hed sheets of stone, rich brown, with
snow-white veins, on which danced for ever a dappled network of pale
yellow light; to crusted beds of pink coralline; to caverns, in the
dark crannies of which hung branching sponges and tufts of purple
sea-moss; to strips of clear white sand, bestrewn with shells; to
pools, each a gay flower-garden of all hues, where branching sea-weeds
reflected blue light from every point, like a thousand damasked
sword-blades; while among them, dahlias and chrysanthemums, and many
another mimic of our earth-born flowers, spread blooms of crimson, and
purple, and lilac, and creamy grey, half-buried among feathered weeds
as brightly coloured as they; and strange and gaudy fishes shot across
from side to side, and chased each other in and out of hidden cells.

Within and without all was at rest; the silence was broken only by the
timid whisper of the swell, and by the chime of dropping water within
some unseen cave: but what a different rest! Without, all lying
breathless, stupefied, sun-stricken, in blinding glare; within, all
coolness, and refreshing sleep. Without, all simple, broad, and vast;
within, all various, with infinite richness of form and colour.--An
Hairoun Alraschid's bower, looking out upon the--

Bother the fellow! Why will he go on analysing and figuring in this
way? Why not let the blessed place tell him what it means, instead of
telling it what he thinks? And--why, he is actually writing verses,
though not about Fra Dolcino!

"How rests yon rock, whoso half-day's bath is done,
With broad bright sight, beneath the broad bright sun,
Like sea-nymph tired, on cushioned mosses sleeping.
Yet, nearer drawn, beneath her purple tresses,
From down-bent brows we find her slowly weeping,
So many a heart for cruel man's caresses
Must only pine and pine, and yet must bear
A gallant front beneath life's gaudy glare."

Silly fellow! Do you think that Nature had time to think of such a
far-fetched conceit as that while it was making that rock and peopling
it with a million tiny living things, of which not one falleth to the
ground without your Father's knowledge, and each more beautiful than
any sea-nymph whom you ever fancied? For, after all, you cannot fancy
a whole sea nymph (perhaps in that case you could make one), but only
a very little scrap of her outside. Or if, as you boast, you are
inspired by the Creative Spirit, tell us what the Creative Spirit says
abo