in some shape this fluid must be. Thus, let us look upon the viewless air around us in all its beautiful adaptations to human wants,—as a mighty girdle bending down by its pressure the surface of the globe-as the diffuser, by refraction and reflection, of the light from sun, moon, and the bright starry host-as the storehouse and fountain of the winds, breathing beauty in their passage over the earthand as the great supporter of vegetable and animal life. Such is that air which the child feels stealing amid his wavy locks as he gambols over the meads. which the philosopher sees working in a thousand mysterious ways, and which is one principal cause of the sublimity and beauty visible on the face of creation.

A CHRISTMAS PARTY IN THE COUNTRY. CHAP. I.

"SNOW, snow, snow! I can tell you, Miss Sophy, there will be nothing but snow to-day, you may depend upon it," said Charles Loraine to his eldest sister, as he looked out of the window of the saloon at Kirkfield, "so there will be no drive to R, and Justine will be sadly disappointed. You will have to amuse her as well as you can, for Fred and I shall go down to the low-close to look after the snipes, in spite of the snow." "I am afraid you are right," replied Sophia, "the snow certainly looks set in for the day; but I have no fear of being unable to amuse my cousin at home, for we ladies always find plenty to do." "And plenty to talk about also," said Charles, laughing; "only, Justine talks so much about persons whom I do not know, and so little about things which I do know, that, pretty as she is, I should be sorry to be shut up the whole day with her."

"Why, my dear Charles, you forget that Justine has passed all her life in London and Paris, and everything in this quiet corner of the world is new to her. She has even our language to learn as well as our customs, so you should not be too hard upon her, for I doubt not, by the time she can understand our northern dialect, she will find an interest in all our pursuits. I do wish, however, that she would contrive to rise a little carlier. Every body else seems to be assembling for prayers, and the bell has been rung some time." Yes; and there goes my father with his little tinkle, tinkle,' at the bottom of the stairs. Well done, 'little impatience,' as Agnes calls it, you will not rouse Justine."

Whilst the party are joining in their morning duty, let me ask my readers if they were ever at Kirkfield. I suspect not, for it is some miles distant from any of the great roads, and, though I have before intimated that it is in one of the northern counties, I do not intend to point out the exact locality. The village of Kirkfield is extremely rural, consisting of a number of cottages surrounding an extensive green, in the middle of which are two or three magnificent spreading elms. The title of cottage may properly be applied to every house there. None is so wretched as to preclude the idea of comfort. Some few of the better class are really pretty; yet even the parsonage, which is conspicuously placed at one end of the village, is still a cottage, though a cottage ornée. Peering above the profusion of lilacs and laburnums which grace the parsonage garden, rise the aristocratic gates which lead to the Hall, with a pretty low-roofed lodge, covered with climbing roses, and inhabited by old Emma, whose business it is to open the gates, and tend the chickens which are reared within the green wire fences. Old Emma! Young Emma, blooming Emma, sweet Emma, we have often heard of -but, old Emma! There seems something incongruous in those oddly joined words. Who can hear them, and see the pale, withered, time-worn face which they

indicate, without a reflection that she, too, may have been sweet Emma, must have been young Emma; and that years, which slip away so noiselessly, will at last bring to them, young though they now be, the failing step, the wrinkled skin, and the dimmed eye of age? Happy will it be for them if, like old Emma, they can comfort in the spectacled perusal of the word of God, look back upon a well-spent life, find their present and their future hope in the promises which are there

held out.

Few are the visitors to Kirk field Hall who do not exchange a kindly greeting with old Emma before they proceed along the green pathway of the terrace, which leads, for nearly a mile, from the gates to the house. This terrace is beautifully planted with a variety of well-grown trees, amongst which, here and there, an opening is cut away, which allows the eye sometimes to wander over the pretty little park, dotted by fine cattle-sometimes to catch a glimpse of the bright silvery stream which runs below, and at length to rest upon the house itself, and the ancient ivy-covered tower of the church, which, placed absolutely in the grounds and close to the mansion, seems to look down upon it with a calm air of holy protection. From the north side of the house there is no view but the immediate one of the well-wooded and grassy slope of the terrace, but to the south the scene is more extended. The windows of the saloon, which, with the diningroom at one end, and the drawing-room at the other, occupies the whole of the south front, look out upon a flower-garden, with three gently declining terraces sinking to the edge of a bright sheet of water, where, as on St. Mary's lake, the swans

"Float double, swan and shadow."

into the park, just where the tiny lake dwindles into a A light Chinese bridge crosses this water, and leads stream; and along the west side of the park the great terrace extends its shelter. Far away to the south stretches a fine champagne country, whilst to the east arises a lovely range of hills, of various shapes and sizes, some low and grassy, others woody, and some few covered with purple heath, and almost claiming the loftier name of mountains.

