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in the landlocked bay, close to whose mind,” is rather the expression of a
shores of silvery sand had grown the doubt--of a fear-than of a bellef or
trees that furnished timber both for conviction. The soul surely has eyes
hull and mast, slip their tiny cables on that can see the objects it loves, through
some summer day, and gathering every all intervening darkness-and of those
breeze that blows, go dancing over the more especially dear it keeps within
waves in sunshine, and melt far off itself almost undimmed images, on
into the main ! Or, haply, some were which, when they know it not, think it
like fair young trees, transplanted du. not, believe it not, it often loves to
ring no favourable season, and never gaze, as on a relic imperishable as it
to take root in another soil, but soon is hallowed.
leaf and branch to wither beneath the Hail ! rising beautiful, and magnifi.
tropic sun, and die almost unheeded cent, through the mists of morning-
by those who knew not how beautiful hail! hail! ye Woods, Groves, Towers,
they were beneath the dews and mists and Temples, overshadowing that fa-
of their own native clime. Vain mous Stream beloved by all the Muses!
images ! and therefore chosen by fancy Through this midnight hush-me-
not too painfully to touch the heart! thinks I hear faint and far off a sacred
For some hearts grew cold and fore music,-
bidding in selfish cares—some, warın

“ Where through the long-drawn aisle and as ever in their own generous glow,

fretted vault, were touched by the chill of Fortune's frowns, that are ever worst to bear

The pealing anthem swells the note of

praise !" when suddenly succeeding her smiles -some, to rid themselves of painful How steeped in the beauty of moon. regrets, took refuge in forgetfulness, light are all those pale, pillared churchand closed their eyes to the past-dutyes, courts and cloisters, shrines and banished some abroad, and duty imprie altars, with here and there a Statue soued others at home-estrangements standing in the shade, or Monument there were, at first unconscious and sacred to the memory of the piousunintended, yetere long, though cause the immortal dead! Some great clock less, complete-changes were wrought is striking from one of many domes insensibly, invisibly, even in the ine – from the majestic tower of St nermost nature of those, who being Mary Magdalen—and in the deepened friends knew no guile, yet came there- hush that follows the solemn sound, by at last to be friends no more hark how the mingling waters of the -unrequited love broke some bonds Cherwell and the Isis soften the severe -requited love relaxed others—the silence of the holy night! death of one altered the conditions Remote from kindred, and from all of many—and so-year after year— the friendships that were the native the Christmas Meeting was interrupte growth of the fair fields where our boy. ed-deferred_till finally il ceased, hood and our youth had roamed, and with one accord, unrenewed and unre- meditated, and dreamed, those were newable. For when Some things cease yet years of high and lofty mood, --for a time—that time turns out to be which held us in converse with the for ever. Survivors of those happy cir. shades of great poets and sages of old, cles! wherever ye be-should these in Rhedicyna's hallowed groves, still, in perfect remembrances of days of serene, and solemn, as that Grecian old chance, in some thoughtful pause Acadleme where divine Plato, with all of life's busy turmoil, for a moment Hybla on his lips, discoursed such exto meet your eyes, let there be towards cellent music, that this Life seemed to the inditer a few throbs of revived the imagination spiritualized—a dim affection in your hearts-for his, reminiscence of some former state of though“ absent long and distant being. How sank then the Christmas far," has never been utterly forgetful Service of that beautiful Liturgy into of the loves and friendships that our hearts! Not faithless we to the charmed his youth. To be parted in simple worship that our forefathers body is not to be estranged in soul, had loved; but Conscience told us there and many a dream and many a vi was no apostacy in the feelings that sion, sacred to nature's best affections, rose within us when that deep organ may pass before the mind of one whose 'gan to blow, that choir of youthful lips are silent. “ Out of sight out of voices so sweetly to join the diapason,

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-our eyes fixed all the while on that Such accidents touch șt not they divine Picture over the Altar, of our “offer not even any show of violence, Saviour

it being a thing so majestical.” And “ Bearing his cross up rueful Calvary."

lo! another New Series of Christmas

Festivals has to us been born! For But“ a change comes o'er the spie there are our own Living Flowers in rit of my dream.” How beautiful in the our family garland ! And as long as setting sunlight are these mountains He, who gave them their bloom and of soft crimson snow! The sun hath their balm, averts not from them or set, and even more beautiful are the us the sunshine of his countenance, bright-starred nights of winter, than content-oh! far beyond contentsummer in all its glories beneath the would we be with this, the most sacred broad moons of June! Through the of all Religious Festivals, were it even woods of Windermere, from cottage to to be holden by us far apart from cottage, by coppice-pathways winding them in some dungeon's depth! up to dwellings among the hill-rocks, Ay--well may we say-in gratiwhere the birch-trees cease to grow,- tude, not in pride—though, at such a “Nodding their heads, before us go,

sight, pride might be thought but a The merry Minstrelsy."

