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Book, page 81 / 145 sacred things are little better than fancies." "Sing that other of his about the flowers, and I promise you never to mention his name in this company again," said Harry. "Very well, I will, on that condition," answered Ralph. "In the sunny summer morning Into the garden I come; The flowers are whispering and speaking, But I, I wander dumb. "The flowers are whispering and speaking, And they gaze at my visage wan: 'You must not be cross with our sister, You melancholy man!'" "Is that all?" said Adela. "Yes, that's all," answered the singer. "But we cannot let you off with that only," she said. "What an awful night it is!" interrupted the colonel, rising and going to the window to peep out. "Between me and the lamp, the air looks solid with driving snow." "Sing one of your winter songs, Ralph," said the curate's wife. "This is surely stormy enough for one of your Scotch winters that you are so proud of." Thus adjured, Mr, Armstrong sang: "A morning clear, with frosty light From sunbeams late and low; They shine upon the snow so white, And shine back from the snow. "From icy spears a drop will run--
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