that unseasonable hour; the stranger was forced, for the present, to re-assume his seat; an open harpsichord at one end of the room, gave him an opportunity to make some remark upon music, and this introducing an eulogium on Lucy's voice, from Mrs. Slopperton, necessarily ended in a request to Miss Brandon to indulge the stranger with a song. Never had Lucy, who was not a shy girl—she was too innocent to be bashful—felt nervous hitherto in singing before a stranger; but now, she hesitated and faltered, and went through a whole series of little natural affectations before she complied with the request. She chose a song composed somewhat after the old English school, which at that time was reviving into fashion. The song though conveying a sort of conceit, was not, perhaps, altogether without tenderness;—it was a favourite with Lucy, she scarcely knew why, and ran thus:—
Lucy's Song.
Why sleep, ye flowers, ah, why,
When the sweet eve is falling,
And the stars drink the tender sigh
Of winds to the fairies calling?
