WRITTEN FOR THE INTERNATIONAL MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
BY R. H. STODDARD.
A PROLOGUE.
Without, the winds of Winter blow;
Without, the Winter sifts its snow:
Within, the hearths are warm and bright,
And all the chambers full of light,
And we again are gathered here,
To greet the advent of the year.
Pile on the wood, and stir the fires,