I learned that the storm had been less tremendous in its consequences at St. Cloud and Paris than at Versailles, the lightning having consumed a farm-house and barns near that town.  It is an event worthy of notice, from its being part of the phenomenon of what is termed a returning stroke of lightning, the circumstances of which are recorded in a recent number of Brande’s philosophical journal.—­Abridged from “Cameleon Sketches,” by the author of the “Promenade round Dorking."

* * * * *

RETROSPECTIVE GLEANINGS.

* * * * *

ALFREDE AND MATYLDA.

WRITTEN BY ROBERT HAIEWOODE, OF CHEPING-TORITON, IN 1520.

  The bryghtt enamell of the mornyng’s gleame
  Begann to daunce onn bobblynge Avonn’s streame,
  As yothefull Alfrede and Matylda fayre
  Stoode sorowynge bie, ennobledd bie despayre: 
  Att tymes theyr lypps the tynts of Autumpe wore,
  Att tymes a palerr hewe thann wynterr bore;
  And faste the rayne of love bedew’dd theyr eyne,
  As thos, in earnefull[7] strayns, theyr tenes[8] theie dyd
    bewreene.[9]

  ALFREDE.

  Ah! iff we parte, ne moe to meete agayne,
  Wythyn thie wydow’dd berte wyll everr brenn
  The frostie vygyls of a cloysterr’d nun,
  Insteade of faerie[10] love’s effulgentt sonne! 
  Ne moe with myne wyll carolynge[11] beatt hie,
  Gyve throbb for throbb, and sygh returne forr sygh,
  Butt bee bie nyghtt congeall’dd bie lethall feares,
  Bie daie consum’dd awaie inn unavaylynge teares!

  MATYLDA.

  Alas! howe soone is happlesse love ondonne,
  Wytherr’d and deadde almostt beforre begunn: 
  Lych Marchh’s openyng flowrs thatt sygh’dd forr Maie,
  Which Apryll’s teares inn angerr wash’dd awaie. 
  Onr tenes alych, alych our domes shall bee,
  Where’err thou wander’stt I wyll followe thee;
  And whann our sprytes throughe feere are purg’dd fromm claie,
  Inn pees theie shalle repose upponn the mylkie waie.

  ALFREDE.

  The raynbowe hewes that payntt the laughyng mees,[12]
  The gule-stayn’dd[13] folyage of the okenn trees,
  The starrie spangells of the mornynge dewe,
  The laverock’s matyn songes and skies of blewe,
  Maie weel the thotes of gentill shepherdds joie. 
  Whose hertes ne hopelesse loves or cares alloie;
  Butt whatt cann seeme to teneful loverrs fayre. 
  Whose hopes butt darkenns moe the mydnyghtt of despayre?

  MATYLDA.

  To thotelesse swayns itt maie bee blyss indeede,
  To marke the yeare through alle hys ages speede,
  Butt everie seasone seemes alych to mee,
  Eternall wynterr whann awaie from thee! 
  Fromm howrr to howrr I oftt beweepe ourr love,
  Wyth all the happie sorowe of the dove,
  And fancie, as itts sylentt waterrs flowe,
  Mie bosome’s swetestt joies mustt thos bee mientt[14] wyth woe.