March Flowers.

FRIENDSHIP'S OFFERING.

THERE is a flower that lifts its form
In simple loveliness arrayed;

It bends not to the world's rude storm,
Nor withers in its chilling shade.
Others in gaudier robes may shine,
But age will dim their spring-time glow;
Sweet Flower! such changes are not thine,

Thy tints no faded lustre know.

Seasons, in their bright circle bound,

Borne on by time's untiring wing,

Gather new tribute in their round,
And o'er its form fresh beauties fling.
This simple flower to thee I bring,
If thou will take the offering.

On the high mountains cloud-wreathed brow,

And in the stillness of the vale;

Beneath the summer's brightest glow,

And 'mid the winter's stormy gale;

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Alike to life its beauties swell,
Alike it throws its fragrance round,
And souls that own no other spell
Are by its smiling influence bound.
It cheers the humble cottage walls,
Spreading its grateful incense there,
And tho' it smile in gilded halls,
It will no brighter verdure wear.
This simple flower to thee I bring,
If thou will take the offering.

They call it FRIENDSHIP-spurn it not,
Because it bears no dearer name;

For 'tis not that wild-springing flower

By earth's young stranger thought the same.
There is a kind that's only found,
Where sunbeams in their gladness play,

Where no dark clouds are telling round
The coming of a stormy day.

They are the flowers in coldness bending,
Till the bright sun goes up on high,
Their glow upon his rays depending,

For at his setting hour they die.
And if a shadow veil his light,

Or the cold winds blow fiercely by,

Frail forms, they sink beneath a blight, And hopes born with them, with them die: Oh, such is not the flower I bring, That were a worthless offering

Far different is the flower I mean,
'Tis not so poor, so frail a thing;
I'ts form, mid wintry age I've seen,
As bright as in its youthful spring ;
Nay, storms but nurse it into strength,
They bring to life its dearest charm,
That slumbered in the sunlight warmth,
And waked not in the summer's calm;
And when the tempest blast is sweeping
And cherished hopes all prostrate lie,
One unharmed flower shall still thy weeping,
And lift in joy thy downcast eye.

This is the flower to thee I bring,

O take the humble offering. Ms. H

A FAIR HIT,

All the world's a stage,

And all the men and women merely players.

So says Shakspeare:

All the world's a Fair,

And all the men and women merely traders.

So say we :

Which is right? Perhaps both. We cannot be wrong, for all the world is with us, Look at the world-how it goes. Is not buying and selling its great

business? Does it not show that this is all it was made for-all it loves-all it pursues? What age, place, people, sect or sex, fails to prove this? What else fills so large a place in life, engages so many hands, engrosses so many hearts, braces so many nerves, turns so many wheels? What propensity marks human nature more strongly, than the trafficking propensity? How soon does the child betray his desire of buying and selling ?— What greater treat to the youth, than the privilege of bargaining? How readily does the young man bring all his powers to bear upon the noble talent of buying well? How eagerly do the mature and old man boast of buying better-best? What places so constantly filled as the mart and the market? Where are all so willing to meet, high and low, gentle and simple? And there, how quick the step! How sharp the eye! How ready the wit! How deep the cunning! How patient and incessant the toil! How happy he who has made a good bargain! How wretched she-ah, too honest woman -who has been cheated!

How inconsistent in us, then, to object to buying and selling! Do we not love it? Do we not live by it? Are we not distinguished for our love of traffic? Who more distinguished? Where are buyers busier? Where are sellers shrewder ? What edifice have we, or has any city, more beautiful than the Arcade? What privilege so valuable as our water-privileges? What funds will vie with our banking funds? What interest so precious, as simple and compound?

Then why, why grumble at our humble Fair? We are but going the way of all the world, and especially of this fair portion of it. We do but swim with the sweep ing current. We can but sympathize and harmonize with the spirit of our age and city. We ask you but to