’Mist shrouds the night, and rack;
   Hear, in the woods, what an awful crack! 
   Wildly the owls are flitting,
   Hark to the pillars splitting
   Of palaces verdant ever,
   The branches quiver and sever,
   The mighty stems are creaking,
   The poor roots breaking and shrieking,
   In wild mixt ruin down dashing,
   O’er one another they’re crashing;
   Whilst ’midst the rocks so hoary,
   Whirlwinds hurry and worry. 
   Hear’st not, sister—­’

“Hark!” said Belle, “hark!”

   “’Hear’st not, sister, a chorus
   Of voices?’”

“No,” said Belle, “but I hear a voice.”

CHAPTER XV.—­FIRST AID TO A POSTCHAISE AND A POSTILLION—­MORE HOSPITALITY.

I listened attentively, but I could hear nothing but the loud clashing of branches, the pattering of rain, and the muttered growl of thunder.  I was about to tell Belle that she must have been mistaken, when I heard a shout, indistinct, it is true, owing to the noises aforesaid, from some part of the field above the dingle.  “I will soon see what’s the matter,” said I to Belle, starting up.  “I will go, too,” said the girl.  “Stay where you are,” said I; “if I need you I will call;” and, without waiting for an answer, I hurried to the mouth of the dingle.  I was about a few yards only from the top of the ascent, when I beheld a blaze of light, from whence I knew not; the next moment there was a loud crash, and I appeared involved in a cloud of sulphurous smoke.  “Lord have mercy upon us,” I heard a voice say, and methought I heard the plunging and struggling of horses.  I had stopped short on hearing the crash, for I was half stunned; but I now hurried forward, and in a moment stood upon the plain.  Here I was instantly aware of the cause of the crash and the smoke.  One of those balls, generally called fire-balls, had fallen from the clouds, and was burning on the plain at a short distance; and the voice which I had heard, and the plunging, were as easily accounted for.  Near the left-hand corner of the grove which surrounded the dingle, and about ten yards from the fire-ball, I perceived a chaise, with a postillion on the box, who was making efforts, apparently useless, to control his horses, which were kicking and plunging in the highest degree of excitement.  I instantly ran towards the chaise, in order to offer what help was in my power.  “Help me,” said the poor fellow, as I drew nigh; but before I could reach the horses, they had turned rapidly round, one of the fore-wheels flew from its axle-tree, the chaise was overset, and the postillion flung violently from his seat upon the field.  The horses now became more furious than before, kicking desperately, and endeavouring to disengage themselves from the fallen chaise.  As I was hesitating whether to run to the assistance of the postillion, or endeavour to disengage the animals, I heard the voice of Belle