What will you see, Margaret? Nothing lovelier than this, I am
sure. Are you not ashamed to stand muttering there? Come here, and look
at this beautiful night.
_Maid_. La, Lady Harriet!
_Lady A_. Listen! How still the camp is now! You can hear the rush of
those falls we passed, distinctly. How pretty the tents look there, in
that deep shade. These tuneful frogs and katy-dids must be our
nightingales to-night. Indeed, as I stand now, I could almost fancy that
fine wood there was my father's park; nay, methinks I see the top of the
old gray turrets peeping out among the shadows there. Look, Margaret, do
you see?
_Maid_. La! I can see woods enough, my lady, if that is what you
mean,--nothing else, and I have seen enough of them already to last me
one life through. Yes, here's a pretty tear I have got amongst
them!--Two guineas and a half it cost me in London,--I pray I may never
set my eyes on a wood again,
_Lady A_. This was some happy home once, I know. See that rose-bush, and
this little bed of flowers.--Here was a pretty yard--there went the
fence,--and there, where that waggon stands, by that broken pear-tree,
swung the gate.
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