"Annandale."

"The Recent Landslip at Pigeon Bay."
"In mem'ry of a dear old house, now vanished from the vale,
Alas! to think that all is gone that once was Annandale!
Whose hospitable lights at night would gleam across the Bay,
When darkness brought repose at last after the busy day;
Where few who ever pass'd that way but found a welcome kind,
A helping hand, a pleasant word, something to call to mind,
Where ev'rything was meant for use, and not mere empty show,
A cosy, dear old house it was, not very long ago.

Its nicely planted garden, full of pines and native trees,
That sway'd in summer evening, long to every wayward breeze;
Like velvet was the tennis lawn, where friends and neighbours met
On those same summer evenings for many a hard-fought set.
In front tall pear and walnut trees, all cast a pleasant shade,
And close at hand one old blue gum a goodly contrast made,
Though by improvement's ruthless hand, of branches all despoiled,
A witness he how pruning here an enemy hath foiled.

For when his brethren slim and tall did feel the adverse shock,
With one accord they bowed and fell while he stood like a rock.
Sudden and swift destruction came, the mountain seemed to rend,
And the elements—fire, water, earth—their terrors all did blend,
While o'er the scene a misty veil pitying Nature tried to draw.
That roar and shock the stoutest heart could not but fill with awe;
Down came the mud, with rush and roar, sweeping stones and trees apace;
Before that awful avalanche, for life a dang'rous race.

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And yet for others each one thought: "For God's sake, run!" the cry.
The children and the women safe—all through the storm they fly;
No time for aught in that dread hour but human life to save,
Dogs, garden, sheep, house, buildings all, soon find a common grave.
In little more than one short hour all signs are swept away,
That ever man upon that spot has tried his power to away;
The labour and the work of years in one sad morn effaced.

Oh! why should those who owned that home such bitter trial taste?
Nay! question not the hand of God, who trials sends in love,
And blessings in disguise to wean men's hearts to things above.
His ways are truly wonderful, and though we see no light,
He maketh all things work for good to those who love aright.

Mariana.

(Mary G. Buckley.")

Pigeon Bay, Sept. 15, 1886.