“The company being all seated in a circle, the person who is to conduct the game proposes to the party to repeat, in turns, the speech he is about to make; and it is agreed that those who commit any mistake, or substitute one word for another, shall pay a forfeit. The player then commences by saying, distinctly, ‘I am just come from my aunt Deborah’s garden. Bless me! what a fine garden is my aunt’s garden! In my aunt’s garden there are four corners.’ The one seated to the player’s right is to repeat this, word for word: if his memory fails he pays a forfeit, and gives up his turn to his next right-hand neighbour, not being permitted to correct his mistake. When this has gone all round, the conductor repeats the first speech, and adds the following: ‘In the first corner stands a superb alaternus, Whose shade, in the dog-days, won’t let the sun burn us.’ “This couplet having been sent round as before, he then adds the following: ‘In the second corner grows A bush which bears a yellow rose: Would I might my love disclose!’ “This passes round in like manner: ‘In the third corner Jane show’d me much London pride; Let your mouth to your next neighbour’s ear be applied, And quick to his keeping a secret confide.’ “At this period of the game every one must tell his right-hand neighbour some secret. “In the fourth round, after repeating the whole of the former, he concludes thus: ‘In the fourth corner doth appear Of amaranths a crowd; Each secret whisper’d in the ear Must now be told aloud.’ “Those who are unacquainted with this game occasionally feel not a little embarrassed at this conclusion, as the secrets revealed by their neighbour may be such as they would not like to be published to the whole party. Those who are aware of this finesse take care to make their secrets witty, comic, or complimentary.” WINTER. This is the eldest of the seasons: he Moves not like Spring with gradual step, nor grows From bud to beauty, but with all his snows Comes down at once in hoar antiquity. No rains nor loud proclaiming tempests flee Before him, nor unto his time belong The suns of summer, nor the charms of song, That with May’s gentle smiles so well agree. But he, made perfect in his birthday cloud, Starts into sudden life with scarce a sound, And with a tender footstep prints the ground, As tho’ to cheat man’s ear; yet while he stays He seems as ’twere to prompt our merriest lays, And bid the dance and joke be long and loud. _Literary Pocket Book, 1820._ ~January 17.~ _St. Anthony_, Patriarch of Monks. _Sts. Speusippus, Eleusippus, and Meleusippus_. _Sts. Sulpicius I. and II._, Abps. of Bourges. _St. Milgithe._ _St. Nennius, or Nennidhius._ _St. Anthony, Patriarch of Monks._