In that secluded dell I bade a sorrowful and unwilling adieu to the lady who had shown such extraordinary politeness. It may be worth the while to mention that she was soon after married, much against the wish of Mr. Penn, who had a great aversion to any changes in his establishment; for a kinder, a better, a more pious, or more accomplished gentleman than the late John Penn, of Stoke Park, England could not boast. * * * * * In consequence of the extraordinary prices lately paid for the autograph copies of Gray's poems, more particularly that of the Elegy, it has been thought it would be acceptable to the readers of the Magazine to be presented with a _fac simile_. The following have therefore been traced, and engraved with great care and accuracy, from the first and last stanzas of the Elegy, and the signature from a letter. These will give an exact idea of the peculiarly neat and elegant handwriting of the Poet of Stoke. [Illustration: handwritten poem by Gray The Curfew tolls the Knell of parting Day, The lowing Herd wind slowly o'er the Lea, The Plowman homeward plods his weary Way, And leaves the World to Darkness & to me. No farther seek his merits to disclose, Or draw his Frailties from their dread Abode, (There they alike in trembling Hope repose) The Bosom of his Father, & his God. Your humble Serv^t T. Gray] * * * * * THE SAW-MILL. FROM THE GERMAN OF KORNER. BY WILLIAM C. BRYANT. In yonder mill I rested, And sat me down to look Upon the wheel's quick glimmer. And on the flowing brook. As in a dream, before me, The saw, with restless play, Was cleaving through a fir-tree Its long and steady way. The tree through all its fibres With living motion stirred, And, in a dirge-like murmur, These solemn words I heard-- Oh, thou, who wanderest hither, A timely guest thou art! For thee this cruel engine Is passing through my heart. When soon, in earth's still bosom, Thy hours of rest begin, This wood shall form the chamber Whose walls shall close thee in. Four planks--I saw and shuddered-- Dropped in that busy mill; Then, as I tried to answer, At once the wheel was still. EFFIE MORRIS. OR LOVE AND PRIDE. BY ENNA DUVAL. So changes mortal Life with fleeting years; A mournful change, should Reason fail to bring The timely insight that can temper fears, And from vicissitude remove its sting; While Faith aspires to seats in that domain Where joys are perfect--neither wax nor wane. WORDSWORTH.