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He managed his paddle so deftly that there was hardly a drip that could announce their proximity to any one lying in wait on the bay. Several minutes before Archie caught the listless wash of calm water on a beach, Leary heard it and paused, peering at the opaque curtain of the woodland beyond the lighter shadow of the shore.
One could see the lianas and the trees, the broad leaves shining with dew, some bright, some sketched in dimly, and all bathed in gauze green light; and they could hear the drip and patter of dew on leaf and branch. This is a mournful sound the most mournful of all the sounds that fill the great forests of the Congo. It is so casual, so tearful.
In such a poem as that from which I have quoted, it is as though we saw nature with a drip on the end of its nose. Mr. Hardy's is something different from a tragic vision. It is a desolate, disheartening, and, in a way, morbid vision. We wander with him too often under Gaunt trees that interlace, Through whose flayed fingers I see too clearly The nakedness of the place. And Mr.
The trees, battered and torn, were ruffling such leaves as were left them gallantly in the wind, the paths still ran yellow water, the roadway was a muddy waste, eaves were still gurgling, and everywhere was the drip and splash of water. But the sky was clear and blue, and the air as soft as milk. As eager as a child Rachael dressed and ran downstairs, and was out in the new world.
Silence held the bridge deck, silence save for the subdued purr of the engine under their feet and the drip, drip of the drops from the awning edge. Steve peered anxiously ahead, his senses alert. At last: "Hear anything?" he asked. They all said no. "I guess I was mistaken then," Steve explained, "but I could have sworn I heard surf." He leaned over the chart.
But before midday the clouds gathered and the sky darkened, and at noon a cold rain began to drip. The poor Thrush ceased his jubilant song and began to shiver in the March wind. By night the snow was felling thick and fast, and where there had been a green carpet on the earth was now spread a coverlet of snowy white.
Fraser, a master by no means easily pleased, expressed himself unable to teach her any more. It is Christmas Eve. Drip, drop, drip, falls the rain from the leafless boughs on to the sodden earth.
That was a sore trial to me, I own, for I couldn't go out, and sitting over my sewing all day, listening to the drip, drip of the eaves, I grew so nervous that the least sound made me jump. Somehow, the thought of that locked room across the passage began to weigh on me.
I did not actually go to the House of Lords to hear the debate, as I am one of those people who confess to be easily bored by what Lord Salisbury called "the dreary drip of dilatory declamation." I waited, however, pen in hand, to hear the result of the division, which was not taken till late on a Thursday night.
For see how the mist clings to the points of the heather leaves, and makes drops. If the hot sun came out the drops would dry, and they would vanish into the air in light warm steam. But now that it is dark and cold they drip, or run down the heather-stems, to the ground. And whither do they go then?
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