1 RIFE. But the spirit it awakened Who, 'twixt the earth and sky, Which, please GOD, shall never die! Plentiful; here filled. 2 IN-TO-NA'TION. Expressive modula tion of a voice or an instrument; tone. * PHŒ'NIX (fe'niks). A fabled bird sup posed to live for a long period, to exist single, and to rise again from its own ashes, and hence used as an emblem of immortality. 1. ONCE upon a time the months determined to dine together. They were a long time deciding who should have the honor of being the host1 upon so solemn an occasion, but the lot fell at last upon December; for although the old gentleman's manners were found to be rather cold upon first acquaintance, yet it was well known that when once you got under his roof, there was not a merrier or more hospitable person in existence. The messenger, too, Christmasday, whom he sent round with his cards of invitation, won the hearts of all, though he played many mad pranks, and received many a box in return. 2. February begged to be excused from coming to the dinner, as she was in very bad spirits, on account of the loss of her youngest child, the twenty-ninth, who had lately left her, and was not expected to return for four years. Her objection, however, was overruled; and being seated at table between the smiling May and that merry old fellow, October, she appeared to enjoy the evening's entertainment as much as any of the company. 3. The dinner was a very fine one, and admirably served. March and April agreed to furnish all the fish, May to decorate the dishes with flowers, June to supply early strawberries, July and August to present the dessert, September a magnificent course of all sorts of game, except pheasants, which were supplied by October, who also sent a couple of hampers of fine home-brewed ale, and November engaged that there should be an abundance of ice. 4. A short, squab little fellow, called St. Thomas's Day, stood behind December's chair, and officiated as toast-master3; and much merriment was excited by the contrast between the diminutive appearance of this man, and the longest day, who stood behind June, at the other end of the table. Master Thomas, however, was a very useful fellow, and besides performing the high official duty we have mentioned, he drew the curtains, stirred the fire, lighted and snuffed the candles, and seemed to think himself of more importance than anybody else. 5. The pretty, blushing May was the general toast of the company, and many compliments were passed upon the elegant way in which she had ornamented the dishes. Old January tried to be very agreeable to her, but she received him coldly. January at length ceased to persecute her with his attentions, and transferred them to November, a prim, blue nosed lady. * St. Thomas's Day is the 21st of December. 6. July, who was of a desperately hot temper, was every now and then irritated by March, a dry old fellow, as cool as an iceberg, who was ever passing his jokes upon him. At one time July went so far as to threaten him with a prosecution for something he had said; but March, knowing what he was about, managed to keep on the windy side of the law, and to throw dust in the eyes of his accusers. 7. On the retirement of the ladies, February, May, August, and November, the host proposed their healths, which were drunk with the usual honors; when April, being a soft-spoken youth, and ambitious of distinction as an orator, began to return thanks for them in a very flowery speech, but was soon coughed down by December and March; and March, by the bye, at length got into such favor with his old enemy, July, that the latter was heard to give him an invitation, saying that if he ever came to his side of the zodiac, he should be most happy to see him. 8. October told the host that, with his leave, he would drink no more wine, but that he should be glad of some home-brewed ale and a pipe. To this December acceded, and said he should be happy to join him, and he thought his friend March would do the same. March having nodded assent, they set to, and a pretty puffing and blowing they made. 9. After repeated summonses to the drawingroom, they joined the ladies at the tea-table. Novem ber drew herself up, and affected to be quite overpowered by the smell of smoke which March, October, and December had brought in with them, although it was well known that the old lady could blow a cloud as well as any of them. August, a grave, stately matron, of extraordinary beauty, though a little past her prime, officiated as tea-maker. 8 10. Tea being over, the old folks chose a quiet corner for conversation, and the young ones, including October, who managed to hide his years very successfully, went to the piano-forte. May was the prima donna, and delighted every one, especially poor April, who was alternately smiles and tears during the whole of her performance. October gave them a hunting song, which caused even the old folks to pause in their talk, and August sang a sweet, melancholy canzonet,9 which was rapturously encored.10 11. The party at length broke up. May went away in her own carriage, and undertook to set June down, who lived very near her. July and August both walked home, each preceded by a dog-day, with a lighted torch. September and October, who were next-door neighbors, went away in the same hackney coach; and March departed, as he came, on the back of a rough Shetland pony. XII. - EYES AND NO EYES; OR, THE ART OF SEEING. "WELL, Robert, where have you been walking this afternoon?" said Mr. Andrews to one of his pupiis at the close of a holiday. R. I have been, sir, to Broom Heath, and so round by the wind-mill upon Camp Mount, and home through the meadows by the river side. Mr. A. Well, that's a pleasant round. R. I thought it very dull, sir; I scarcely met a single person. I had rather by half have gone along the turnpike road. Mr. A. Why, if seeing men and horses is your object, you would, indeed, be better entertained on the high road. But did you see William? R. We set out together, but he lagged1 behind in the lane, so I walked on and left him. Mr. A. That was a pity. He would have been company for you. I R. O, he is so tedious, always stopping to look at this thing and that. I had rather walked alone. dare say he is not home yet. Mr. A. Here he comes. Well, William, where have you been? W. O, sir, the pleasantest walk. I went all over Broom Heath, and so up to the mill at the top of the hill, and then down among the green meadows by the side of the river. Mr. A. Why, that is just the round Robert has been taking; and he complains of its dulness, and prefers the high road. |