Old Winter, with his hoary locks,

His frosty face and visage murky,

May suit some very jolly cocks,

Who like roast-beef, mince-pies, and turkey:

But give me Autumn—yes, I’m Autumn’s child—

For then—no declarations can be filed.

TOM CONNOR’S DILEMMA.

A TRUE TALE.

SHOWING HOW READY WIT MAY SUPPLY THE PLACE OF READY MONEY.