Say what we will, and even think as we may, youth is the sun of our being, to which the soul, in its travel, turns from time to time to gaze with renewed and invigorated earnestness. Nay, in proportion as the distance increases, our attachment strengthens ;- tion, to make sure of the usual holidays. His eye glistens and his brow brightens over verb and participle, as, with Horace in one hand, and a Gradus ad Parnassum in the other, he dovetails phrase, idiom, and vocable into a regular petition, on which the Christmas pastimes of “We drag at each remove a lingering length of chain." the whole school depend. Jack still keeps an eye upon "Scenes that soothed Or charm'd us young, no longer young, we find Still soothing, and of power to soothe us still;" till, on the utmost verge of old age, we cast a tearful eye, and present a quivering lip, towards that distant horizon from which the bright sun of our being ascended. Over the deep, and, in fact, indelible impressions of youth, other and more recent characters may from time to time be traced; but Memory, even down to the latest period, will be enabled to renew the original impressions. The Manuals and Psalters of riper years will not be able to unveil from her eye those latent, but still existing characters, which form, in fact, the classical page of her record. At the commencement of a New Year, in particular, when we are about to ring those changes over again, which have been so often, it may be, and unprofitably, rung before, it is scarcely possible for the most heedless to escape reflection. It is at this season, in particular, that memory acts the " Old Mortality" with our early thoughts and feelings, giving them a distinctness, which, at other times, they do not possess. In the midst of company and engrossing enjoyments, it is delightful to revert to our boyish "New Years." the old corner, and purposes to spend his holidays with the kindly faces and the warm hearts of home. Home, of consequence, stares him from every line, converting the sluggish and torpid pain of prose into "the shepherd's" trot of verse. But Jack is now transformed into John, and has even been humanized into Joannes. He has commenced his academical course, and is now spending his first winter at college. His mother, ever more than careful of her favourite, has stuffed his trunks with luxuries, under the designation of necessaries, and his father has not been sparing of money or good advice. November has slowly melted into December, whilst the dreary increase of darkness has made our young collegian dream again and again of home. But Christmas, though it comes but once It is wet and year, never forgets its appointment. windy-yet to him it is brighter and calmer than a sunmer eve. It comes intrusted with a mother's embrace, and a father's cordial welcome, with the cheerful tireside and merry sisterhood, and with the indefinite and incal culable enjoyments of the season. "Joannes Horner, in classi prima," is now a bustling and agitated youth, on the eve of his departure for India -for that fairyland of promotion and treasure, from The sunny days of summer are exceedingly pleasant, which men return with castles and commissions in both particularly betwixt sunset and midnight, when the bat pockets. He is engaged in spending his last Christ(like the schoolmaster of late years) is abroad, and the mas previous to his departure for the East. The embryo voice of the invisible land-rail is loud and harsh in the colonel is now in full feather of boyhood, and around furrow, and the night-clock is booming on the breath of him are collected those whom friendship and affection twilight; but then this is the season of repose, and, in have endeared to him. Amidst the festivities of the fact, all sensible and well-disposed animals, with the ex- evening there is an overruling spirit of sadness, and the ception of owls and lovers, are now sound asleep. Sun- mother is often observed withdrawing from the view of rise, too, about the twenty-first of June, is, I have been those very gambols which her experience and good-nainformed on good authority, exceedingly splendid and reture had suggested. There is, besides, one of this party, freshing; but then, again, it passes unheeded and unap- who, though she can lay no claim to consanguinity, is preciated by all whose consciences or evil deeds will per- perhaps dearer to him than a sister! mit them to sleep. Upon the whole, then, summer, after all that has been said and sung about her, is in fact but a sorry substitute for the snug evenings and social comforts of winter-for their multiplied and diversified enjoyments, over which "woman," in all the magic of her presence, over which, lamp, candle, and fire-light, are wont to preside. From the heats and oppression, from the listlessness and langour, of a summer day, it is in vain to attempt an escape; whilst the snows, and frosts, and blusterings of winter, "But bind us to our cheery hearth the more!" The storms without "may rage and rustle," and may "define the day delightless ;"-what is that to you and me, over our Christmas pie or our New-year's goose? Put but the poker a second time into that bleezing, sportive fire, and we shall make even winter himself, under the snows of age, sing, and loudly, to "The year that's awa!" "The year that's awa!" Ay, thereby hangs a tale, as long as any of Canterbury,-a tale which links the cradle to the sod-the joys of childhood with the sorrows of age-a tale which takes up "little Jack Horner," sitting in his corner, amazingly snug, eating his Christmas pie! And what lady or gentleman is there in this merry Christmasparty who does not envy Jack?