Yet, when this cherished volume was now placed in my hand—when I turned over its leaves, and sought in its marvellous pictures the charm I had, till now, never failed to find—all was eerie and dreary; the giants were gaunt goblins, the pigmies malevolent and fearful coach diaper bagsimps, Gulliver a most desolate wanderer in most dread and dangerous regions. I closed the book, which I dared no longer peruse, and put it on the table, beside the untasted tart. Bessie had now finished dusting and tidying the room, and having washed her hands, she opened a certain little drawer, full of splendid coach tote bags shreds of silk and satin, and began making a new bonnet for Georgiana’s doll. Meantime she sang: her song was—“In the days when we went gipsyA long time ago.” I had often heard the song before, and always with lively delight; for Bessie had a sweet voice,—at least, I thought so. But now, though her voice was still sweet, I found in its melody an indescribable sadness. Sometimes, preoccupied with her work, she sang the refrain very low, very lingeringly; coach poppy bags “A long time ago” came out like the saddest cadence of a funeral hymn. She passed into another ballad, this time a really doleful one.“My feet they are sore, and my limbs they are weary;Long is the way, and the mountains are wild;Soon will the twilight close moonless and drearyOver the path of the poor orphan child.Why did they send me so far and so lonely,Up where the moors spread and grey rocks are piled?Men are hard-hearted, and kind angels onlyWatch o’er the steps of a poor orphan child.Yet distant and soft the night breeze is blowing,discount bags Clouds there are none, and clear stars beam milGod, in His mercy, protection is showing, Comfort and hope to the poor orphan child.Ev’n should I fall o’er the broken bridge passing.
