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THE DEATH OF THE OLD YEAR.

"And I did not come out ?"

"No! You know you didn't!"

"There was an excellent reason for that, my dear. I wasn't there," said Centre, calmly.

"You weren't there, you wretch! How dare you tell me such an abominable lie! But I have found you out. You go there every day, yes, twice, three times, a day! I know your amiable cousin, now! She can lie as well as you!"

"How dare you tell me such a lie! You have been with Sophia all the evening. She is a nasty baggage!"

Nay, Mrs. Centre, you are mistaken," interposed Mrs. Wallis. "Mr. Centre has been with me in this room all the evening."

Street ?"

"What! didn't I see him go out, and follow him to C "No, my dear, I haven't been out this evening. I changed my mind."

Just then Wallis entered the room with that peculiar Kossuth on his head, and the mystery was explained. Mrs. Centre was not a little confused, and very much ashamed of herself.

Wallis had been in Smithers' library smoking a cigar, and had not seen Sophia. Her statement that she had not seen Centre for a month was strictly true, and Mrs. Centre was obliged to acknowledge that she had been jealous without a cause, though she was not "let into " the plot of Wallis.

But Centre should have known better than to tell his wife what a pretty, intelligent, amiable, and kind-hearted girl Sophia was. No husband should speak well of any lady but his wife.

THE DEATH OF THE OLD YEAR.

ALFRED TENNYSON.

ULL knee-deep lies the winter snow,
And the winter winds are wearily
sighing:

Toll ye the church-bell, sad and slow,
And tread softly and speak low;
For the old year lies a-dying.

Old year, you must not die;

You came to us so readily,
You lived with us so steadily;
Old year, you shall not die.

He lieth still; he doth not move;

He will not see the dawn of day;
He hath no other life above;

He gave me a friend, and a true, true love,
And the New-year will take them away.
Old year, you must not go;
So long as you have been with us,
Such joy as you have seen with us,—
Old year, you shall not go.

He frothed his bumpers to the brim;

A jollier year we shall not see.
But though his eyes are waxing dim,
And though his foes speak ill of him,
He was a friend to me.

Old year, you shall not die;

We did so laugh and cry with you,
I've half a mind to die with you,

Old year, if you must die.

He was full of joke and jest;

But all his merry quips are o'er.

To see him die, across the waste
His son and heir doth ride post haste,
But he'll be dead before.

Every one for his own.

The night is starry and cold, my friend,

And the New-year blithe and bold, my friend,

Comes up to take his own.

How hard he breathes! o'er the snow
I heard just now the crowing cock.
The shadows flicker to and fro,
The cricket chirps, the light burns low,—
'Tis nearly twelve o'clock.

Shake hands before you die.
Old year, we'll dearly rue for you,
What is it we can do for you?—
Speak out before you die.

His face is growing sharp and thin;—
Alack our friend is gone.

Close up his eyes, tie up his chin,
Step from the corpse, and let him in
Who standeth there alone,

And waiteth at the door.

There's a new foot on the floor, my friend,
And a new face at the door, my friend,
A new face at the door.

BARBARA FRIETCHIE

JOHN G. WHITTIER.

P from the meadows rich with corn,
Clear in the cool September morn,
The clustered spires of Frederick
stand,

Forty flags with their silver stars,
Forty flags with their crimson bars,
Flapped in the morning wind: the sun
Of noon looked down, and saw not one.

Green-walled by the hills of Mary Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then,

land.

Round about them orchards sweep,
Apple and peach tree fruited deep,

Fair as a garden of the Lord,

To the eyes of the famished rebel horde.

On that pleasant morn of the early Fall,
When Lee marched over the mountain wall,

Over the mountains winding down,
Horse and foot, into Frederick town.

Bowed with her four-score years and ten;
Bravest of all in Frederick town,
She took up the flag the men hauled down.

In her attic-window the staff she set.
To show that one heart was loyal yet.

Up the street came the rebel tread,
Stonewall Jackson riding ahead;

Under his slouched hat left and right
He glanced: the old flag met his sight.

CIVIL WAR.

THE DEACON'S PRAYER.