-the little rogue, how knowingly he puts in his thumbs and pulls out the plums, congratulating himself all the while on his good conduct, which he evidently substitutes for his good fortune, "Oh! what a good boy was I!" But Jack has now entered upon his teens. Associated with his fellows, he is now busy penning a Latin peti, Captain-Major-Colonel Horner, has now, after a protracted absence, returned to his home and his friends; but the one is in the possession of a stranger, and the fond mother and the provident father of his youth are now sleeping under a marble slab, whilst that warm heart, which beat so forcibly, almost so audibly, at his parting, has long ceased to experience joy or disappointment. The present Christmas has arrived. "Colonel Horner's hall is filled with guests, and the hours trip gaily along; yet still, as from his elbow-chair he casts his eyes over the merry group that now is, and recalls that which once was, he sighs for the " year that's awa!" The day it is short, and the winds they are chill, THE FROSTY DAY. By William Tennant, Author of “ Anster Fair," &c. Now his steeds, with lazy leap, Gently, gently jogg'd and driven Up their little arc in heaven; Now he's on his mid-day tower, Yet our windows scoff his power; See the forests rich and fair, Painted by Frost's finger there, How they flourish in his spiteFrozen foliage, wild and white! Frozen forests only now Flourish on our panes and grow; Look! Earth's groves, how lean and bare! Fringed with rime all crisp and hoary, Hark! how sounds are heard from far! Now the sun is setting fast, Come, my friend, and dine with me, And ever and anon our theme Be the great Dead, of mind supreme; Or Shakspeare's passion-painting page; But should our supple souls unbend, A STORY OF THE FORTY-SIX. By the Ettrick Shepherd. On the 17th of July, 1746, there was a tall raw-boned Highlander came into the house of Inch-Croy, the property of Stewart Shaw, Esq., in which there was apparently no person at the time but Mrs Shaw and her three daughters, for the Laird was in hiding, having joined the Mackintoshes, and lost two sons at Culloden. This Highlander told the lady of the house that his name was Sergeant Campbell, and that he had been commissioned to search the house for her husband, as well as for Cluny, Loch-Garry, and other proscribed rebels. Mrs Shaw said, that she would rather the rudest of Cumberland's English officers had entered her house to search for the Prince's friends, than one of the Argyle Campbells—those unnatural ruffians, who had risen against their lawful Prince, to cut their brethren's throats. The Highlander, without being in the least ruffled, requested her to be patient, and added, that at all events the ladies were safer from insult in a countryman's hands, than in the hands of an English soldier. The lady denied it, and in the haughtiest manner flung him the keys, saying, that she hoped some of hers would yet see the day when the rest of the clans would get their feet on the necks of the Campbells. He lifted the keys, and instantly commenced a regular and strict scrutiny; and just as he was in the act of turning out the whole contents of a wardrobe, the lady, in the meanwhile, saying the most cutting things to him that she could invent, he stood straight up, looked her steadily in the face, and pointed to a bed, shaking his hand at the same time. Simple as that motion was, it struck the lady dumb. She grew as pale as death in a moment, and both she and her eldest daughter uttered loud shrieks at the same instant. At that moment there entered an English officer and five dragoons, who hasted to the apartment, and enquired what was the matter. "O, sir," said Mrs Shaw, "here is a ruffian of a sergeant, who has been sent to search the house, and who, out of mere wantonness and despite, is breaking every thing, and turning the whole house topsy-turvy." "Oho! is that all ?" said the cornet: "I thought he had been more laudably employed with your ladyship or some of the handsome young rebels there. Desist, you vagabond, and go about your business ;-if any of the proscribed rebels are in the house, I'll be accountable for them." "Nay, nay," said the Highlander, "I am first in commission, and I'll hold my privilege. The right of search is mine, and whoever are found in the house, I claim the reward. And moreover, in accordance with the orders issued at head quarters, I order you hence." "Show me your commission then, you Scotch dog; your search-warrant, if you so please?" "Show me your authority for demanding it first.” "My designation is Cornet Letham of Cobham's dragoons, who is ready to answer every charge against him. Now, pray tell me, sir, under whom you hold your commission ?" "Under a better gentleman than you, or any who ever commanded you." "A better gentleman than me, or any who ever commanded me?