ating wings broke away
from the midst of the branches. He could not see it, but he fancied the
scream was like that of the huge mackaw whose ill-poised flight he had
watched. This conjecture was but founded on the odd cry he had heard.

The flower was a curious one--a stem fine as a hair supported a little
bell, that looked like a drop of blood, and never ceased trembling. He
walked on, holding this in his fingers; and soon he saw another of the
same odd type, then another at a shorter distance, then one a little to
the right and another to the left, and farther on a little group, and at
last the dark slope was all over trembling with these little bells,
thicker and thicker as he descended a gentle declivity to the bank of
the little brook, which flowing through the forest loses itself in the
lake. The low murmur of this forest stream was almost the first sound,
except the shriek of the bird that startled him a little time ago, which
had disturbed the profound silence of the wood since he entered it.
Mingling with the faint sound of the brook, he now heard a harsh human
voice calling words at intervals, the purport of which he could not yet
catch; and walking on, he saw seated upon the grass, a strange figure,
corpulent, with a great hanging nose, the whole face glowing like
copper. He was dressed in a bottle-green cut-velvet coat, of the style
of Queen Anne's reign, with a dusky crimson waistcoat, both overlaid
with broad and tarnished gold lace, and his silk stockings on thick
swollen legs, with great buckled shoes, straddling on the grass, were
rolled up over his knees to his short breeches. This ill-favoured old
fellow, with a powdered wig that came down to his shoulders, had a
dice-box in each hand, and was apparently playing his left against his
right, and calling the throws with a hoarse cawing voice.

Raising his black piggish eyes, he roared to Sir Bale, by name, to come
and sit down, raising one of his dice-boxes, and then indicating a place
on the grass opposite to him.

Now Sir Bale instantly guessed that this was the man, gipsy, warlock,
call him what he might, of whom he had come in search. With a strange
feeling of curiosity, disgust, and awe, he drew near. He was resolved to
do whatever this old man required of him, and to keep him, this time, in
good humour.

Sir Bale did as he bid him, and sat down; and taking the box he
presented, they began throwing turn about, with three dice, the
copper-faced o