The night is starry and cold, my friend,
And the New Year blithe and bold, my friend
Comes up to take his own."--_Tennyson_.
New Year's Eve in the fair city of St. John, that queenly little
city which sits upon her rocky throne overlooking the broad expanse
of bay at her feet.
Reader, we do not wish to weary you with the known, but love for our
own dear New Brunswick is surely sufficient apology.
It is one of the feelings of human nature to be possessed with a
desire to worship the great and titled, to become enamoured with
those appendages, which are the symbols of social distinction. Let
us consider how we, as a people, are privileged. Is there any
grander title this side of Heaven than found in these words, "I am a
British subject," and next "I am a New Brunswicker"? You who have
travelled have often felt your hearts rebound when listening to the
eulogiums passed upon our country and its gifted sons through the
medium of the pulpit, the platform and the press. "He is a New