Before her awful glance the tree-tops bow.
And when enraged, she stretches forth a hand—
A long, thin hand—to North, South, East and West,
And draws from thence clouds num’rous as the sand;
They crowd on the horizon, and blot out
The sun’s fair light; then, like a giant’s shout,
The thunder booms at her dread spear’s behest.
(A. P. V.)
Sketch a scene between a “Mr. Woodhouse” of to-day and a neighbour of his.
Scene:—Mr. Woodhouse’s private study.