Well, well, fair friends, we will not ply it : We leave the question but you'll try it.

In some still hour, look well within,
And if you find some cherished sin,
Drive out the monster, and let virtue in!

The Past year scanned, we turn to view
The promise given by the New.
Winter, spring, summer, autumn, rise,
In lengthened vision to our eyes,
And, hiding every thorn, disclose,
Each one, some favorite wreath or rose.

Winter, stern winter, hides the tear
That tells of tingling nose and ear;
O'er starving groups it throws a veil,
Drowns the lost traveller's dying wail;
And only brings to mind the sleigh,
Its merry bells and trappings gay;
The sportive skater lightly gliding;
The hoiden schoolboy fondly sliding;
The coaster down the hill-side plying;
The snow-balls thick as hailstones flying.
And when the joyous day is o'er,
The crafty showman shuts the door,
And brings to view the fireside scene,
Where Old Bob Merry's Magazine
Tells tales of many lands, and wiles

From grave and gay their choicest smiles!

And th

Still by

And cra

Tell of t

And laug
Well-le

We listen

What you have ds of meadows blooming fair. Nay, do not snick hay that seems the air,

That each should bagliding

Noting his track, its

And where his beatenbeet th
No answer, Jane? Wh

These boys.-Come, Ro
Why, all can smile while

Feel the ke ash

But when to

Why, every

Spring, fickle Spring, as keen as Blitz*,
Says nought of March its stormy fits,-
How oft the morning comes like May,
Giving fair promise of the day,

While yet, ere night, the wild winds roar,
And down the myriad snow-flakes pour.
Nothing she says of mud like pastc,
Nothing of freshet laying waste;

But much she talks of April showers,
That bring, or ought to bring, May flowers,—
Which boys and girls, on May-day morn,
Oft seek in vain 'mid bush and thorn!

Summer, as wily as the rest,
Hides half its tale, but tells the best.
It speaks of meadows blooming fair,
Of new mown hay that scents the air,
Of singing birds and murmuring bees,
But nothing says of bugs and fleas,
Of serpents gliding where you tread,
Of sly mosquitoes round your bed,
Of parching heat that melts by day,
And keeps at night sweet sleep away!-

Autumn advances, decked in smiles,
Bringing us fruit in ample piles -

All our readers will understand that signor Blitz, the famous conjuror, is here alluded to.

Grapes, apples, peaches, pears, all mellow
And luscious. What a charming fellow!
And now the forest, like a queen,

He robes in yellow, red, and green;
But soon he changes, and his breath
Strews the torn leaves in beds of death;
The forests tremble in the fray,

And the earth yields to Winter's sway.

O happy morn of life! sweet spring
Of coming years! Say, who shall fling
A cloud across so fair a sky?
Nay-not on New Year's day shall I

Chafe your blithe hearts—your humor chide-
So put the chairs and stools aside.

We'll have a game of blind-man's buff,

Then nuts and apples, till you say “Enough!

Well, fun and feast are o'er; but ere

We part, Old Parley's counsel hear!