joy. Dearly she loved all those mor- and smiling on an only daughter, almost tal creatures whom she was soon woman-grown-fair and frolicsome in about to leave; but she sat in sun- her innocence as thou thyself wert of shine even within the shadow of death; and the "voice that called her home" had so long been whispering in her ear, that its accents had become dear to her, and consolatory every word that was heard in the silence, as from another world. Whether we were indeed all so witty as we thought ourselves-uncles, aunts, nephews, cousins, and "the rest," it might be presumptuous in us, who were considered by ourselves and some few others the most amusing of the whole set, at this distance of time to decide-especially in the affirmative; but how the roof did ring with sally, pun, retort, and repartee! Ay, with pun-a species of impertinence for which we have therefore a kindness even to this day. Had incomparable Thomas Hood had the good fortune to have been born a cousin of ours, how with that fine fancy of his would he have shone at those Christmas festivals, eclipsing us all! Our family, through all its different branches, has ever been famous for bad voices, but good ears; and we think we hear ourselves—all those uncles and aunts, nephews, and nieces, and cousins— singing now! Easy is it to "warble melody" as to breathe air. But, oh! we hope harmony is the most difficult of all things to people in general, for to us it was impossible; and what attempts ours used to be at Seconds! Yet the most woful failures were rapturously encored; and ere the night was done, we spoke with most extraordinary voices indeed, every one hoarser than another, till at last, walking home with a fair cousin, there was nothing left for it but a tender glance of the eye-a tender pressure of the hand-for cousins are not altogether sisters, and although partaking of that dearest character, possessing, it may be, some peculiar and appropriate charms of their own; as didst thou, Emily the "Wild-cap!"-That soubriquet all forgotten now-for now thou art a matron, gentle as a dove, yore, when the gravest and wisest withstood not the witchery of thy dancings, thy singings, and thy showering smiles! On rolled Suns and Seasons-the old died-the elderly became old-and the young, one after another, were wafted joyously away on the wings of hope, like birds, almost as soon as they can fly, ungratefully forsaking their nests, and the groves in whose safe shadow they first essayed their pinions; or like pinnaces, that, after having for a few days trimmed their snow-white sails in the land-locked bay, close to whose shores of silvery sand had grown the trees that furnished timber both for hull and mast, slip their tiny cables on some summer day, and gathering every breeze that blows, go dancing over the waves in sunshine, and melt far off into the main! Or, haply, some were like fair young trees, transplanted during no favorable season, and never to take root in another soil, but soon leaf and branch to wither beneath the tropic sun, and die almost unheeded by those who knew not how beautiful they were beneath the dews and mists of their own native clime. Vain images! and therefore chosen by fancy not too painfully to touch the heart! For some hearts grew cold and forbidding in selfish cares-some, warm as ever in their own generous glow, were touched by the chill of Fortune's frowns, that are ever worst to bear when suddenly succeeding her smiles-some, to rid themselves of painful regrets, took refuge in forgetfulness, and closed their eyes to the past-duty banished some abroad, and duty imprisoned others at home-estrangements there were, at first unconscious and unintended, yet ere long, though causeless, complete changes were wrought insensibly, invisibly, even in the innermost nature of those, who being friends knew no guile, yet came thereby at last to be friends no more-unrequited love broke some bonds-requited love re St. Mary Magdalen-and in the deepened hush that follows the solemn sound, hark how the mingling waters of the Cherwell and the Isis soften the severe silence of the holy night! laxed others—the death of one alter- ny domes-from the majestic tower of ed the conditions of many-and soyear after year-the Christmas Meeting was interrupted-deferred-till finally it ceased, with one accord, unrenewed and unrenewable. For when Some things cease-for a time-that time turns out to be for ever. Survivors of those happy circles! wherever ye be-should these imperfect remembrances of days of old chance, in some thoughtful pause of life's busy turmoil, for a moment to meet your eyes, let there be towards the inditer a few throbs of revived affection in your hearts-for his, though "absent long and distant far," has never been utterly forgetful of the loves and friendships that charmed his youth. To be parted in body is not to be estranged in soul-and many a dream-and many a vision, sacred to nature's best affections, may pass before the mind of one whose lips are silent. "Out of sight out of mind," is rather the expression of a doubt—of a fearthan of a belief or conviction. The soul surely has eyes that can see the objects it loves, through all intervening darkness-and of those more especially dear it keeps within itself almost undimmed images, on which, when they know it not, think it not, believe it not, it often loves to gaze, as on a relic imperishable as it is hallowed. Hail! rising beautiful, and magnificent, through the mists of morninghail! hail! ye Woods, Groves, Towers, and Temples, overshadowing that famous Stream beloved by all the Muses! Through this midnight hush-methinks I hear faint and far off a sacred music, "Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault, The pealing anthem swells the note of praise!" How steeped in the beauty of moonlight are all those pale, pillared churches, courts and cloisters, shrines and altars, with here and there a Statue standing in the shade, or Monument sacred to the memory of the pious-the immortal dead! Some great clock is