—The first expression is an insult not to be borne. The other is high treason; and on this spot I seize you for a Scotch rebel, and a traitor knave." With that he seized the tall red-haired loon by the throat, who, grinning, heaved his long arm at him as threatening a blow, but the English officer only smiled contemp:uously, knowing that no single man of that humiliated country durst lift his hand against him, especially backed as he was by five sturdy dragoons. He was mistaken in this instance, for the Highlander lent him such a blow as felled him in a moment, so that, with a heavy groan, he fell dead on the floor. Five horse-pistols were instantly pointed at the Highlander by the dragoons, but he took shelter behind the press, or wardrobe, and with his cocked pistol in one hand, and drawn broadsword, kept them at bay, for the entrance ben the house was so narrow, that two could not enter at a time; and certain death awaiting the first to enter, none of them chose to run the risk. At length two of them went out to shoot him in at a small window behind, which hampered him terribly, as he could not get far enough forward to guard his entry, without exposing himself to the fire of the two at the window. An expedient of the moment struck him; he held his bonnet by the corner of the wardrobe, as if peeping to take aim, when crack went two of the pistols at his bonnet, his antagonists having made sure of shooting him through the head. Without waiting farther, either to fire or receive theirs, he broke at them with his drawn sword; and the fury with which he came smashing and swearing up the house on them appalled them so horribly, that they all three took to their heels, intending probably to fight him in the open fields. But a heavy dragoon of Cobham's was no match for a kilted clansman six feet high; before they reached the outer door, two of them were cut down, and the third, after a run of about thirty or forty yards. By this time, the two at the west window had betaken them to their horses, and were galloping off. The Highlander, springing on the officer's horse, galloped after them, determined that they should not escape, still waving his bloody sword, and calling on them to stop. But stop they would not; and a grander pursuit never was seen. Peter Grant and Alexander M'Eachen, both in hiding at the time, saw it from CraigNeart, at a short distance, and described it as unequalled. There went the two dragoons, spurring on for bare life, the one always considerably before the other, and, behind all, came the tall Highlander, riding rather awkwardly, with his bare thighs upon the saddle, his philabeg flying about his waist, and he thrashing the hind quarters of his horse with his bloody sword, for lack of spurs and whip. He did not appear to be coming up with them, but nevertheless cherishing hopes that he would, till his horse floundered with him in a bog, and threw him; he then reluctantly gave up the chase, and returned, leading his horse by the bridle, having got enough of riding for that day. The two Highlanders, M'Eachen and Grant, then ran from the rock and saluted him, for this inveterate Highlander was no other than their own brave and admired Colonel, John Roy Stewart. They accompanied him back to Inch-Croy, where they found the ladies in the greatest dismay, and the poor dragoons all dead. Mrs Stewart Shaw and her daughters had taken shelter in an outhouse on the breaking out of the quarrel; and that which distressed her most of all was, the signal which the tremendous Highlander made to her; for, beyond that bed, there was a concealed door to a small apartment, in which her husband, and Captain Finlayson, and Loch-Garry, were all concealed at the time, and she perceived that that door was no secret to Sergeant Campbell, as he called himself. When the pursuit commenced, the ladies hasted to apprise the inmates of their little prison of the peril that awaited them; but they refused to fly till matters were cleared up, for they said, that one who was mangling the red coats at such a rate, could scarcely be an enemy to them. We may conceive how delighted they were on finding that this hero was their brave and beloved Colonel Stewart. He knew that they were concealed in that house, and in that apartment; and perceiving, from the height where he kept watch, the party of dragoons come in at the strait of Corry-Bealach, he knew to what place they were bound, and hasted before them, either to divert the search, or assist his friends in repelling the aggressors. There was now no time to lose. Mr