W.G.C.
* * * * *
SONNET TO M * * *
(_For the Mirror._)
Though rough, not lengthened, is our worldly way;
Then wipe thy pearly eyes, no more to weep--
Thy feet from falling let this memory keep--
Our love hath lasted through the stormy day.
These clouds like early mist shall melt away,
And show the vale beyond the pointed steep;
For they who sow in tears, in smiles shall reap--
Then be thy spirits as the morning gay.
For thou alone art gifted with the power
To still the tempest in my stubborn soul;
Thy smile creates around the billows roll
The blissful quiet of a halcyon hour.
Then shed no tear--then heave no sorrowing sigh
Since love like thine may time and toil defy.
* * H.
* * * * *
LONG RIDES.
(_To the Editor._)
In 478 of your entertaining little miscellany, I observe a short account
of an unparalleled feat of riding, performed by John Lepton, of Reprich,
in 1603. As I know you wish to be "quite correct," the following may be
acceptable: it is copied verbatim from a scarce book (in my possession)
entitled, "The Abridgement of the English Chronicle," by Edmund Howes,
imprinted at London, 1668 (15th James I.
Pages:
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27