striking from one of ma Remote from kindred, and from all the friendships that were the native growth of the fair fields where our boyhood and our youth had roamed, and meditated, and dreamed, those were yet years of high and lofty. mood, which held us in converse with the shades of great poets and sages of old in Rhedicyna's hallowed groves, still, serene, and solemn, as that Grecian Academe where divine Plato, with all Hybla on his lips, discoursed such excellent music, that this Life seemed to the imagination spiritualized-a dim reminiscence of some former state of being. How sank then the Christmas Service of that beautiful Liturgy into our hearts! Not faithless we to the simple worship that our forefathers had loved; but Conscience told us there was no apostacy in the feelings that rose within us when that deep organ 'gan to blow, that choir of youthful voices so sweetly to join the diapason, our eyes fixed all the while on that Divine Picture over the Altar, of our Saviour "Bearing his cross up rueful Calvary." But a change comes o'er the spirit of my dream." How beautiful in the setting sunlight are these mountains of soft crimson snow! The sun hath set, and even more beautiful are the bright-starred nights of winter, than summer in all its glories beneath the broad moons of June! Through the woods of Windermere, from cottage to cottage, by coppicepathways winding up to dwellings among the hill-rocks, where the birchtrees cease to grow, "Nodding their heads, before us go, The merry Minstrelsy." They sing a salutation at every door, familiarly naming old and young by their Christian names; and the eyes that look upward from the vales to the hanging huts among the plats and cliffs, see the shadows of the dancers ever and anon crossing the light of the star-like window; and the merry music is heard like an echo dwelling in the sky! Across those humble thresholds often did we on Christmas nights of yore-wandering through our solitary sylvan haunts, under the branches of trees within whose hollow trunk the squirrel slept-venture in, unasked, perhaps, but not unwelcome; and in the kindly spirit of the season, did our best to merrify the Festival by tale or song. And now that we behold them not, are all those woods, and cliffs, and rivers, and tarns, and lakes, as beautiful as when they softened and brightened beneath our living eyes half-creating, as they gazed, the very Paradise that they worshipped! And are all those hearths as bright as of yore, without the shadow of our figure? And the roofs, do they ring as mirthfully, though our voice be forgotten! But little cause have we to lament that that Paradise is now to us but as remembered poetry-poetry got by heart -deeply engraven there-and to be read at any thoughtful hour we choose charged deeper and deeper still with old memories and new inspirations. The soul's best happiness is independent of time and place. Such accidents touch it not-they "offer not even any show of violence, it being a thing so majestical." And lo! another New Series of Christmas Festivals has to us been born! For there are our own Living Flowers in our family garland! And as long as He, who gave them their bloom and their balm, averts not from them or us the sunshine of his countenance, content -oh! far beyond content-would we be with this, the most sacred of all Religious Festivals, were it even to be holden by us far apart from them in some dungeon's depth. Ay-well may we say-in gratitude, not in pride-though, at such a sight, pride might be thought but a venial sin within a father's heart,-" There is our Chistmas rose"-while a blush brightens the beauty of a face that we call " fair, not pale," and brighter and softer than the leaves of any rose, the ringlets dance over her forehead to the breeze of joy, and bliss and innocence give themselves vent in one of our own Scotia's pleasant but pathetic songs! But the heart hugs such treasures as these in secret,—and if revealed at all to other eyes, it must be by but a fleeting and a partial light. Few words are needed to awaken, before parental eyes, the visions now stealing before mine,—and, broken and all imperfect though these effusions be, yet may they touch with pensive pleasure some simple hearts, that recognise the expression of some of their own emotions,-similar, or the same,—although life and its circumstances may have been different,-for in every single sentence, if it be but sincere, a word or two may be found, that shall awaken some complete reminiscence of joy, as the striking but of two notes at once fills ear and heart with a wellknown tune, and gives it the full power of all the melody. pire, The lamp glimmers as it would exthe few embers are red and low, and those are the shadows of moonlight on the walls. How deep a hush! Let me go and hear them breathing in their sleep,—and whisper for it will not disturb them-a prayer by the bedside of my children. To-Morrow is Christmas Day—and thankful am I indeed to Providence! THE SHIP AT SEA. A WHITE sail gleaming on the flood, And the bright-orbed sun on high, Are all that break the solitude Of the circling sea and sky;Nor cloud, nor cape is imaged there; Nor isle of occan, nor of air. Led by the magnet o'er the tides, The birds to unseen shores: Yet not alone;-on ocean's breast, Though no green islet glows, No sweet refreshing spot of rest, Where fancy may repose; Nor rock, nor hill, nor tower, nor tree, No! not alone ;-her beauteous shade And not alone ;-for day and night And not alone;-for hopes and fears And bright eyes watch, thro' gathering tears, And prayers for her at midnight lone And not alone; with her, bright dreams And o'er its moan, earth's woods and streams And not alone;-for round her glow THE SPHINX. AN EXTRAVAGANZA, ETCHED IN THE MANNER OF CALLOT. "OLD-FASHIONED sticks! Rational sticks! Sticks for sober citizens!" exclaimed an old woman, standing with a bundle of sticks before her, on that pleasant public walk in Hamburg, called the Jungfern-stieg. Her stock in trade comprised canes and walkingsticks