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COLD, proud man," the people said. 
 Surely a girl would never wed 
 This man of icy ways — 
 His frozen heart could never tell 
 The story maidens love so well, 
 Or whisper lover's praise. 
 
 But January thawed one day, 
 And in his softened heart, a ray 
 
 Of love so sweet was shed. 
 That tenderly he went to woo 
 His New Year's Day, as others do, 
 
 And asked if she would wed. 
 
 Now New Year keeps, in books of gold 
 The resolutions, yearly told 
 
 By people everywhere, 
 And January, warm to-night, 
 Miofht freeze agrain, unless he'd write 
 
 His resolution there. 
 
 And so to please his New Year's Day, 
 He wrote his promise in this way, 
 
 "Loving and true I'll be, 
 And tender always to my bride, 
 For to grow cold, while by her side, 
 
 Could happen not," said he. 
 
FEBHUfl^V. 
 
 OUNG February was fair to see, 
 The fairest girl in the town was she, 
 And lovers beset her way, 
 George Washington's Birthday, a noble lad. 
 And Valentine's Day, she certainly had 
 A dozen or so a day. 
 
 But Valentine with his pretty wiles 
 Devised for winning a woman's smiles, 
 
 Won February's hand. 
 For where is there a woman's heart 
 That would not yield a loving part 
 
 At Valentine's command? 
 
 A bit of lace, with tender verse 
 Will oft defy the richest purse, 
 
 If sent by Valentine, 
 And so, to February went 
 The sweetest verses ever sent, 
 
 With love in every line. 
 
 The patriots may scoff and say 
 That Washington and his birthday 
 
 The maiden should have chosen, 
 But in each woman's heart a shrine 
 Is ever kept for Valentine, 
 
 'Round him her love is woven. 
 
 And now each year his little heir, 
 (He's known as Cupid everywhere,) 
 
 Comes knockino- at each door 
 And leaves a lovely valentine 
 To rich and poor; in rain or shine 
 
 He flies the country o'er. 
 
HO In the world would marry March? 
 He's such a wild blustering; fellow! 
 
 He would half scare the life 
 
 Out of any young wife 
 And his voice! Why, 'tis almost a bellow. 
 But at last he found one as jolly as he 
 She cared not a bit for his bluster — not she — - 
 
 She said "Yes," so quick 
 
 It 'most made him sick, 
 His breath was quite taken away — 
 
 Very little cared she 
 
 For she loved him you see. 
 This jolly, young- St. Patrick's Day. 
 
 And now when a whistling March wind keeps us in 
 We may think as it howls on its way, 
 
 'Tis the fiddler, scraping his old violin, 
 
 While young March and his wife dance all day. 
 
I THIN the church, walks Easter Day. 
 Beside her, on the marble way 
 Kneels one whose heart is sadly sighing, 
 
 And now the anthem softly dying, 
 
 Hear April pitifully crying. 
 "Oh! Easter, Easter, be my bride, 
 I love you, dear, and by your side, 
 I'll ever strive your will to do. 
 Oh! Easter, say you love me true." 
 
 But Easter with her eyes so holy 
 
 Looks far away from April lowly 
 
 Kneeling at her feet, and slowly, 
 Softly says, " I must not love you. 
 To this church so high above you 
 My faithful heart is truly pledged. 
 
 My life within its cloister hedged. 
 
 There is another in the town, 
 
 A girl whose fun has won renown, 
 
 And she would make you happy truly 
 If you could love her heart unruly 
 But careful ! Do not let her fool thee." 
 So said Easter, but still madly 
 April cries, and then goes sadly 
 April First to see; but cheering 
 Are her funny ways, and clearing 
 Is the face once so despairing. 
 And now his mouth a smile is wearing, 
 April is fickle, you're declaring? 
 Surely you've noticed that before. 
 Showers are always quickly o'er 
 In April, and the sunshine too 
 Deceives us, as the showers do. 
 
 I feel that you are selfish, dear. 
 You would not stop a si'ngle tear, 
 To give the world a pleasant day. 
 With tears you'd follow every ray 
 
 Of sunshine as it suits your pleasure. 
 And yet you ask me for the treasure 
 Of my whole heart, although its measure 
 Includes the whole world, all but self, 
 All people, to the smallest elf 
 Who's learned to lisp my sacred name; 
 Are there not other days of fame? 
 
THE happy May Day 
 O the glad, glad, play day, 
 
 When maidens blush 
 
 With pinkest flush 
 To hear their lovers' oft told story; 
 
 When hearts are young. 
 
 And songs are sung. 
 And all the world seems bright with glory, 
 Then young May comes to woo his bride. 
 His child-wife sweet and fair, 
 He scarcely ever leaves her side, 
 For May Day must not have a care. 
 

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UTS IDE the college door, June stands, 
 Her presence warm and tender, like the sun 
 Which shines and flickers o'er the lands 
 Of king and peasant, worlding, priest and nun; 
 So blue her eyes, so soft her hair, that one 
 Became her lover ere the hour was done. 
 
 For just inside the college hall, 
 
 Before an eager throng. Commencement Day 
 
 In power stood, imposing, tall. 
 
 Giving degrees and prizes earned, away; 
 
 But though the students homage to him pay, 
 
 His thoughts far to the summer sunshine stray. 
 
