'Not quite: you have secured the shadow of your thought; but nomore, probably. You had not enough of the artist's skill and scienceto give it full being: yet the drawings are, for a school-girl,peculiar. As to the thoughts, they are elfish. These eyes in theEvening Star you must have seen in a dream. How could you make themlook so clear, and yet not at all brilliant? for the planet abovequells their rays. And what meaning is that in their solemn depth? Andwho taught you to paint wind? There is a high gale in that sky, and onthis hill-top. Where did you see Latmos? For that is Latmos. There!put the drawings away!'。，
。， I shook my head. 'The men in green all forsook England a hundredyears ago,' said I, speaking as seriously as he had done. 'And noteven in Hay Lane, or the fields about it, could you find a trace ofthem. I don't think either summer or harvest, or winter moon, willever shine on their revels more.'
'Ah! that pricks pride. Well, fetch me your portfolio, if you canvouch for its contents being original; but don't pass your word unlessyou are certain: I can recognise patchwork.'。， I had scarce tied the strings of the portfolio, when, looking athis watch, he said abruptly-