Bangor, Pa. T. Hinker.

No. 3.  NUMERICAL.

The Christmas season of great joy
Comes not to all without alloy. 
For soon will follow, in its line,
The day our bills we 3, 2, 9.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5 are they
Who view this time without dismay—­
Who have no fear to 12, 10, 11, 4—­
Dread I.O.  U’s, given long before.

Such trying times must us befall,
Still, a complete we wish to all. 
And hope you may pull safely through,
8, 1, 7, 6 your bills fall due.

Philadelphia.  Pa. F. Lasher.

No. 4.  STAR.

1.  A letter. 2.  Behold. 3.  Skimmed (Obs.) 4.  To array. 5.  The Pope’s triple crown. 6.  Errors in printing. 7.  Purest. 8.  While. 9.  A letter.

Chicago, Ill. U. Neke.

No. 5.  TRANSMUTATION.

The clock strikes nine, within the school
  The children take their seats: 
Within the corner stands the fool,
  Him oft the primal beats.

The master sits his desk behind,
  The lessons now commence: 
“Of these verbs you will tell the kind,
  Also the mood and tense.”

The sentences he then dictates,
  The pupils start the task,
But soon he spies two boys—­two mates—­
  Who each other answers ask.

He calls the lasts to come to him: 
  A flogging they expect. 
And, naturally, their eyes grow dim. 
  And heads are not erect.

The master looks them in the eye. 
  “I see you guilty are.” 
And straightway he does make them cry. 
  And badly do they fare.

At last the punishment dost cease,
  The arm descends no more,
But of advice a right long piece
  He gives to them before

They are allowed to take their seats,
  With faces red with shame. 
Such is the punishment of cheats,
  And they deserve the same.

Philadelphia, Pa. O. Range.

No. 6.  HEXAGON.

1.  An East Indian fruit obtained from a species of cypress. 2.  Armor for the arm. 3.  The ends of an elliptical arch. 4.  Narratives. 5.  A variety of zeolite of a flesh-red color. 6.  Restored the original design of. 7.  Moved. 8.  English essayist (1671-1729). 9.  An adder or serpent (Prov.  Eng.)

Litchfield, Ill. Stocles.

No. 7.  CHARADE.

We are standing in the doorway,
  My dearest prime and I;
The golden sun is sinking fast,
  And we must say good-by. 
Good-by!  How can we speak the word
  So full of bitter pain? 
My laddie is going o’er the sea. 
  We may ne’er meet again.

God grant the fine may carry him
  Safe on his quest away,
And surely bring him home next year,
  Till then I’ll wait and pray. 
Again by the door I’m standing,
  With my love so near to me. 
For my prime was true, the fine was strong,
  And our all will ne’er severed be.