FOLKS, Circling: Cycles. In

Imitation of ' Beautiful Snow.'1 By A

Young Giel. Oh the cycles, the circling

cycles, WnirlingBO swiftly over the

ground, Threading their way through

crowded streets, Shooting by with a

whirr-r-ing sound. Dancing, flirting,

skimming along, Charming cycles, can

they do wrong ? Passing one' with a

noiseless stride, Swaying near, though

the road be wide, Forth from a corner

suddenly springing, Their startling bell

vi'lently ringing. The latest amusement

under the sun — How their riders laugh

as they go Wnirling about in maddening

fun, Chasing, racing, hurrying by. They

brighten the face and light up the eye,

And the dogs, with a bark and a bound,

Suap at the cycles as they eddy around.

Tne city's alive and longing to show How

swiftly on cycles it can go. How wildly

the riders go swaying along, Hailing

each other with humour and song ! How

the light cycles like meteors flash by !

Bright for a moment, then lost to the

eye. Ringing, swinging, dashing they go,

Their lires appearing whiter than snow.

The newest pastime under the sun. How

long will it last ? How soon be done ? —

Eve Eversleigh.