venial sin within a father's heart,

“ There is our Christmas rose”-while They sing a salutation at every door, a blush brightens the beauty of a face familiarly naming old and young by that we will call “ fair, not pale," and their Christian names; and the eyes brighter and softer than the leaves of that look upward from the vales to any rose, the ringlets dance over her the hanging huts among the plats and forehead to the breeze of joy, and bliss cliffs, see the shadows of the dancers and innocence give themselves vent in ever and anon crossing the light of one of our own Scotia's pleasant but the star-like window; and the merry pathetic songs ! music is beard like an echo dwella But the heart hugs such treasures as ing in the sky! across those humble these in secret,—and if revealed at all thresholds often did we on Christmas to other eyes, it must be by but a fleetnights of yore-wandering through ing and a partial light. Few words our solitary sylvan haunts, under the are needed to awaken, before parental branches of trees within whose hollow eyes, the visions now stealing before trunk the squirrel slept-venture in, mine,-and, broken and all imperfect unasked, perhaps, but not unwelcome; though these effusions be, yet may and in the kindly spirit of the season, they touch with pensive pleasure some did our best to merrify the Festival by simple hearts, that recognise the extale or song. And now that we behold pression of some of their own emothem not, are all those woods, and tions,—similar, or the same,-although cliffs, and rivers, and tarns, and lakes, life and its circumstances may have as beautiful as when they softened been different,-for in every single and brightened beneath our living sentence, if it be but sincere, a word eyes half-creating, as they gazed, or two may be found, that shall awathe very Paradise that they worship- ken some complete reminiscence of ped! And are all those hearths as joy, as the striking but of two notes bright as of yore, without the shadow at once fills ear and heart with a wellof our figure? And the roofs, do they known tune, and gives it the full power ring as mirthfully, though our voice of all the melody. be forgotten ?

The lamp glimmers as it would exBut little cause have we to lament pire,—the few embers are red and low, that that Paradise is now to us but as —and those are the shadows of moonremembered poetry-poetry got by light on the walls. How deep a hush! heart-deeply engraven there--and to Let me go and hear them breathing in be read at any thoughtful hour we their sleep,—and whisper—for it will choose-charged deeper and deeper not disturb them a prayer by the bed. still with old memories and new in- side of my children. To-morrow is spirations. The soul's best ha ess Christmas -and thankful am I is independent of time and place. indeed to Providence !

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CHRISTMAS PRESENTS.

A Bank of Flowers is certainly one darkness; they lie like dew-drops or of the most gorgeous sights beneath buds of white roses, along the 'lilies the sun; but what is it to that Board of her breast; with pearls of great price of Books ? Our old eyes are dazzled is her virgin zone bespangled-and, with the splendour, and are forced to as she lifts her snow-white hand, there seek relief and repose on the mild is a twinkle of radiance from a stone moreen of those window curtains, that “would ransom great kings from whose drapery descends as simply as captivity!" the garb of a modest quakeress. Even You understand, then, that there is then, all the colours of the rainbow no reason in the world, or in the nature continue dancing on their orbs, and of things, why Simplicity should not will permit them to see nothing in

stand with her arm in ours, leaning its true light. But now, the optical lovingly on our shoulder-pressing spectra evanish-our sight becomes re- fondly on our side—and admire with conciled to the various glitter-the too us the mild, meek, soft, gentle, tenpowerful blaze seems tamed down-the der, dim, dazzling, bold, fierce, fiery, lustre of the hues subside, and we can corruscating, cometary, planetary, lúbear, without winking, or placing our nar, solar, aurora borealis and lightfingers before our face, to keep a steady ning-like radiance of that Sea-green gaze on the bright confusion. Why, Board, mad with the magnificence of Book-binding has become a beautiful that myriad-minded multitude ofart! Chance it was that flung together CHRISTMAS PRESENTS. all those duodecimos, post-octavos, But let Simplicity by and by turn quartos, and folios, of kid, calf, silk, her eyes towards that opening door satin, velvet, russia, morocco,—white, for footsteps are on the stair-and like grey, green, blue, yellow, violet, red, Hours are they coming--all dressed in scarlut, crimson-yet what painter, white raiment, as befits and bespeaks with the most glorious eye for colour, their innocence-a Chosen Band of ever with laborious study, cheered by Maidens, to receive from the hands of fits of sudden inspiration, pictured a good old Father Christopher-each an board of fruits, although worthy of appropriate volume or volumes to add the trees of Paradise, of more multifa. to her little library, growing by derious splendour?