Shaw, Captain Finlayson, Alexander M'Eachen, and another gentleman, whose name I have lost, mounted as King George's dragoons, effected their escape to Glasgow through a hun | dred dangers, mostly arising from their own friends. In particular, the very first night of their flight, in one of the woods of Athol, at the dead of the night, they were surrounded by a party of the Clan-Donnach, and would have been sacrificed, had not Stewart Shaw called out, "Jolach! Càrdeil Cearlach!" or some words to that effect, which awakened as great an overflow of kindness. Colonel Roy Stewart and Loch-Garry escaped on foot, and fled towards the wild banks of Loch-Erriched, where they remained in safety till they went abroad with Prince Charles. It is amazing how well this incident was kept secret, as well as several others that tended to the disgrace of the royalists, owing to the control they exercised over the press of the country; but neither Duke William, nor one of his officers, ever knew who the tall red-haired Sergeant Campbell was, who overthrew their six dragoons. The ladies of Inch-Croy did not escape so well, for Cumberland, in requital for a disgrace in which they were nowise influential, sent out another party, who plundered the house and burnt it, taking the ladies into custody, and every thing else that was left on the lands of Inch-Croy and Bally-Beg—an instance of that mean and ungentlemanly revenge for which he was so noteri ous. THE SEA-BIRD WANDERING INLAND. By Mrs Hemans. Thy path is not as mine:-Where thou art blest HATH the summer's breath, on the south wind borne, Or art thou come on the hills to dwell, Thou hast done well, oh! thou bright Sea-bird! Thou hast done well:-Oh! the seas are lone, -The proud Bird rose as the words were said: He hath flown from the woods to the ocean's breast, CHRISTMAS IN OUR OWN LAND. By Dr Memes, Author of "Life of Canova," "History of Sculpture, Painting, and Architecture," &c. Yea, Truth and Justice then Did down return to men, Orb'd in a rainbow; and, like glories wearing, Throned in celestial sheen, With radiant feet the tissued clouds down steering, Did open wide the gates of her high palace hall. CHRISTMAS!-mysterious, but wise and beneficent framing of the heart, over which a single sound can thus call into power and efficacy countless sympathies, and in finite in their mingled modes of action. In these our We touch a theme whose solemnity comes over the own happy isles, renowned as they are for all the cha-light casualties of our subject, like the reflections which rities of social converse, where the very air of heaven falls upon the sense, and is loved "As breeze that o'er our home has blown"— one of the most cheering reminiscences of Christmas perhaps its almost sole charm-arises from the reunions which then take place. For one brief and precarious pause, the conventional movements of ordinary life stand still. The dread and imperious influence which bears us away in the general revolution, is stayed for a moment, and the heart again moves within the sphere of its own affections. Our entire population is beheld gathered into groups, each little circle, while gladdened by its own peculiar happiness, diffusing the light of cheerful faces and grateful hearts over a whole land! If, again, we pass within the pale of any one of these communities, how hallowed, how infinitely removed from selfishness, is the enjoyment there sought and found, how generous are the sympathies which attach its members! Throughout all, the object is one and the same-the happiness of feeling that our happiness is shared with others. Through every gradation of rank or attachment, or conceivable modification of tie, is to be traced this common and universal sentiment. Even those who hang loosest upon society, now vindicate their claims to the possession of its charities, and furnish out an humble modicum of common bilarity. Ah! let not the self-righteous moralist, who has never known their labours nor their wants, frown harshly upon their occasional aberrations here; but while he reproves, let him compare them with the same class in any other nation, and cherish an honest pride in his countrymen. At this season should now mingle with our rejoicings. "That they would give a tone Of sorrow as for something lovely gone— Even to the spring's glad voice." such, we cannot say be comforted. perience replies, they will not be comforted—for those Alas! sad extions, which bound at once to earth and heaven, may be they loved are not. A link in the golden chain of affecformed the sunlight of our life, who cheered even our broken;-some dear familiar face, whose gentle smile latest Christmas, may be darkened to all, save one faiththere we shall meet again. ful memory;-but there is an eternal festival on high The circumstances now pointed out, this separate group-To ing of the actors on the festive scene, this awakening of the very elements, as it were, of social happiness in one of its richest and most universal displays, peculiarly and honourably