"Pride must abide. He would be Shylock whether we liked it or not, so let him take the consequences. He is fighting it out with cold cream in the bath-room, and some of the horsehair sticks like fun. I'll go up and tell him we have eaten all the cake. He was getting savage when I came down, and it will sweeten his temper!" (_To be continued._) The Old Year's Grief. [Illustration] When the young year walked the woodlands or climbed the mountain side He wooed a gentle maiden and won her for his bride. She brought him golden sunshine & wheresoe'er he trod She reared a starry blossom to decorate the sod. From vale to vale they wandered; from hill to hill they went, Still leaving in their footsteps a harvest of content. But woe is me! when Autumn had climbed the green hill-side, Mid wailing of the woodlands the Year's sweet consort died. No more the soft winds dallied where bracken crowned the hill, To waft the brown bee's murmur across some golden rill. The throstle's song was silent. The year's sad step was slow, And whereso'er he wandered, he wandered through the snow. His constant song of sorrow was borne by northern gales Across the leafless forests & through the misty vales. He rambled by the river where often he had seen The mirrored face of beauty--his dear departed queen. But round the frozen sedges deep snow had drifted wide And ice, with Death's indifference, had bound the pleasant tide. In vain, in vain. The glory that once his vision knew Had left, in his dominion, no trace of where it flew. His days grow short & shorter. 'Twill soon be time to go And the white year's badge of sorrow is the pure and frosty snow. [Illustration] _JOHN LEA_ [Illustration] "SISTER WARWICK": A STORY OF INFLUENCE. BY H. MARY WILSON, Author of "In Warwick Ward," "In Monmouth Ward," "Miss Elsie," etc. CHAPTER II. "I had a noble purpose and the strength To compass it; but I have stopped half-way, And wrongly given the first-fruits of my toil To objects little worthy of the gift." _Browning._ "Sister!" The urgent word pierced the thick cloak of sleep and scattered fair dreams of the home of her childhood. "Sister!" She started into a sitting posture, and in another moment was out of bed, for Margaret Carden was saying-- "Mr. H---- has just brought us a croup case, Sister, and a very bad one, I am afraid." As the nurse hurried away the great hospital clock boomed out the hour--two--and almost immediately the Sister had joined a sad little group in front of the fire that, even during the summer, often was lighted in the huge open grate at night. Nurse Carden had taken, into her arms a poor little child of three, who was fighting and beating the air for the struggling breaths that the tortured throat was strangling.