Comedy, Paradise Lost, or Hamlet. She is now forgotten and sleeps
in an obscure grave in some London cemetery. No! there will be
nothing more. I have said all I had to say.



CLEARING-UP AFTER A STORM IN JANUARY



A westerly storm of great strength had been blowing all day, shaking
the walls of the house and making us fear for the chimneys. About
four o'clock, although the wind continued very high, the clouds
broke, and moved in a slow, majestic procession obliquely from the
north-west to the south-east. Here and there small apertures
revealed the undimmed heaven behind. Immense, rounded projections
reared themselves from the main body, and flying, ragged fragments,
apparently at a lower level, fled beside and before them. These
fragments of lesser density showed innumerable tints of bluish grey
from the darkest up to one which differed but little from the pure
sky-blue surrounding them. Just after the sun set a rosy flush of
light spread almost instantaneously up to the zenith and in an
instant had gone. Low down in the west was a long, broadish bar of
orange light, crossed by the black pines on the hill half a mile
away. Their stems and the outline of each piece of foliage were as
distinct as if they were but a hundred yards distant. Half the
length of the field in front of me lay a small pool full to its
grassy margin. It reflected with such singular fidelity the light
and colour above it that it seemed itself to be an original source
of light and colour. Of all the sights to be seen in this part of