distinguish our solemn festival. Among our neighbours on the Continent, the domestic hearth, the only altar of the household divinities whom they ignorantly worship in public, and the domestic circle, the true sphere of the social charities, are little known-apparently less regarded. In their festivities we have seen much mirth, much of general goodwill towards each other, and have experienced not a little of personal courtesy; but all this wanted intensity and heart, and satisfying fulness of individual traits. On one occasion we passed the Christmas in Rome, began the carnival at Naples, and finished this gayest of Catholic holidays amid the thoughtless crowds of a Sicilian masquerade. But the hollowness of what ought to have been held sacred and sincere-the utter childishness of what was intended to amuse, and the heartlessness of all, has left only a remembrance where pity mingles with a strong feeling of disapprobation, as far as one man has a right to disapprove of usages, which former habits may prevent his entertaining in their genuine influences. In these countries, Christmas is more especially a religious festival. Even in England, this, to a considerable extent, is the case. We cannot help thinking, that in this respect also the practice of our own Church is both more evangelical, and more in accordance with the real nature and objects of devotional exercises. Never, never can the Christian cease to have before him "that goodness infinite," which renders this a day of rejoicing: but we are not commanded to hold it solemn-the work was not then finished; there is one festival appointed, and by departing from this ordinance, distraction is introduced between opposite duties and states of mind. Nor needs there human device here to impress the thoughts ;-never will the grateful aspiration arise to heaven more fervent-more sincere from the full heart, than when breathed in the very sanctuary upon earth, of its best, purest, most heaven-ward affections. STANZAS. By John Malcolm, Author of " Tales of Field and I feel as one, in the dreams that bring Still haunts the heart, like some witching strain, And in the smiles o'er thy face that lighten, O'er summer's sky in its beaming bow. Thy brow reflects, in its cloudless rest, No pensive shades that pale sorrows weave- To give dark hint of the coming eve;— I half forget-on thy form while gazing— NORAH CLARY'S WISE THOUGHT. By Mrs S. C. Hall, Author of "Sketches of Irish at Lord Gort's, down to little deaf Bess Mortican, the lame dressmaker) were regularly and desperately in love with; still, I must confess, (perfection certainly was never found in man,) Morris was at times a little—the least bit in the world—stupid ;-not exactly stupid either, but slow "WE may as well give it up, Morris Donovan; look, of invention,-would fight his way out of a thousand 'twould be as easy to twist the top off the great Hill of scrapes, but could never get peaceably out of one. No Howth, as make father and mother agree about any one wonder then, that, where fighting was out of the questhing. They've been playing the rule of contrary these tion, he was puzzled, and looked to the ready wit of the twenty years; and it's not likely they'll take a turn now.' merry Norah for assistance. It was not very extraordi"It's mighty hard, so it is," replied handsome Morris, nary that he loved the fairy creature-the sweetest, gay"that married people can't draw together. Norah, dar-est of all Irish girls ;-light of heart, light of foot, light lint that would'nt be the way with us. Sure, it's one of eye, now weeping like a child over a dead chicken or we'd be in heart and sowl, and an example of love and-" a plundered nest, then dancing on the top of a hay-rick Folly," interrupted the maiden, laughing. "Morris, to the music of her own cheering voice ;-now coaxing Morris, we've quarrelled a score o' times already; and, to her termagant mother, and anon comforting her henmy thinking, a bit of a breeze makes life all the pleasanter. pecked father. Do not let my respected readers imagine Shall I talk about the merry jig I danced with Phil Ken- that Mr and Mrs Clary were contemptible Irish bog-trotnedy, or repeat what Mark Doolen said of me to Mary ters, with only a plot of pratees, a pig, and a one-roomed Grey? eh, Morris ?" cabin. No such thing; they rented an hundred good acres of bright meadow-land, and their comfortable, though somewhat slovenly farm-yard, told of abundance and to spare. Norah was their only child; and had it not been for the most ungentle temperament of Mistress Clary, they would have been the happiest as well as the richest family in the district. The long black lashes of Norah Clary's bright brown eyes almost touched her low, but delicately pencilled brows, as she looked archly up at her lover; her lip curled with a half-playful, half-malicious smile; but the glance was soon withdrawn, and the maiden's cheek glowed with a deep and eloquent blush, when the young man passed his arm round her waist, and, pushing the