Such is a summer description of Kirkfield; but we must not forget that it is now winter, and that we have left a large Christmas party assembled in the breakfastroom. Seldom, indeed, was Kirkfield without a large party. The Loraines were themselves a family, and Mr. and Mrs. Loraine loved to assemble around them a happy group of friends, to share in the amusements of the young people.

numerous

Justine made her appearance soon after breakfast had commenced, and blushed a little when her uncle complimented her upon her early rising. Though she certainly was disappointed on finding the drive to R must be entirely given up, she not the less cheerfully took her place with the working party round the fire at one end of the saloon, whilst another group were practising music or reading at the other end, and the younger ones ran from one fireplace to the other, keeping themselves warm by the exercise, and doing little offices of kindness for the elders. Mrs. Loraine and Sophia went to arrange the household affairs, Mr. Loraine to his cabinet and turning apparatus, and some of the gentlemen to the library. Charles and his cousin Frederic took up their guns, determined to brush through the snow, and wage war upon the snipes, accompanied by two youngsters who begged to act as pioneers. At noon came the post, that pleasant excitement in a country house, when Mr. Loraine's entrance with the letters and newspapers brought all around him full of hope-some to be gratified, some to be disappointed.

One, two, three letters for mamma!" exclaimed Agnes, "what can they all be about? One for Rosaline, which I do believe is from Maria! One for Mrs. Barlow! There, Laura, run with it to your mother! Two for you, Justine! Only look at this

lacework border, and the direction- Madile.-Madlle. L'Estrange that must be a French letter-." And so the merry chatterer ran on till arrested by an epistle addressed to Miss Agnes Loraine, "from dear, dear Edmund!" when the happy sister was soon absorbed in all the details of a midshipman's journal.

How delightful to children is the first letter they receive! How delightful, when young, is it to receive any letter at all! Who does not recollect some treasured epistle arriving on his birth-day from a kind aunt or godmother; some letter which dear papa had written during a short absence, which was handed about to all in the parlour, pressed upon the notice of every morning visitor, and read over and over again by nurse, until the proud receiver could repeat every word, and cheated himself into the belief that he was reading all that met his unpractised eye. How different his youthful feeling from that which, in after life, too often attends the receipt of a letter; when we linger with it in our hands, afraid to open it lest it should bring tidings of grief; when the postman's horn sounds heavily to the heart of an anxious parent, and he dreads to see the handwriting of his estranged and ungrateful, though still loved child, sure that it only solicits supplies for extravagance, or speaks of the penitence which he dares not believe sincere!

The post came in good time to relieve something rather like ennui, which had been creeping over some of the party; and inquiries after absent friends, and discussions upon public events, gave a flow to the conversation until the dinner-bell brought back the shooters, wet and weary, with little booty but large appetites. Alleyn and Neville were loud in asserting the use they had been of to Charles and Fred; and both boys | longed for the time when they might prove their own superior skill by handling the guns themselves, though they allowed it was hardly possible to take fair aim with a thick snow falling around.

"Only think, Frederick," said Justine, after dinner, "I have had a letter this morning from Natalie, and she tells me there have been the most lovely things come out for Le jour de l'an, and they have been so busy choosing them. I do wish I had been there."

"A very pretty compliment to the present company," said Charles; "you would leave us all for a new-year'sgift of sugar plums."

"A new-year's-gift of sugar plums! Justine, do grown-up people like you have sugar plums in Paris?" "Yes, Agnes; they are so pretty you would be delighted with them if you could only walk along Rue de la Paix, and peep into all the confectioner's shops. There are all sorts of things in sugar: roses with dewdrops; grapes and plums with the bloom on; and a thousand strange fantastic shapes, which none but a French artiste would think of making in confectionary. Quite poetical, I can assure you, when compared to the huge twelfth-night cakes, which you see stuck all over with little kings and queens in blue and red in the shops in Regent Street. Do you not remember, Fred, the splendid bouquet Madame de Bignon had last year, all presented to her by different friends on Le jour de l'an? M. de C brought a crown imperial, Louis a splendid ixia, and M. de V. the most wonderful stapelia, so true to nature that it absolutely seemed to smell abominably." Pugh!" said Charles, "that was not poetical, however."

