JANUARY. 



the broad veil of wintry darkness, the lover's 

 evening visit, song, wine, the wild tale told to 

 the listening circle, or the unfolded stores of 

 polite literature, making each a little paradise ! 

 Then to turn from the bright side of the pic- 

 ture to the dark one. To 



The huts were poor men lie, 



where the elegancies and amenities of life cast 

 not their glow, 



But frosty winds blaw in the drift 

 Ben to the chimla lug, 



upon shivering groups who have but little de- 

 fence of fire or clothing from its bitterness. 

 Where no light laugh rings through the room ; 

 no song is heard ; no romantic tale, or mirthful 

 conversation circles amongst smiling faces and 

 happy hearts, but the father, 



111 satisfied keen nature's clamorous call, 

 Stretched on his straw himself lays down to sleep, 

 While through the rugged roof, and chinky wall, 

 Chill on his slumbers piles the drifty heap. 



When the mother sees not her rosy and laugh- 

 ing children snugly consigned to their warm, 

 soft beds, but contemplates with a heart dead- 

 ened with the miseries of to-day, and the fears 



