shining brightly on the snow-covered streets. The lamps are out,
and the town is still as a graveyard.

4.15. PHELP'S ALMANAC.

There is an eccentric Mormon at Salt Lake City of the name of W.W.
Phelps. He is from Cortland, State of New York, and has been a
Saint for a good many years. It is said he enacts the character of
the Devil, with a pea-green tail, in the Mormon initiation
ceremonies. He also published an almanac, in which he blends
astronomy with short moral essays, and suggestions in regard to the
proper management of hens. He also contributes a poem, entitled
"The Tombs," to his almanac for the current year, from which I
quote the last verse:--

"Choose ye: to rest with stately grooms;
Just such a place there is for sleeping;
Where everything, in common keeping,
Is free from want and worth and weeping;
There folly's harvest is a reaping.
Down in the grave among the tombs."

Now, I know that poets and tin-pedlars are "licensed," but why does
W.W.P. advise us to sleep in the barn with the ostlers? These are
the most dismal tombs on record, not except the Tomb of the
Capulets, the Tombs of New York, or the Toombs of Georgia.

Under the head of "OLD Sayings," Mr. P. publishes the following.
There is a modesty about the last "saying" which will be pretty apt
to strike the reader:--