grees, year after year, like a garden Lovers are we, and have been that the skilful florist extends with all our life long, of charming, of die its sloping banks towards the sunny vine Simplicity. But Simplicity is a south, - each spring visiting a rarer, lady, not only of fine taste, but, would richer show of her own fairest and you believe it, of rich imagination? Of most favourite flowers. ten have we seen her gazing with rapt We are not a married man, like the spirit and tearful eyes on the setting writer of Christmas Dreams--yet deara sun, on the sea, on cataracts, on re- ly do we love the young-yea the giments of cavalry, on an English young of all animals—the young swalcounty of groves, woods, gardens, lows twittering from their straw-built orchards, rivers, plains, noblemen's shed--the young lambs bleating on the and gentlemen's old family-mansions, lea—the young bees, God bless them, steeple-towers, churches, abbeys, ca on their first flight away off to the thedrals. We have seen Simplicity, heather-the young butterflies, who, like a nun at worship, reading Isaiah, born in the morning, will die of old and Homer, and Dante, and Arios. age ere night-the young salmon-fry to, and Tasso, and Shakspeare, and glorying in the gravel at the first feel. Milton, and MAGA. Simplicity loves ing of their fins—the young adders all the riches and splendour of the basking, ere they can bite, in the sun, east and of the west, the north and as yet unconscious, like sucking satirthe south. Her hair she loves not to ists, of their stings-young pigs, pretty adorn with many diamonds-one sin- dears, all a-squeak with their curled gle solitary jewel on her forehead, like tails after prolific grumphy-young a star. But pale pearls are here and lions and tigers, charming cubs, like there interspersed among her locks, very Christian children nuzzling in at once softening and deepening their their nurse's breast--young devils--if

you will-ere Satan has sent them to a smile Emily Callander received his Sin, who keeps a fashionable board- volumes—works we were going to say ing-school in Hades, and sends up-but that is too prodigious a word into the world above-ground only her for such effusions—and one smile from finished scholars.

her will to him be worth all the chaff But lo! North's Fair Family—all and chatter of all the critics in Cockchildren of his old age ! Yes, the off- aigne. spring they of his dearest-his chosen Margaret Wilson !—thou rising star -his faithful-his bosom-friends! - let thine arms drop from around There, daughters of delight-there is the necks of these two sweet supporta shower of kisses to bedew the be- ers, and come gliding forth within loved heads of you all—and now be touch of the old man, that he may lay seated in a circle-look all as grave as his withered hand upon the

lovelylustre you possibly can for those struggling of thy soft-braided hair. There-hold smiles-no quizzing of our new Christ- them fast to your bosom-and let not mas wig--and first, and before we be one of all the Five slip from your emgin to distribute,

bracing arms. Wordsworth's works! “ Pure healthy children of the God of the mountains at the head of Win

You remember—and never will forget Heaven,"

dermere-behind whose peaked sumin your hearts as in ours, let there be mits the sun sets and Elleray—but a short silent prayer.

why that haze within those eyes ?Now for business.

“ A few natural tears thou sheddest, Emily Callander -oldest of the but wipest them soon"-at the sudden young—and tallest too-for, in truth, sound of that spell-like home - S0 thou art as a cedar-for thee have we let that key remain untouched-ay, selected Lights and Shadows of Scot, there is thy bosom all filled with tish Life, The Trials of Margaret poetry! with poetry often — " not Lyndsay, and The Foresters. The first of this noisy world, but silent and is bound-as thysweeteyes see-in va divine," with happy hymns for sunriegated silk-too ornamental as some shine, and mournful elegies for moonmight haply think—but not so thou light--with lyrics that might be set --for thou knowest that the barest to such music as the lark sings high field in all Scotland is not without its in heaven-with odes that might be little flowers—daisies, and gowans, and fitly chanted to the softened voice of clover, and primroses in their short the waterfall -- with ballads such as vernal day—and that her richest fields Bessy Bell or Mary Gray might have are all a glow as at evening the western sung

“ in their bower on yonder heavens. Margaret Lyndsay, you see, green," '-or Helen Irvine, as she“ sat my love, is bound in satin—but not upon the banks of Kirtle,”-or thou of the richest sort—the colour is some.

thyself, sweeter singer than them all, thing quakerish—but we know you when willing—as I have seen theelike that and the narrow ornaments to charm with change thy father's ear, round the sides you will find to be after the Bride's Maid's Chorus. But either flowers or stars—for, in truth, thou hast wept for Ruth-and for flowers and stars are not dissimilar Emmeline-and for that lovely crea

for they both have rays dew brightens the one while the other

“ Her mute companion, as it lay it bedims into beauty. The Fores In love and pity at her feetters are bound in green linen — and

