r,
And a most cordial welcome from all of us here.
When with us he's quite civil and very polite,
In manners most courtly, and dignified quite;
But I'm told were he goes unexpected he's rough,
Chills all by his presence, and savage enough.
_Hark, hear how it storms!_ blowing high and yet higher;
But then we've books, music, and a brilliant wood fire,
Where logs piled on logs give one warmth e'en to see;
Oh! these evenings in winter are charming to me.
In good keeping these logs are with wind and the hail,
Everything in the country is on a _grand scale_.
You have nought in the city I think can compare,
To the bright glowing hearth from a good _country_ fire.
To be sure, now and then, one is cheered by the sight
Of wood fire in the city, but when at its height
Compared to _our fires_, Lilliputianal quite.
But here I will stop, for I think it quite time
To have done with my boasting, and finish my rhyme.

M.A.H.T. BIGELOW.
Weston, April 6, 1852.

P.S. And now, my dear friend, it is certainly fair,
Your city advantages you should compare
With ours in the country, let me know what they are.

REPLY:

WHICH I AM GRATEFUL FOR PERMISSION TO INSERT.

Dear Madam,
Many thanks for your missive so charming in verse,
So kind and descriptive, so friendly and terse;
It came opportune on a cold stormy day,
And scattered ennui and "blue devils" away;
For though in the city, where "all's on the go,"
We often aver we feel only "so so,"
And sigh for a change--then _here_ comes a letter!
What could I desire more welcome and better?
But how to reply? I'm lost in dismay,
I cannot in rhyme my feelings portray.
The _nine_ they discard me, I'm not of _their_ train,
They entreatingly beg, "I'll ne'er woo them again;"
But I'll brave their displeasure, and e'en write to _you_
A few lines of doggrel, then rhyming adieu.
My errors do "wink at," for hosts you'll descry,
And spare all rebuff, and the keen critic's eye.
I appreciate all of your calm country life,
And feel you are happy as mother and wife;
Surrounded by taste, and _the friend_ so refined,
Who with sterling good sense, loves the delicate mind;
Who with _you_ can admire the "bird on the wing,"
With _you_ welcome back the return of the spring;
Enjoying the promise of fruits and sweet flowers,
With music to cheer and beguile evening hours;
Then _long_, very long, may such hours be given--
They whisper content, and the foretaste of heaven.
I was born in th