May, with her green lap full of sprouting leaves and bright blossoms, her song-birds making the orchards and meadows vocal, and rippling streams and cultivated gardens; June, with full-blown roses and humming-bees, plenteous meadows and wide cornfields, with embattled lines rising thick and green; August, with reddened orchards and heavy-headed harvests of grain, October, with yellow leaves and swart shadows; December, palaced in snow, and idly whistling through his numb fingers;-all have their various charm; and in the rose-bowers of summer, and as we spread our hands before the torches of winter, we say joyfully, Thou hast made all things beautiful in their time.

If thou dost not comply with these just demands, he defies thee to single combat to the last extremity. And so saying, the Herald cast down his warder.

[…]for on no other principle can I account for the prolongation of the day of feasting at the Crown and Anchor, until the 31st day of July, unless it is to allow themselves one little month to boast f respectability, &c. &c. &c., before the Satirist can present to the public a true account of the pandemonic scene.

Black cockatoos filled the air above her and their harsh screeching seemed only to echo the hostile nature of the bush.