pool, filled all its
precincts; and beyond these, stretching away in long perspective until
the arch at the further end seemed dwindled to the size of a needle's
eye, was the long aisle of gloomy foliage, as massive and impenetrable
to any ray of light as the stone arches of a Gothic cloister.

The only thing that conveyed an idea of gayety or life, to the cold
and tomb-like scenery, was the glimpse of bright sunshine which lay on
the open garden at the extremity of the elm-walk, with the gaudy and
glowing hues, indistinctly seen in the distance, of some summer
flowers.

Y