 And looking out he sees warm June 
 Inviting him with roses sweet and fair; 
 College and books seem out of tune. 
 While she so lovingly awaits him there. 
 And so, out in the tender, fragrant air. 
 Commencement Day seeks June, his bride so fair. 
 
JULtV. 
 
 ULY made the greatest mistake of his life 
 In choosing a woman of mind for his wife. 
 He married the glorious Fourth. What a pity! 
 Her crackers alone, would endanger a city — 
 And besides, there were cannon, guns, powder and shot, 
 Sky rockets, torpedos! I fear July's lot 
 Was not to be envied; and now to crown all. 
 She preached "Women's Rights" and expected a call 
 To platforms and pulpits. "A woman's vocation," 
 She said, " is to do what you can for the nation." 
 "If that is the case," said July, "as you please, 
 But I prefer resting beneath the green trees, 
 Through their leaves to gaze at the beautiful sky. 
 And hear the cool splash of the brook running by. 
 I leave you to fight for your tiresome nation. 
 While I am indulging in mild recreation. 
 Every one to his taste," and off July ran — 
 I think of the two, his the pleasanter plan. 
 
AUGUST. 
 
 UGUST had so many dog-days 
 With their shaggy, waggy dog-ways 
 He was quite content. 
 " Better far it is to tarry 
 Than too hastily to marry 
 Only to repent. 
 
 My dogs are loving friends to me, 
 The use of wives I cannot see, 
 
 They're nothing but a fad, 
 I'll waste no gold on wedding fees 
 As like as not my dogs she'd tease 
 
 And drive them fairly mad." 
 
 And so he talked to every one. 
 There was no girl beneath the sun, 
 
 He'd think of for a bride. 
 Manlike he never stopped to think 
 That any girl from him would shrink; 
 
 That's quite the other side. 
 
SEPTEpBEf^. 
 
 EAR the cry of Labor Day, 
 "Is there never time to play, 
 Must I always work away 
 
 Without a ray of light — 
 Should September ask to wed, 
 Then a holiday instead 
 He would make of me. He said 
 Perhaps he'd call to-night." 
 
 Sure enough, September came, 
 Asked if she would bear his name, 
 Life has never seemed the same. 
 
 For in that twilight dim 
 Love unfolded a new way, 
 Made of her a holiday. 
 She has never worked they say. 
 
 Not since she married him. 
 
'/^X.'^ 
 
 OCTOBER. 
 
 EE October in a passion, 
 ^ Grown so weary of the fashion 
 
 His days their love confide. 
 " I will not have your love, I say. 
 Among you all there's not a day 
 
 Who's fit to be my bride. 
 
 The other months wed holidays, 
 You, with your ordinary ways 
 
 Derision forth would call; 
 I'll send a frost this very night 
 To freeze your hearts until they're quite 
 
 Too cold to love at all." 
 
 That's so like October's temper. 
 Angry heat and freezing winter 
 
 Our strength so often test; 
 But sometimes he is full of cheer, 
 So bright, we feel of all the year, 
 
 We love October best. 
 
^OVEJVIBEH. 
 
 OOR old November, sad and gray, 
 1^^ He never knew a wedding-day. 
 When young, he might have found a wife, 
 But now 'tis quite too late in life. 
 And vet he stands there, orazino- down. 
 And sees Thanksgiving bustling round 
 With roasted turkey and mince pie! 
 Oh! did you hear November sigh? 
 "The pies and tarts that girl can make. 
 The cakes and puddings she can bake 
 It fairly makes my old heart ache; 
 Why did I make the sad mistake 
 Of living single all these years, 
 And now I am beset with fears 
 Lest I should seem too old a swain, 
 And yet I walk without a cane, 
 And have some years of life beside; 
 I'll ask her if she'll be my bride — 
 Those cakes and puddings won my heart 
 And as for turkey and jam tart — 
 If I can only win Thanksgiving, 
 I'll have the very best of living. 
 I surely hope that I shall win her. 
 And have a fine Thanksg^iving- dinner." 
 
DEGE^BEH. 
 
 ECEMBER lived, you know, alone, 
 
 He was so very, very old. 
 
 His heart, they say, was hard as stone, 
 His face was rigid with the cold, 
 A word of love he'd never told. 
 
 And yet one day I know not why 
 They never had been seen before. 
 Some tears stood in his faded eye. 
 His mouth a strange expression wore 
 As though his heart stirred at the core. 
 
 He called to him his frosty days. 
 "Why is it I am changed," he said 
 " I thought I knew no tender ways, 
 I thought my stern old heart was dead 
 I surely cannot wish to wed." 
 
 Then one stepped forward. " Sire," said sh( 
 
 Outside the city gates last night, 
 
 A Child was born; they say that he 
 
 Has come to make this dark world bright, 
 
 And all around is glorious light. . 
 
 5 
 They tell us too, that for this Gift, 
 We should be kinder, one and all. 
 We should each other's burdens lift. 
 Or never on the Christ-child call 
 The child who sleeps in manger stall. 
 
 6 
 
 And so December grows more kind. 
 The little Child who came that night, 
 A shelter in the world to find. 
 Shed over all a softening light, 
 Made all hearts tremble with delight. 
 
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