Henry Brocken

ll, ye're

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ried in my sleep. In a delicious languor between sleeping and waking I listened with imperturbable curiosity awhile to that voice of the unknown. Indeed, I was

ther side Mr. Gulliver and his half-human servant standing. In front of them was an empty space-a narrow semicircle of which Gulliver was the centre. And beyond-wild-eyed, dishevelled, st

urtured arrogance of their eyes, the tumultuous, sea-like tossing of crest and tail, their keenness and ardour and might,

he haughty anguish with which he threatened, pleaded, cajoled. Clear and unfaltering his voice rose and fell. He dealt out fearlessly, foolishly,

too-the Spirit of man in that small voice of his-perplexed, perhaps, and

een their hoofs and him? And I suppose for the very reason that these were beasts of a long-sharpened sagacity, wil

erence of restless beauty. And again broke out inhuman, inarticulate, immeasurable revolt. Far across over the

"Yahoos! Yahoos!" he bawled again. Then he turned, and passed back

I watched, on fire, the flame of the declining sun upon those sleek, vehement creatures of the dust. And then, I know not by what subtle irony, my zeal turned back-turned back and faded away into simple longing for my lost friend, my peaceful beast-of-evening, Rosinante. I sat down again in the litter of my bed and ea

ast from my face, I lifted the trap-door and de

stubborn and upright, heedless of the uproar, heedless even that the late beams of the sun had found him out in his last deso

on the beleaguered house. And I was looking out of the darkened window at a star that had risen and stood shining in the sky, when I

n the country whence you come the breadless bellies, the sores and rags and lamentations of the poor? Ay, Yahoo, and do vicious men rule, and attain

y peace. The fluttering of the dying flames, the starry darkness, silence itself; what we

me frenzy of the past. And once he wheeled on me extraordinary eyes, as if he half-recognised some idol of th

little to my confusion, his first astonishment of me had now passed away, and in its stead had fallen such a gentleness and humour as I should not have supposed possible in his wild countenance. He busied him

eep. But from dreams distracted with confusion I awoke at the first shafts of dawn. I stood beside the narrow win

. I saw no horses, no sign of life; heard no sound but the cadent wail of the ash-grey birds in their flights. And when I turned my eyes nearer home, and compared the distant beauty of the

attend on me. For him, indeed, I began to feel a kind of affection springing up; he seemed so eager to befriend me. And whose is the heart quite hardened against a

e known and loved your name, sir, since first I browsed on pictures-Being measured for your first coat in Lilliput by the little tailo

stockade, I cast a glance over my shoulder towards the house that had given me shelter. It rose, sad-coloured and solitary, between the green and blue. But, if it was not fancy, Mr. Gulliver stood

owed, I began to watch and hearken, too. Evidently our departure had not passed unseen. Far away to left and to right of us I descried at whiles now a few, now many,

ight, and, thrusting back his head, uttered a most piercing cry. After that,

ent steadily forward. And when at last I was faint with heat and thirst, my companion lifted me up like a child on to his back and set off again

like an English hawthorn. There we ate our meal, or rather I ate and my companion watched, running out ever and aga

no fear, he would protect me. And once he shaded his eyes and pointed

ting, ruffle their manes and wheel swiftly away; only once more in turn to advance, and stand, with heads exalted, gazing wildly on us till we were passed on a little. But my guide gave them very little heed. Did they pause a moment too

I conjectured, at scent, or sight, or rumour of these that he suddenly swept me on to his shoulder

than those forming the other bands. It was obvious, too, despite their plunging and rearing, that they were gaining on us-drew, indeed, so near at last t

heir leaders, till it seemed he must inevitably be borne down beneath their brute weight, and so-farewell to summer. But almost at the impact, the ba

o rescue me from the nearer thunder yet of those who had sei

rless creature scarcely heeded me; used me like a helpless child, half tenderly, half roughly, displaying ever and again ov

se crested, earth-disdaining battalions. I sickened of the heat of the sun, the incessant sidelong jolting, the amaz

wheeled to purpose; while the main body never swerved, thundered superbly on toward the inevitable end. And next I perceived with even keen

el green, a fringe of bushes, rougher ground. For this refuge he w

ge I heard the neighing and squealing, the ever-approaching shudder of hoofs. My eyes distorted all they looked on. I seemed now floating twenty feet

h; the hosts of our pursuers paused, billow-like

d, as it were, in space, then fell with a crash, still clu

ch of my hand lay the creature who had carried me, huddled and motionless; and to left and to right of me, and one a little nearer the base of the cliff, five of those sorrel horses that had been chief of our p

bathed his brow and cheeks with the water that trickled from the cliffs close at hand. I pushed back the thick strands of matted yellow hair from his eyes. He made no sign.

the trees, and gathered bundles of fern and bracken, with which to conceal awhile their bones from wolf and fowl. And him w

d after wandering in the woods, came late in the afternoon, tired out, to a ruino

small voice till every hollow resounded with her content. Silvery butterflies wavered across the sun's pale beams, sipped, and flew in wreaths away. The infini

rs and odours of the flowers were to me, unfamiliar the little shapes that gamboled in fur and feather before my fac

cry Enough! to these sweet, succulent grasses. I made no sign, waited with eyes towards the sound, and pulses beating as if for a sweetheart. And soon, placid, un

ncied even her bland face smiled, as might elderliness on youth. She climbed near

rd once more; not quite so headily, perhaps, yet, I hope, with undiminished courage, like all earth's t