Year: 1870

think the old fellow has hitherto
| had scaDt Justice done him in the
main. We make him the symbol Of


old age or death, and think we have
settled the matter. As lf old age were


never frosty but kindly too as If it
had no TeEered graces of it's own as
good IN their way as the noisy imper-
tinence of childhood, the elbOWing
self conceit of youth, or the pompous
mediocrity of middle life AS If
there were were anything discreditable
in death, or nobody had ever longed
for it Suppose we grant that Winter
is the sleep of the year, what then?
take it upon me to say that his dreams
are finer than the best reality of his
waking rivals.


"sleep. snence's child, the father Of soft
is very agreeable acquaintance, and
most of US are better employed in his
company than anywhere else. Form
own part think Winter pretty wide.
awake old boy, and his bluff sincerity
and hearty ways are more congenial to
my mood, and more wholesome for me
than any charms of which his rivals
are capable. Spring IS q tickle mis-
tress, who either does not know her
own mind, OF is so long Ia making It
up, whether you shall have her or not
have her, that one gets tired at last of
her pretty niffs and reconeiliations. /
You go to her to be cheeTed up a bit, |
and ten to one catch her In the sulks, |
expecting you to find enough goOd4I0- |
NOR for both. After she has become |
Mrs. Sumner she grows a little more |
staId in her demeanOr and her abun- |
dant table, where you are sure to get |
the earliest fruits and vegetables Of |
the season, is a good foundation for |
steady friendship but she has lost
that delicious aroma of maidenhoOd, 1
and what was delicately rounded /
grace in the girl gives moro than hints
of redundance in the mRtrOn. Au-
tumn is the poet of the family he
gets you up a splendor that you
would say was made out of real sun
set; but it is nothing more than a few
hectic leaves, when all is done. He is
but a sentimentalist, after all a kind i
of Lamartine whining along the ances-
trail avenues he has made bare timber 1
of. and begging a contribution of
spirits from your OVID savings TO keep /
him In cOuntenauce. But Winter has 4
his delicate sensibilities too, only he
does not make them as good as ihdeii-
cate by thrustinR them forever in your
face. He is a better poet than AU-
.umn, when he has a mind, but like a
.ruly great one as he is, he brings you
lOWn to your bare manhood, and bids
you understand him out of that, with
10 adVentitious helps of association,
)r he will have none of you. He
loes not touch those melancholy
chords on which Autumn is as
yreat master as Heine.
Well, is there no such thing as thrum-
ming on them and maundeFing over
hem till they get out Of tune, aud you
wish some manly hand would crash
through them and leave them dangling
forever? Take Winter as
rOu find him, and he turns out TO be a
thoroughly honest fellow. with no non
ense In him, aud tolerating none in
7Ou, which is a great comfort IN the
ong run. He is not what they call
/ genial critic; but bring a real man
dong with you, and you will find there
6 a Grabbed generosity about the old
,ynic that You would not exchange
or all the creamy concessions Of lAu-
umn. Season of mists and mellow
quotha That's just
{ Winter soon blows your head clear !
# fog, and makes you see things as J
hey are thank him for il The !
ruth is, between ourselves, / have a
cry good opinion of the whole family
Tho always welcome me without max
lg me feel as if / were too much Of ,
poor relation, There ought to be
ONE kind OF distance, never so little,
ou know, TO give the true relish. :