Sleepers awakened, and thought that what they had heard must be the
confused chimera of a dream. They trembled and turned to sleep again.

All is still--still as the very grave. Not a sound breaks the magic of
repose. What is that--a strange, pattering noise, as of a million of
fairy feet? It is hail--yes, a hail-storm has burst over the city.
Leaves are dashed from the trees, mingled with small boughs; windows
that lie most opposed to the direct fury of the pelting particles of ice
are broken, and the rapt repose that before was so remarkable in its
intensity, is exchanged for a noise which, in its accumulation, drowns
every cry of surprise or consternation which here and there arose from
persons who found their houses invaded by the storm.

Now and then, too, there would come a sudden gust of wind that in its
strength, as it blew laterally, would, for a moment, hold millions of
the hailstones suspended in mid air, but it was only to dash them with
redoubled force in some new direction, where more mischief was to be
done.

Oh, how the storm raged! Hail--rain--wind. It was, in very truth, an
awful night.

* * * * *

There is an antique chamber in an ancient house. Curious and quaint
carvings adorn the walls, and the large chimney-piece is a curiosity of
itself. The ceiling is low, and a large bay window, from roof to floor,
looks to the west. The window is latticed, and filled with curiously
painted glass and rich stained pieces, which send in a strange, yet