Then, too, the largest bergs find their way around the edges of the
Banks, and do not cross, on account of their draught, for only an
average-size berg crosses the Banks.




"1891."

by Rev. PHILIP B. STRONG.


Dear "1890" is no more!
The year has gone like years before.
With feelings foreign, sure, to none,
I write an "1891."

What lofty vows, what high resolves,
The wakened soul to-day revolves!
Will they endure, as now begun,
Through all of "1891?"

Oh, may more kindly words be said
Than in the twelve-month that has fled;
Far better, braver deeds be done
Than then in "1891."

What hath this year of loss or gain?
Who knoweth? What of boon or bane?
Life's thread may bright or dark be spun,