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TO THE LIGHTHOUSEDid she complete what he began? With equalcomplacence she saw his misery, his meanness, andhis torture. That dream, then, [%]of sharing, com-pleting,[∧] of / finding in solitude on the beach an answerwas then but a reflection in a mirror, and the mirroritself was but the surface glassiness which formsin quiescence when the nobler powers sleepbeneath? Impatient, despairing yet loth to go(for beauty offers her lures, has her consolations),outsetgal52to pace the beach was impossible; contemplationwas unendurable; the mirror was broken.([Mr. Carmichael brought out a volume ofpoems that spring, which had an unexpectedsuccess; due, [∧].The warpeople said, to the revival of poetryowing to the war.)had revived their interest inpoetry]7Night after night, summer and winter, thetorment of storms, the arrow-like stillness of fineweather, held their court without interference.Listening (had there been any one to listen) fromthe upper rooms of the empty house only giganticchaos streaked with lightning could have beenheard tumbling and tossing, as the winds andwaves disported themselves like the amorphousbulks of leviathans whose brows are pierced byno light of reason, and mounted one on top ofanother, and lunged and plunged in the darkness208