And I have seen thee shiver with dc. these yellow trees, emblazoned upon light, in the beauty of the sudden apsuch a ground, as if autumn had tinted

parition, when them, have a good effect-have they not?-So, sweetest and best-a kiss of

“Came gliding in with lovely gleam, thy forehead-sure a more graceful

Came gliding in serene and slow,

Soft and silent as a dream, curtsy was never seen - and it will make the author, who is my very dear

That solitary Doe!” friend-whom I love more than I can Yes—thou mayest, unblamed, place venture to express, and whom I have, on such poetry on the very same shelf, that account, placed foremost now Margaret, with thy Bible; for the and not for his mere merits-proud word of God itself is better understood and happy, too, to be told with what by hearts softened and sublimed by

but ture,

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strains inspired into the souls of great that, but for the Christmas roses Poets by devoutest contemplation of round it, would seem almost sullenhis works. Therefore, child, at least most melancholy,—thou look6 with gentle hand

est, we say, like what thou indeed art, Touch, for there is a spirit in the leaves !”.

a true descendant of now beatified

spirits, who, in the old days of perseFanny Allar lyce-do not make me cution, sang hymns of rejoicing when fall in love with envious eyes, by look tied to the stake, and their bodies ing so on Margaret's bosom-full of shrivelling in the fire. Dear virgin beautiful books-bound as they are in martyr! take and keep for our sake, crimson-for that is the light of set the exquisite Roman tale of Valerius. ting suns; and although William There you will read how one, whom Wordsworth be often but as a lowly I could fancy like thy very self, in face, pastoral poet piping in the shade, yet figure, and character, a virgin named as often is he like the blind John Athanasia, touched at the soul by the Milton, who sung in his glorious dark, religion of Jesus, did disencumber ness of Paradise-and the Courts of herself of all the beautiful and imaHeaven. For here, for thee, my pen- ginative vanities of the old Mytholosive Frances, are the Poetical Works gical faith, and, fearless of the pitchy of Edmond Spenser, in five volumes, fire, and of the ravening lion, did fold presented to me by my friend Mr the cross unto her bosom, and became Pickering of London-and he will not transfigured from Innocence into Piety. be displeased with me for transferring The tale will not make these calm eyes them to the love of one who is in of thine shed many, if any tears; but good truth “ like the heavenly Una ever and anon as they follow the forwith her milk-white lamb.” You tunes of her who hath forsaken the serwill find much-and many things in vice of Idols and false Deities, to become the Fairy Queen, that even your al a Priestess of the only One, Living, and most fully expanded intellect and True God, they will be uplifted imagination will not yet understand thoughts that lie too deep for tears"yet little, and few things that your slowly and solemnly, and most beauheart nevertheless will not feel--and tifully—to the Heaven of Heavens ! not the less touchingly, because love Thou, too, take-thou high-souled will be mixed with wonder, and pity daughter, of a high-souled sire-this given to what is at once sorrowful and other book, bound in brightest scarlet strange. You have already read the --for you have heard, that a blind man Comus of Milton-and love and ad once said, that he conceived scarlet to mire-and would wish to kneel down be like the sound of a trumpet,-and at her feet-the Lady whose spotless all emblazoned with the arms of adinnocence preserves her from the fiends verse nations, Specimens of Spanish of that haunted wood. She and the Ballads, celebrating the exploits of Una of the Fairy Queen might be the Campeador, and other heroes, sisters; nor, were such creatures as against the Saracens; and all the high they ever to walk over our earth, could and wild warfare that, for centuries, they turn away their gracious and made the rivers run red with mingled benignant smiles from such a maiden Castilian and Moorish blood. The as thou art for thou too art without old Spanish Ballads are like fragments spot or blemish-nor could force vor of fine bold martial music, in their fraud prevail against thee; for, true own tongue ; but Mr Lockhart is a it is as words of holy writ, that " poet “ ot strength and state ;” and in thousand liveried angels lacquey thee,” his noble verses, your eyes dazzle at and that vice and wickeriness could the brightness of the Spanish sword, not live in an atmosphere purified by tempered in the Ebro, and can scarce the breath of innocence from such lips enlure the flashing of the Moorish scyas thine!

mitar. You read his Ballads in the Harriet Brisbane-thou hast a heroic same mood of mind with which you spirit-yet a heart formed for perce. hear the music-band of a regiment of And thou lookst, with that fine, high, cavalry-say the Scots Greys-hunbolil brow of thine,-yet perfectly fe dreds of heroes following on-on--on minine,--and with those large hazel --with their glittering casques, and eyes, so mild, yet magnanimous, – each with a sabre, erst red perchance and that mass of nearly black hair, at Waterloo, in his strong right hand. VOL. XXII.

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