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brighter sun, but a doubtful hue which accords well 
with the uncertain skies of January. Her existence, 
too, is almost as transient as the early ray which 
unfolded her petals, and we hâve scarcely welcomed 
the pretty visitant ere she disappears from our path; 
yet do we hail her with delight, not only for cheering 
us in the hour of gloom, but as the harbinger of 
the bright host which shall succeed her. 
Oh! the New-year’s Gift is a welcome flower. 
For she gladdens the gloom of the wintry hour; 
Amidst the dark tempests and blasts of the north, 
From her mantle of green she looks cheerily forth. 
When a brief gleam of sunshine dissolves the first snow 
It is pleasant to gaze on her beautiful glow ; 
At a time when no object in nature looks bright 
Save the golden hue of the Aconite. 
Agnes Stbickland. 
Nor does the “ New Year’s Gift,”* speak to us 
alone of the fair sisterhood who shall successively 
reign after her; of the loved violet, the queenly rose, 
and the delicious jasmine; — she suggests likewise a 
brilliant sériés of hopes, projects, and anticipated 
pleasures, in which ail are so apt at this season to 
indulge. But how often shall hope fade, how many 
a project shall be unperfected, and how many a 
