Doth sit and read.
Mrs. A. M. Wells.
47. The wild wind sweeps across your low damp floors,
And makes a weary noise and wailing moan;
All night you hear the clap of broken doors,
That on their rusty hinges grate and groan;
And then old voices, calling from behind
The worn and wormy wainscot, flapping in the wind.
Thomas Miller.
48. In simple western style,