zle out--ransack.

Tyke--dog.

Wampish--toss about.

Worriecows--hobgoblins.

Wuss--wish.

A G.

* * * * *

THE INDIAN MAIDEN'S SONG,

BY WILLIAM SHOBERL.

The youth I love is far away.
O'er forest, river, brake, and glen;
And distant, too, perchance the day,
When I shall see him once again.

Nine moons have wasted[1] since we met,
How sweetly, then, the moments flew!
Methinks the fairy vision yet
Portrays the joy that ZEMLA knew.

In list'ning to the tale of strife,
When Shone AZALCO'S prowess bright,
The strange adventures of his life,
That gave me such unmix'd delight.

That dream of happiness is past!
For ever fled those magic charms!
The cruel moment came at last,
That tore AZALCO from my arms!

What bitter pangs my bosom rent,
When he my sight no longer bless'd!
To some lone spot my steps I bent,
My secret sorrows there confess'd.

My sighs, alas! were breath'd unheard,
Could aught on earth dispel my grief?
Nor smiling sun, nor minstrel bird,
Can give this aching heart relief.

Since he I love is far away,
O'er forest, river, brake, and glen,
And distant, too, perchance the day,
When I shall see him once again.

[1] "Till now some nine moons wasted."--SHAKSPEARE.

* * * * *

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

_(For the Mirror.)_

"Do you look for ale and cakes here, you rude rascals?"

SHAKSPEARE'S _Henry the Eighth._

Since, my dear readers, even in this season of busy festivity I can
spare a few moments to write for your gratification, I venture to hope
you will spare a few to read for mine.

And so here we are, once again on tiptoe for a merry Christmas and a
happy new year. My good friends, especially my fair friends, permit me
to wish you both. Yes, Christmas is here--Christmas, when winter and
jollity, foul weather and fun, cold winds and hot pudding, good frosts
and good fires, are at their meridian! Christmas! With what dear
associations is it fraught! I remember the time when I thought that word
cabalistical; when, in the gay moments of youth, it seemed to me a
mysterious term for every thing that is delightful; and such is the
force of early associations, that even now I cannot divest myself of
them. Christmas has long ceased to be to me what it once was; yet do I
even now hail its return with pleasure, with enthusiasm. But, alas! how
differently is it viewed, not only by the sa