700 Onr Anniversary. [JUNE, 



It was now three o'clock, and every thing around us appeared to be 

 lulled by the balmy influences of the weather ; ever and anon the soft 

 south wind gently agitated the branches of the old tree, and then the 

 light was shaken from the leaves like silver rain upon our faces, but we 

 closed our eyes for a moment and the wind died away, and the green sha- 

 dows of the foliage were about us like a curtain. Sydney lay on the grass 

 by our side, with the Fairy Queene spread open before his eyes. 



For a few minutes we were again silent, and nothing was heard but the 

 voice of the thrush in the distant wood, and the sound of Old Mortality's 

 stick as he sought to beat down a party of gnats which pertinaciously 

 persisted in buzzing around him. 



*' Have you written any poetry lately, Algernon ?" 



" I have a little song with me which I will read to you," and our friend 

 incontinently read, or rather recited, the following. 



Oh, gently passed the hours along, 



I had no thought of care or sorrow, 

 I lulled the night to sleep with song, 



Till sunshine woke it on the morrow. 

 I saw you, and I soon forgot 



To sing the night to sleep, Mary 

 When thy sweet eyes were closing not, 



How could I think of sleep, Mary 



I used to be at summer time 



Upon the grass, while in the flowers 

 The birds did chaunt their pleasant chime 



To evening's silver footed hours. 

 I saw thee, Mary, and the bird 



And the song are gone together ; 

 Ho\V can my pining heart be stirred 



Away from thee, by bird or weather ? 



The other day I learned to dream 



Upon the poet's golden book, 

 While ever o'er each leaf a gleam 



From her bright urn my fancy shook ; 

 But thou art with meminstrel's thought 



Is all an idle thing to me. 

 Alas! how can I think of aught 



By poet sung, when watching thee. 



Algernon had scarcely finished the last verse, when we heard the tramp 

 of a horse coming at full speed along the road, and, on looking up, we 

 beheld, to our consternation and dismay, one of the messengers of our 

 Printer ! Leaping from the grass with an impetuosity that brought back 

 the Antiquary from the antediluvians, we ran forward to meet the man, 

 who put the following epistle into our hands : 



" Mr. Bradbury's respects to Mr. Marmaduke Wentworth, and begs to inform him 

 that the press is standing, and that time is pressing ; Mr. B. hopes Mr. M. will send 

 back the Anniverswy by the bearer. Mr. Bradbury is particularly anxious to have 

 the Magazine ready in time, because he understands that additional orders for 

 1000 copies have been received by the publishers." 



We could not help thinking our printer's note more punningly pleasant 

 than was necessary but, however, we had no alternative but of sending as 

 much of our Anniversary as was finished. If there be time enough to 

 digest our dinner, and write an account of it, we will of course forward 

 it (the account) immediately. 



