But the Christmas time returned,

As an old friend, for whose eye She would take down all the picturcs Sketch'd by faithful memory.

Of those brilliant Christmas seasons,

When the joyous laugh went round; When sweet words of love and kindness Were no unfamiliar sound; When, lit by the log's red lustre,

She her mother's face could see, And she rocked the cradle, sitting On her own twin-brother's knee:

Of her father's pleasant stories;

Of the riddles and the rhymes, All the kisses and the presents

That had mark'd those Christmas times. 'Twas as well that there was no one

(For it were a mocking strain)

To wish her a merry Christmas,
For that could not come again.

How there came a time of struggling,
When, in spite of love and faith,
Grinding Poverty would only

In the end give place to Death;
How her mother grew heart-broken,
When her toil-worn father died,
Took her baby in her bosom,
And was buried by his side:

How she clung unto her brother

As the last spar from the wreck, But stern Death had come between them While her arms were round his neck.

There were now no living voices;

And, if few hands offered bread, There were none to rest in blessing On the little homeless head.

Or, if any gave her shelter,

It was less of joy than fear; For they welcomed crime more warmly To the self-same room with her. But at length they all grew weary Of their sick and useless guest; She must try a workhouse welcome For the helpless and distressed. But she prayed; and the Unsleeping In His ear that whisper caught; So, He sent down Sleep who gave her Such a respite as she sought; Drew the fair head to her bosom, Pressed the wetted eyelids close, And, with softly-falling kisses,

Lulled her gently to repose.

Then she dreamed the angels, sweeping
With their wings the sky aside
Raised her swiftly to the country
Where the blessed ones abide :
To a bower all flushed with beauty,
By a shadowy arcade,

Where a mellowness like moonlight
By the tree of life was made:

Where the rich fruit sparkled, star-like,
And pure flowers of fadeless dye
Poured their fragrance on the waters
That in crystal beds went by:

Where bright hills of pearl and amber Closed the fair green valleys round, And, with rainbow light, but lasting, Were their glistening summits crown'd. Then that distant-burning glory,

'Mid a gorgeousness of light! The long vista of Archangels

Could scarce chasten to her sight. There sat ONE: and her heart told her 'Twas the same who, for our sin,

Was born a little baby

"In the stable of an inn."

There was music-oh, such music!—
They were trying the old strains
That a certain group of shepherds
Heard on old Judea's plains;
But, when that divinest chorus
To a softened trembling fell,
Love's true ear discerned the voices
That on earth she loved so well.

At a tiny grotto's entrance

A fair child her eyes behold,
With his ivory shoulders hidden
'Neath his curls of living gold;
And he asks them, "Is she coming?"
But ere any one can speak,

The white arms of her twin-brother
Are once more about her neck.

Then they all come round her greeting;
But she might have well denied
That her beautiful young sister
Is the poor pale child that died;

And the careful look hath vanish'd

From her father's tearless face, And she does not know her mother 'Till she feels the old embrace.

Oh, from that ecstatic dreaming
Must she ever wake again,
To the cold and cheerless contrast-
To a life of lonely pain?

But her Maker's sternest servant
To her side on tiptoe stept;
Told his message in a whisper,—
And she stirr'd not as she slept!

Now the Christmas morn was breaking
With a dim, uncertain hue,
And the chilling breeze of morning
Came the broken window through;
And the hair upon her forehead,
Was it lifted by the blast,
Or the brushing wings of seraphs,
With their burden as they pass'd?

All the festive bells were chiming
To the myriad hearts below;
But that deep sleep still hung heavy
On the sleeper's thoughtful brow.
To her quiet face the dream-light
Had a lingering glory given;
But the child herself was keeping

Her Christmas-Day in Heaven!

MRS. M'INTOSH.

"By kind permission of Messrs. Chapman & Hall, and M. M'Intosh, Esq., LL.D.]

BEAUTIFUL SNOW.

Oh! the snow, the beautiful snow,
Filling the sky and earth below,
Over the housetops, over the street,
Over the heads of the people you meet;

Dancing-Flirting-Skimming along

Beautiful snow! it can do no wrong,
Flying to kiss a fair lady's cheek,
Clinging to lips in frolicsome freak;
Beautiful snow from heaven above,
Pure as an angel, gentle as love!

Oh! the snow, the beautiful snow,
How the flakes gather and laugh as they go,
Whirling about in maddening fun,

It plays in its glee with every one:

Chasing Laughing-Hurrying by,
It lights on the face and it sparkles the eye;
And the dogs with a bark and a bound
Snap at the crystals as they eddy round;
The town is alive, and its heart in a glow,
To welcome the coming of beautiful snow!

How wild the crowd goes swaying along,
Hailing each other with humour and song:
How the gay sleighs like meteors flash by,
Bright for a moment, then lost to the eye;
Ringing Swinging-Dashing they go,

Over the crust of the beautiful snow;
Snow so pure when it falls from the sky,
To be trampled in mud by the crowd passing by,
To be trampled and tracked by thousands of feet,
Till it blends with the filth in the horrible street.