clustering curls from her forehead, gazed upon her with a loving but mournful look. "Leave joking, now, Norry; God only knows how I love you," he said, in a voice deep and broken by emotion. "I'm ye'r equal, as far as money goes, and no young farmer in the country can tell a better stock to his share than mine; yet I don't pretend to deserve you, for all that; only, I can't help saying, that when we love each other, (now, don't go to contradict me, Norry, because ye've as good as owned it over and over again,) and ye'r father agreeable, and all, to think that ye'r mother, just out of divilment, should be putting betwixt us, for no reason upon earth, only to spite' her lawful husband, is what sets me mad entirely, and shows her to be a good-for" 66 Stop, Mister Morris," exclaimed Norah, laying her hand upon his mouth, so as effectually to prevent a sound escaping; "it's my mother ye'r talking of, and it would be ill-blood, as well as ill-bred, to hear a word said against an own parent. Is that the pattern of ye'r manners, sir, or did ye ever hear me turn my tongue against one belonging to you?" "I ax ye'r pardon, my own Norah," he replied meekly, as in duty bound; "for the sake o' the lamb, we spare the sheep. Why not; and I'm not going to gainsay-but ye'r mother" "The least said's the soonest mended!" again interrupted the impatient girl. "Good even, Morris, and God bless ye; they'll be after missing me within, and it's little mother thinks where I am.' "Norah, 'bove all the girls at wake or pattern, I've been true to you. We have grown together, and, since ye were the height of a rose-bush, ye have been dearer to me than any thing else on earth. Do, Norah, for the sake of our young hearts' love, do think if there's no way to win ye'r mother over. If ye'd take me without her leave, sure it's nothing I'd care for the loss o' thousands, let alone what ye've got. Dearest Norah, think, since you'll do nothing without her consent, do think-for once be serious, and don't laugh." It is a fact, equally known and credited in the good barony of Bargy, that Morris Donovan really possessed an honest, sincere, and affectionate heart,-brave as a lion, and gentle as a dove. He was, moreover, the priest's nephew,-understood Latin as well as the priest himself; and, better even than that, he was the Beau, the Magnus Apollo of the parish ;—a fine, noble-looking fellow, that all the girls (from the housekeeper's lovely English niece 66 "I am not going to laugh, Morris," replied the little maid at last, after a very long pause; " I've got a wise thought in my head for once. His reverence your uncle, you say, spoke to father-to speak to mother about it? I wonder (and he a priest) that he had'nt more sense. Sure mother was the man ;-but I've got a wise thought.— Good night, dear Morris; good night." The lass sprang lightly over the fence into her own garden, leaving her lover perdu at the other side, without possessing an idea of what her "Wise Thought" might be. When she entered the kitchen, matters were going on as usual-her mother bustling in glorious style, and as cross (her husband muttered) " as a bag of weazles." 66 "Ye'r a pair of lazy hussies!" she exclaimed to two fat, red-armed, stockingless handmaids; "d'ye think I can keep ye in idleness? Ten cuts to the dozen!—why, that wouldn't keep ye in pratees, let alone salt—and such illigint flax too! Barney Leary, ye dirty ne'er-do-good, can ye find no better employment this blessed night than kicking the turf-ashes in the cat's face? Oh! ye'll be mate for the ravens yet, that's one comfort! Jack Clary," addressing herself to her husband, who sat quietly in the chimney corner smoking his doodeen, “it's well ye've get a wife who knows what's what! God help me, I've little good of a husband, barring the name! Are ye sure Black Nell's in the stable ?" (The sposo nodded. ) cow and the calf, had they fresh straw?" (Another nod.) "Bad cess to ye, man alive, can't ye use ye'r tongue, and answer a civil question!" continued the lady. "My dear," he replied, "sure one like you has enough talk for ten." "The This very just observation was, like most truths, so disagreeable, that a severe storm would have followed, had not Norah stept up to her father, and whispered in his ear, "I don't think the stable-door is fastened."Mrs Clary caught the sound, and in no gentle terms ordered her husband to attend to the comforts of Black Nell. "I'll go with father myself and see,” said Norah. "That's like my own child, always careful," observed the mother, as father and daughter closed the door. "Dear father," began Norah, “it isn't altogether about the stable I wanted ye--but-but-the priest said something to ye to-day about-Morris Donovan." "Yes, darling, and about yerself, my sweet Norry." "Did ye speak to mother about it?" "No, darling, she's been so cross all day. Sure, I go through a dale for pace and quietness. If I was like other men, and got drunk and wasted, it might be in rason- -But that's neither here nor there. As to Morris, |