University of Virginia Library

The narrative was hardly o'er
When all were startled by the roar
Of thunder-claps right overhead,
And by a lightning fork which shed
A flash of light as broad as day
Over the hall, with its clear ray
Illuminating every nook,
Leaving the ladies terror-struck,
Excepting Mrs Forte, and Kit
Who went outside to look at it.
Peal after peal and flash on flash
Seemed to portend the instant crash
Of roof and chimney-stack and wall,
And swift destruction to them all.
But the Professor, who had gone
Outside with Kit to look upon
The glory of the storm, could see
No shadow of anxiety
Or fear upon her proud fair face
When sometimes for a moment's space
'Twas lit with the electric gleam.

Now meanwhile it began to seem
To those inside in their suspense
As if the atmosphere intense
Would suffocate them even though
They were not crushed at one fell blow,
For not a single drop of rain
Had fallen, though the hurricane
Raged with such fierceness o'er the plain.
But at the last, with rushing sound
And dashing huge Gums to the ground,
Came the rain squall through the tree tops,
At first with huge infrequent drops,
Then in a deluge pouring down
Like waterfalls upon the crown
Of mountain-gorges when the snow
Beneath the sun's increasing glow
Is melted on the Alpine peaks,
While valiant Kit, whose rosy cheeks
Had blenched not at the storm, was fain
To flee in rout before the rain,
Which gave way to an icy chill
And hailstones huge enough to kill
Such hapless bird or animal
As in their path might chance to fall.

Soon as the rain began to pour,
The thunderstorm passed quickly o'er,
And with it fled the stifling heat,
Leaving the air quite fresh and sweet,
Which tempted most of them to walk
Out in the air to smoke or talk,
All save the two old folks and Lil,
Who made their hearts expand and thrill
By playing snatches slow and clear
Of carols they'd been used to hear
Some half-a-century ago
At High Wick Manor, when the two
Were lad and maiden; they talked on
Of England and what they had done
On bygone Christmas nights at home,
Of friends beyond the northern foam,
And friends beyond that other sea
Yet further—whither ceaselessly
Travellers follow the old track,
But whence no messenger comes back.

Outside, the conversation turned
On the same subject. Cobham learned
That Chesterfield, although in truth
Colonial-born, had passed his youth
And boyhood in the mother-isle,
Had been at Westminster awhile
And Cambridge, which however he
Had left too soon for a degree,
And so the two had much to say
About the good old English way
Of keeping Christmas—carols, waits,
Yule logs, a furbishing of skates,
A hanging up of mistletoe
O'er spots where everyone must go,
And decorating church and house
With holly, presents numerous,
And Christmas-boxes, boxing-day,
With opening theatres gay,
And Twelfth-night with its “characters,”
And Twelfth-cake. Kit to their converse
Listened attentively, and walked
In silence with them as they talked.
She took uncommon interest
In everything that was possessed
Or done by England. Englishmen
Of good position first, and then
Great English ladies, habits, sport,
And etiquette. Old Mr Forte
Had been her chief authority,
But he was half-a-century
Behind the latest. Now she had
One, not long since an undergrad.
In a crack Oxford College, near
To question on the social sphere
Of English gentry. So these three,
For half-an-hour it may be,
Walked up and down, till Mr Forte
Called the Professor to support
Some view of English Christmastide,
Which Mrs Forte and Lil denied;
And there he stayed and talked at first
With the old people till he durst
Steal off to Lil, who sat alone
At the piano, mute anon,
Then symphonizing. She had been
In the late elemental scene
More terrified than all the rest,
But Cobham in his heart confessed
That on the whole he'd rather have
A girl too timid than too brave,
And that a gentle helplessness
In petty cases of distress
Affords a pretty patronage
For ladies—to a certain age.
His fancy certainly was struck
More with Lil's terror than Kit's pluck.
She looked so tender in her fright,
With quivering lips and cheeks blenched white,
And nervous hands clasped in dismay,
While there was, as the Scots would say,
A something unco' in the pride
Which thus the elements defied,
In one so young and exquisite
In woman's beauty as was Kit.