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Mais pourquoi?" "Pourquoi! Why, because a poetical idea always seems to me to include the most beautiful view of nature; a poetical mind, to be that which will rest with most pleasure on the lovely in sights, and sounds, and smells; or if the objects it chooses to represent are not absolutely lovely in themselves, at least they recal, by their associations, those feelings which refine or ennoble our nature. But the smell of a stapelia! I dare say Don is just rejoicing over a similar treat at this moment.

Sophia," said Charles, "I have had no time to ask after the Flora Kirk fieldensis which you were so busy about during the long vacation. How many more flowers have you painted? Where is your portfolio? Pray let me look at them. And how is the hortus siccus?"

"Oh, Justine!" said Agnes, "if you are fond of flowers I am sure we may look over the hortus siccus to-night, and perhaps you will assist Sophia and Lucy to arrange it, will you?"

I am very fond of flowers, and will do my best to help them, but I am no botanist. I learned botany at school, to be sure, but the terms were so very hard I soon forgot them, and flowers are so very dear in London I never thought of it there."

"Oh, that is a pity!" said her little cousin, "but you will stay with us until summer comes, and we have thousands and thousands of flowers here."

"I dare say you have many, for the garden seems large, and the green-house full of plants."

"Oh, we don't botanize with garden-flowers. Look! all Sophia's drawings are from field-flowers, and they are very, very beautiful."

66

66

The

Only a hundred! I should not have believed you could have found so many. Where do they grow?" Everywhere," said Lucy, laughing; "on every bank, and under every hedge-row. Only remain with us, my dear cousin, until spring brings back our pets, and you will be surprised how they spring up around us. very first which appears in the beginning of February, just on the warm bank of the terrace, is the little celandine, opening out its pale golden petals. See, here is the drawing, and here the dried plant! The very sight of them makes me feel that first sigh of warmth which tempts the leaves of the lilacs and honeysuckles to unfurl, and fills the swelling buds of our darling horse-chestnut tree. Then, if we stroll beyond the park, we come upon the tussilage, tarfara, or coltsfoot; and, at the foot of the rocks which overhang the river below the mill, peep out the snowdrops, so tall, so elegant, so superior to those which come up in the garden, welcome though they be."

you see!"

"So she is," said Justine;" and I can willingly allow there is something very poctical in a snowdrop elegantly hanging its pensive head, and deserving its name by its snowy whiteness."

The

"Yes," said Sophia, "and how pretty its botanical name, Galanthus, derived from two Greek words, signifying, milk-flower."

"What do you call it in French, Justine?" asked Agnes.

"La Galatine is the proper name, but we also call it Perce-neige."

How pretty! As pretty as snowdrop, for I have often watched it piercing through the melting snow, with its pale green sheath sheltering the shrinking bud."

"

Well, we all agree in allowing the snowdrop to be poetical; but what can you make of coltsfoot or tus silage?" asked Frederic.

"Coltsfoot! coltsfoot! Why, what can be more poetical than a wild colt scampering about a pasture?" "Nay, nay, Charles," laughed Sophia, "I will give up coltsfoot, for I really do not know its meaning, as applied to this plant; but I must plead a little for tussilage. Tussis signifies a cough, and the flowers boiled in milk are a very popular remedy for that complaint amongst the poor people here. I am sure you would think it poetical enough if you could see old Emma, on some fine sunny March morning, gathering its little sunlike flowers, which come up without any leaves, and stand erect, in full vigour, until their beauty fades, when they hang their heads, as if mourning for its departure. But, like a tender mother, who seems to renew her own youth in that of her children, when the seeds are matured, and ready to be dispersed, the stem rises again, exposing them to the breeze which is to waft them to a suitable soil. This is a most interesting example of the action of plants, which cannot be explained on mere mechanical principles."

"Well, with old Emma's aid, and a slight allusive glance at aunt Loraine, Sophia has certainly made out a case for the poor plant; yet, I must confess, all these dried and shrivelled flowers have little interest in my eyes. There cannot be anything very interesting in a hortus siccus."

66

Rosaline, when you and Cyril have lived long enough merrily, merrily under the bough,' pray come and hold forth on the poetical merits of a hortus siccus!" cried Alleyn Loraine.

