A New Slab of Solar-Perplexus.

But the plain person who calls a collar by its christian name, and a pie a pie without bothering to translate the menu, takes the new year for what it is worth and rejoices that, at least, he has survived to dip his nose into a fresh bin of chronological chaff. He welcomes the new year mainly because he is alive to cope with it.

The whole secret of the sublimity surrounding the birth of another slab of solar per-plexus is the average human's thankfulness for the opportunity to partake of its experiences—however hard, however happy. Another year means another round in the prize-ring of existence—another opportunity of presenting the KO to Catastrophe and the glad mit to Fortune. A new year always promises Ok or Ko—you never know.

If uncertainty is the spice of life, every new year is a particularly spicy party. The toast, gentlemen, is, “Here's hope.”

Which is why Scotsmen make a heyday of New Year's day. Scotsmen are notoriously hopeful; Macawber has nothing on MacCaber when it comes to “postponing for profit.” But the difference between Macawber and MacCaber is that MacCaber works for things to turn up and then waits until they turn up.

The New Year to the Scot—and to many who are more Scotched against than Scotch—represents a new year's opportunity of reaping an old year's profit. No wonder Scots welcome the new year with open throats and throttles and consign Care and Caution to Mr. Chubb while the new year breathes its first and the old year its last.

And now, more muddled metaphor! If Father Time is ever reduced, through lack of the human coin of

“The plain person who calls a pie a pie without bothering to translate the menu.”

curiosity, to advertising his timely tenements, his advertisement possibly will scan like this: