All outdoor work Now stands; the wagoner, with wish-bound feet, And wheel-spokes almost filled, his destined stage Scarcely can gain. O’er hill, and vale, and wood, Sweeps the snow-pinioned blast, and all things veils In white array, disguising to the view; Objects well known, now faintly recognized; One color clothes the mountain and the plain, Save where the feathery flakes melt as they fall Upon the deep blue stream, or scowling lake, Or where some beetling rock o’er jutting hangs Above the vaulty precipice’s cove. Formless, the pointed cairn now scarce o’ertops The level dreary waste; and coppice woods, Diminished of their height, like bushes seem. With stooping heads, turned from the storm, the flocks Onward still urged by man and dog, escape The smothering drift; while, skulking at aside, Is seen the fox, with close down-folded tail, Watching his time to seize a straggling prey; Or, from some lofty crag, he ominous howls, And makes approaching night more dismal fall. During this month, the increasing influence of the sun is scarcely felt, till we approach the end, then hoping, watch from day to day the lengthened minutes as they pass, to usher in Spring’s holy charms. * * * * * WIT AND BEAUTY. BY AGNES L. GORDON. IT chanced upon a pleasant day, In charming summer weather, That Wit and Beauty sallied forth To take a stroll together. And as they idly roamed along, On various themes conversing, Young Beauty, somewhat vain, began Her wondrous powers rehearsing. And much she dwelt upon the charms Her outward form adorning, And seemed to feel herself supreme, All other merit scorning. This roused the ire of sparkling Wit, Who keenly thus retorted: “Your claim, though easily advanced, Requires to be supported. “Mark yon bright bird that wings his flight Athwart the sunny skies, Let each on him display our skill, To catch him as he flies. “Your chance is first, for well I know, And own the pleasant duty, That Wit in every age must yield Due precedence to Beauty!” Young Beauty smiled, and charmed the bird With softened strains alluring, And bound him with a silken chain, More brilliant than enduring. She placed the captive in a net, Entwined of many flowers, And with a merry, mocking smile, Bade Wit now try his powers. Then from his feathered quiver Wit A silver arrow drew, With perfect and unerring aim He pierced the net-work through.