First
I wrote "Zosime MacGillivray," in several different styles of chirography,
flourished and plain, and even in old text. Then I sketched out a rough
design for an ornamental heading, with a wreath of flowers encircling the
words "To Zozzy," and beneath this work of Art I inscribed the effort of
my muse, which ran thus:--
Fields and forests rejoice
In their silver-toned throng;
_I_ hear but the voice
Of the bird in thy song!
In April's glad shower
Flash petals and leaves,
Less bright than the flower
Round thy heart that weaves!
Stars waken, stars slumber,
Stars wink in the sky,
Bright numberless number;
But none like thine eye!
For bird-song and flower
And star from above
Combine in thy bower;
Their union is love!
My mind being considerably relieved by this gush of sentiment, I felt
myself entitled to unbend a little, and, turning my attention to artistic
pursuits, principally of a humorous character, I developed successively
many long-pent-up imaginings in the way of severe studies of sundry
garrison notables. There was "Bendigo" Phillips, with boxing-gloves
fearfully brandished, appearing in the attitude in which he polished off
young Thurlow of the R.A., under the pretence of giving him a lesson in
the noble art of self-defence, but in reality to revenge himself upon him
for an ill-timed interference in a certain _affaire du coeur_.
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