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Sweet sleep to you, and pleasant dreams!" And the Oak Tree stood there, denuded of all its leaves, to sleep through the long winter, and to dream many a dream, always about something that had happened to it, just as in the dreams of men. The great Oak had once been small indeed, an acorn had been its cradle. According to human computation, it was now in its fourth century.
Catharine, who, though weary with her fatiguing wanderings, could not sleep, left the little hut of boughs which her companions had put up near the granite rock in the valley for her accommodation, and ascended the western bank, where the last jutting spur of its steep side formed a lofty clifflike promontory, at the extreme verge of which the roots of one tall spreading oak formed a most inviting seat, from whence the traveller looked down into a level track, which stretched away to the edge of the lake.
It was not difficult for him to perceive that this unhappy man's mind had been so long agitated by desperate schemes and sudden disappointments that it had lost its equipoise, and that there was now in his conduct a shade of lunacy, not the less striking, from the vigour and craft with which he pursued his wild designs. Morton soon joined his guide, who had been terrified by the fall of the oak.
Their once splendid mansions, now fast falling to decay, appeared to view from time to time, set back far from the road, in proud seclusion among groves of oak and hickory now scarlet and gold with the early frost. Distance was nothing to this people; time was of no consequence to them.
As they stretched themselves on the grass on a sun-warmed hill-side, beneath a great German oak whose arms were quiet in the blue summer air, there was a lively exchange of impressions, opinions, speculations, anecdotes. Gordon Wright was surely an excellent friend. He took an interest in you.
Still following the path down the vale, in a southerly direction, one, at length, finds oneself in an amphitheatre, shut in on all sides by trees and bushes of a still greater variety; here and there, a gigantic and much begnarled oak; here, a triple-stemmed tulip tree of some eighty feet in height, its glossy, vivid green leaves and profuse blossoms presenting a picture of unsurpassed beauty and splendour; there, equally beautiful, though in marked contrast, a tall and slender silver birch.
But another inscription over the solid oak door encouraged me to enter: "PORTA PATENS ESTO, NULLI CLAUDARIS HONESTO." I therefore opened the inner door with some difficulty, for it was heavy and cumbersome, and found myself in the hall. Although nothing remarkable met my eye, I was delighted to find everything in keeping with the place.
Wilks smiled faintly and caught his breath. "Sit down," repeated the captain. "I've left something in the kitchen, sir," said Mr. Wilks. "I'll be back in half a minute." The captain nodded. In the kitchen Mr. Wilks rapidly and incoherently explained the situation to Mr. Hardy. "I'll sit here," said the latter, drawing up a comfortable oak chair to the stove.
In the heart of the wood the larva finally scoops out the chamber destined for the nymphosis. This is an egg-shaped recess an inch and a quarter to an inch and three-quarters in length by two-fifths of an inch in diameter. The walls are bare, that is to say, they are not lined with the blanket of shredded fibres dear to the Capricorn of the Oak.
Rembrandt was the new Messiah, Holland was the Holy Land, and disciples were busy dispensing the propaganda in every studio. Since the bad example of Greuze, literature had wound round every branch of painting until painting seemed to disappear in the parasite like an oak under a cloud of ivy.
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