in endless variety, and many of them were adorned with knobs of ivory and bone carved into grotesque heads and animal forms, abounding in grimace and absurdity. It was early in the day, the passengers were all hurrying in the eager pursuit of business, and for a long time the old woman found no customers. bors and anxieties. Soon as the keen orbs of the old woman discerned him, she screamed, with renewed energy,"Rare sticks! Noble sticks! Knob and club-sticks for students! Canes for loungers! Fancy sticks! Poetical sticks! Romantic sticks! Mad sticks! and sticks possessed with a devil!" At length, she observed a pedestrian, of a different and more promising class, striding along the avenue. He was a tall and well-grown youth, and attired in that old Teutonic costume which it has pleased the enthusiastic students of Germany to revive in the nineteenth century. His step was the light bound of youth and happiness, and there was a kindling glance in his deep blue eye, and an involuntary smile at play upon his lip and cheek, which indicated that the cares of life were yet unknown to him, and that he was enjoying the brief and delicious interval between the close of academical studies and the commencement of professional la "Indeed, you have, Mother Hecate!" exclaimed our student, as he approached her; "then I must have one of them; so look out the maddest stick in your infernal collection." "If you choose the maddest stick in my stock, you must pay a mad price for it," said the old woman. "Here is one with a devil in it, and mad enough to turn the brain of any one who buys it; but the lowest price is a dollar." With these words, she held up to his inspection a knotted stick, on which was carved in bone the withered and skinny visage of an old woman, with hollow eyes and cheeks, a hooknose and chin as sharp as hatchets, and tending towards each other like a pair of pincers: in short, the very image of the old hag before him. Buy that stick, I'll warrant it a good one," whispered a friendly and musical voice in his ear. Arnold turned quickly round, and saw a youth of fifteen, of slender and graceful figure, and clad in the fancy costume of an English jockey, who nodded to him smilingly, and disappeared in the crowd. While Arnold was gazing in silent wonder at the stranger youth, the old woman, who had also observed him, renewed her vociferations, with "Sticks à-la-mode! Whips for jockeys! Canes for fops and dandies, fools and monkeys !" "Good Heaven!" exclaimed the startled student; "this poor creature must be madder than her whole collection. 'Twill be charity to purchase." With mingled feelings of pity and disgust, he threw down a dollar, seized the stick, and hastened from her unpleasant vicinity. Soon as his back was turned she saluted him with piercing screams of "Spick-and-span new sticks! Rods for treasure-seekers! Wands for harlequins and conjurors! Sticks for beggars to ride to the devil on! Broomsticks for witches and warlocks! Crutches for the devil and his grandmother!" and concluded with a laugh so horribly unnatural, that the astonished youth turned round in dismay, and beheld the gaunt features of the old woman distorted with scorn and laughter, and her small grey eyes, protruding like fiery meteors from their sockets, glared upon him with an expression so truly maniacal, that he sprung forward in alarm, and was on the point of throwing away his stick to banish the hateful resemblance from his thoughts, when raising his hand for the purpose, instead of that horrid mask, he beheld with astonishment the smiling features of a nymph. Looking more intently, he discovered that the knob represented a Sphinx carved in the purest ivory. The pouting and beautiful lips were curved into an arch and mysterious smile, which, in combination with the raised fore-finger, seemed to warn, to mock, and to menace alternately, as the light and position were changed. The stick was a plain knotted stick, like the one he had purchased; but the carved knob, which displayed the masterly spirit and elaborate finish of "to Cellini, appeared to him of inestimable value. He gazed upon it with a delight which speedily banished the hateful old woman from his thoughts, and the longer he gazed upon the laughing little Sphinx, the more enchanted he became with his prize, the more unconscious of what he was about, and whither he was going. Rambling onwards, he passed the city gate leading towards Holstein, and wandered through its pleasant groves and pastures in absorbing reveries for six or seven hours; nor was he roused from this pleasant day-dream until the rude contact of an oak-branch with his cap restored to our visionary Arnold the use of his faculties, and made him sensible that he was entangled at night-fall in a pathless wood of considerable extent. "What a fool I must be," he exclaimed, fall in love with a knob-stick, and lose myself in this ugly forest at dusk !” The recollection of his long reverie about the pretty Sphinx acted so forcibly upon his risible faculties, that he burst into an involuntary laugh, which continued until he was interrupted by a yelling peal in reply. He would willingly have regarded it as the echo of his own, but there was a cutting and sarcastic tone in the responsive laugh which jarred painfully upon his excited ear, and created a suspicion that he was the sport of mirth or malice. "Surely the devil houses here!" he exclaimed with emphasis, as he walked onward. Immediately a dozen voices answered him, and exclamations of "The devil houses here! Houses here! Here! Here!! Here!!!" resounded from all quarters. More startled than before, he looked around him in perplexity, but a brief pause of recollection recalled his scattered senses. "Nonsense!" he muttered to himself, as he paced more rapidly through the increasing gloom," these sounds are nothing but echoes; but the night is at hand, and I would willingly know where I am. But is there not lurking mischief near me?" thought he, relapsing into suspicion that all was not right in these |