"What is that you want with Rose?" asked Cyril. "Only some verses poor Rose wrote last year, on recovering from that very severe illness, which makes her yet look so delicate, and so unfit to sing with you much longer," said his mother. "Neither you nor Charles have heard them, I believe, so Alleyn shall read them to us, and then I have another poetical production which will be very appropriate."

"Is it Wordsworth's charming lines on my pet pilewort, the lesser celandine, as he calls it, mamma?" asked Lucy.

"No, no, Wordsworth's lines are to be found by searching his works; and I am sure Justine will allow they amply repay the trouble of the search, if she do not know them already."

"But what are the claims of Lucy's favourite to such a distinction?" inquired Frederic. "I am afraid I shall be in great disgrace; but I must say, did I not see the outlandish title of Ranunculus ficaria affixed to the drawing, and hear her call it celandine, which is a sweet-sounding word, I should have called it a buttercup."

"I quite agree with Frederic," said aunt Martha, "in disliking those outlandish names, and would like a buttercup to be a buttercup still."

"And so it shall, my dear aunt," said Lucy; "but this is not a buttercup, though I allow it to be of the

There

Alleyn shall have them to read," said Rosaline, "when I have reminded you of the many pretty names given to the common ranunculus crowfoot, buttercup, kingcup, goldcup, and Shakspere's cuckoo buds of yellow hue.' Nor must you forget the white water-crowfoot, with its most delicate flowers and round green leaves, floating on the pond, whilst those leaves which are below the surface adapt themselves so wonderfully to their situation, being, by the action of the water, branched out into various lobes or fibres, so as to resemble the leaves of Hottonia, or similar water plants."

"Come, come," cried the impatient Charles, "you are prosing, that you may not produce your poetry. Give it to Alleyn; and if he do not read it with proper emphasis, he must never presume to think of the pulpit."

Alleyn accordingly began :—

"Come from the fields and woods, sweet sisters, come! The hours are lonely whilst your footsteps stray;

I hear your laughing voices nearing home,
I see you o'er the terrace bend your way.
Now you descend beneath the chestnut tree,
Waving the treasures you have brought for me!

What is the flower which marks your love to-day?
"Whilst you are absent, do not think I mourn,
I have a solace 'mid my herbal's leaves,
In the flower-tokens which at each return

From your blithe rambles still my hand receives; Yet do I watch along the park's green track, Hailing the moment which shall bring you back

From the gay fields to which my heart yet cleaves! "These flowers, though dead, still speak of hope to me ; This snowdrop tells of that cold-smiling morn, When by Sophia, in her sportive glee,

This earliest harbinger of spring was borne Το my sick chamber; a fair omen then, That soon the vernal breeze should bring again The glow of health to my frame, weak and worn. "And soon I ventured in the sunny noon To leave that chamber-prison, and descend, Pacing with feeble foot the warm saloon, Whilst my kind sisters on my steps attend; And Lucy, from the verdant lap of May, Brought the bright bird's-eye primrose, blooming gay, Its beauty with the hawthorn bud to blend. "Sisters, sweet sisters! I can meet you now

With firmer footsteps at the clear lake's side; Already on my Agnes' sunny brow

The wreath of summer roses I have spied; Her laughing eyes outrun her nimble feet; Sisters, sweet sisters! here once more we meet, And bless that Power who hath new strength supplied!

"And when, to-morrow, from the ivied tower

Which looks down blessings on our ancient hall,
Summoning the villagers at morning hour,
We hear the sabbath-bell repeat its call,
Once more I hope my voice with yours to raise,
In tones of humble prayer and heartfelt praise,
To Him who thus can re-unite us all!"

POPULAR YEAR-BOOK.

December.

DECEMBER still retains the original name assigned to it in the old Alban and first Roman Kalendar adopted by Romulus, in both which it was the tenth or last month of the year. Its appellation is composed of Decem, ten; and imber, a shower. It was consecrated by the ancients to Saturn, or, as some authors affirm, to Vesta, the daughter of Rhea; and in it the Romans held their Saturnalia. The Saxons termed it wintermonat, but after their conversion to Christianity, they then," of devotion to the birth-time of CHRIST," named it halig monat, or holy month, though this title, as we have before remarked, was originally bestowed by them upon September. They also called December midwinter-monat and giul erra, i. e. the former or first giul. The Feast of Thor, which they celebrated at the winter solstice, was called giul, from iol or ol, which signified ale, and is now corrupted into yule. This festival appears to have continued through part of January.

Brady remarks that the emblematical representation of December was that of an old man, with a grim countenance, covered with furs or a shagged rug, with several | caps upon his head, and over them a Turkish turban, his nose red, and that and his beard "pendent with icicles;" | at his back he carried a bundle of holly and ivy; and in one of his hands, which were in furred gloves, he led a goat, in token of the sun entering the tropic of Capricorn, or wild goat, on the 22d of this month. This was intended to mark the winter solstice, or " that period when the sun reaches its greatest decline, and is returning to its former altitude and influence," which the goat aptly typifies, that animal being not only much prone to climbing, which would denote the ascent of the sun, but his horns being, according to ancient hieroglyphics, emblematical of the heat naturally to be expected from such ascent. Spenser pictures December thus:

"And after him came next the chill December;

Yet he, through merry feasting which he made,
And great bonfires, did not the cold remember;
His SAVIOUR's birth so much his mind did glad.
Upon a shaggy bearded goat he rode,
The same wherewith Dan Jove in tender years,
They say, was nourished by the Idean maid;
And in his hand a broad deep bowl he bears,
Of which he freely drinks a health to all his peers."

The alterations which occur in the face of nature during this month are little else than so many advances in the progress towards universal gloom and desolation. The day now rapidly decreases; the weather becomes foul and cold, and there are often violent storms of snow and wind, which latter sweep off the few remaining leaves from the trees. The vapourish and cloudy atmosphere warps us about with dimness and chilliness, and the fields are too damp and miry to pass, except in sudden frosts, which begin to take place at the end of the month. Amid all December's sombreness there are, however, some "lively spots and cheering aspects." The furze," in the words of a pleasant writer, "flings out its bright yellow flowers upon the otherwise bare common, like little gleams of sunshine; and the moles ply their mischievous night-work in the dry meadows;

and the green plover 'whistles o'er the lea;' and the snipes haunt the marshy grounds; and the wagtails twinkle about near the spring-heads; and the larks get together in companies, and talk to each other, instead of singing to themselves; and the thrush occasionally puts forth a plaintive note, as if half afraid of the sound of his own voice; and the hedge-sparrow and tit-mouse try to sing; and the robin does sing still, even more delightfully than he has done during all the rest of the year, because it now seems as if he sang for us rather than for himself-or rather to us-for it is still for his supper that he sings, and therefore for himself."

The 21st of December is the shortest day of the year, when the sun is rather less than eight hours above the horizon. The grey plover leaves us on the first of this month. Such of the squirrels, water-rats, hedgehogs, and field-mice, as have not become torpid in November, now retire to their holes. The evergreen trees, such as firs ard pines, with their beautiful cones, are now particularly observed and valued. Besides a few of the flowers of last month, there are the aconite and hellebore; and in addition to some of the flourishing shrubs, is the famous Glastonbury thorn, which puts forth its blossoms on the Festival of the Nativity. The scarlet berries of the holly, the branches of pyracantha, and the laurustinus, are now in great beauty. The mosses offer a most curious spectacle to the botanist. Lichens cover the ditch banks, and other neglected spots, with a leatherlike substance, which in some countries serves as food both to men and quadrupeds. Cattle and sheep require great attention in feeding and sheltering; sheep are usually left out in the fields, and, without care, might be smothered in the snow. The farmer is employed in thrashing, winnowing, sacking, and carrying the corn to market; and the gardener, in matting and protecting trees and plants from the cold, and preparing the ground for the toils of spring.

In the Alban Kalendar, December consisted of thirtyfive days; Romulus reduced it to thirty, and Numa to twenty-nine; Julius Cæsar restored the day of which Numa had deprived it; and Augustus added to it another, which it has retained until now.

December 5.-St. Nicholas' Ebe.

AN old writer relates that, in many places, it was usual for parents, on the vigil of St. Nicholas, to convey, secretly, presents of various kinds to their little sons and daughters, who were taught to believe that they owed them to the kindness of St. Nicholas and his train, who, going up and down among the towns and villages, came in at the windows, though they were shut, and distributed them. The author of the "Popish Kingdom" makes the following allusion to this usage:

Saint Nicholas money used to give maidens secretly,
Who, that he still may use his wonted liberality,
The mothers all their children on the Eve do cause to fast;
And when they every one at night in senseless sleep are cast,
Both apples, nuts, and pears they bring, and other things beside,
As caps, and shoes, and petticoats, which secretly they hide,
And in the morning found, they say, that this Saint Nicholas
brought :-

seems nothing certain but that it means Christmas."

and various parts of France, in reference to that peculiar