Do you know "Our Village?" It is a book-without exception the most delightful book-of descriptions of the country, and country life, and manners, that can be looked into-and all the better for coming from the pen of a lady. There is in it, under the date of to day, a picture of frost scenery, as true and good as a landscape after rain by Constable: it is an account of a winter morning's walk and of the village carpenter's daughter, a little girl, so charming that she must be introduced-and then to the walk.

The Village Carpenter's Daughter.

"Next door lives a carpenter famed ten miles round, and worthy all his fame,' --few cabinet-makers surpass him, with his excellent wife, and their little daughter Lizzy, the plaything and queen of the village, a child three years old according to the register, but six in size and strength and intellect, in power and in self-will. She manages every body in the place, her school-mistress included; turns the wheeler's children out of their own little cart, and makes them draw her; seduces cakes and lollipops from the very shop window; makes the lazy carry her, the silent talk to her, the grave romp with her; does any thing she pleases; is absolutely irresistible. Her chief attraction lies in her exceeding power of loving, and her firm reliance on the love and indulgence of others. How impossible it would be to disappoint the dear little girl when she runs to meet you, slides her pretty hand into yours, looks up gladly in your face, and says, 'come!' You must go: you

FROST.

January 23d.-At noon to-day I and my white greyhound, May-flower, set out for a walk into a very beautiful world,-asort of silent fairy-land,-a creation of that matchless magician the hoar-frost. There had been just snow enough to cover the earth and all its colors with one sheet of pure and uniform white, and just time enough since the snow had fallen to allow the hedges to be freed of their fleecy load, and clothed with a delicate coating of rime. The atmosphere was deliciously calm; soft, even mild, in spite of the thermometer; no perceptible air, but a stillness that might almost be felt the sky, rather grey than blue, throwing out in bold relief the snow-covered roofs of our village, and the rimy trees that rise above them, and the sun shining dimly as through a veil, giving a pale fair light, like the moon, only brighter. There was a silence, too, that might become the moon, as we stood at our little gate looking up the quiet street; a sabbath-like pause of work and play, rare on a work-day; nothing was audible but the pleasant hum of frost, that low monotonous sound which is perhaps the nearest approach that life and nature can make to absolute silence. The very waggons, as they come down the hill along the beaten track of crisp yellowish frost-dust, glide along like shadows; even May's bounding footsteps, at her height of glee and of speed, fall like snow upon snow.

But we shall have noise enough presently: May has stopped at Lizzy's door; and Lizzy, as she sat on the window-sill, with her bright rosy face laughing through the casement, has seen her and disappeared. She is coming. No! The key

is turning in the door, and sounds of evil omen issue through the key-hole-sturdy 'let me outs', and 'I will gos', mixed with shrill cries on May and on me from Lizzy, piercing through a low continuous harangue, of which the prominent parts are apologies, chilblains, sliding, broken Dones, lollypops, rods, and gingerbread, from Lizzy's careful mother. 'Don't scratch the door, May! Don't roar so, my Lizzy! We'll call for you as we come back.'--' I'll go now! Let me out! I will go!' are the last words of Miss Lizzy. Mem. Not to spoil that child-if I can help it. But I do think her mother might have let the poor little soul walk with us to-day. Nothing worse for children than coddling. Nothing better for chilblains than exercise. Besides, I don't believe she has any; and, as to breaking her bones in sliding, I don't suppose there's a slide on the common. These murmuring cogitations have brought us up the hill, and half-way across the light and airy common, with its bright expanse of snow and its clusters of cottages, whose turf fires send such wreaths of smoke sailing up the air, and diffuse such aromatic fragrance around. And now comes the delightful sound of childish voices, ringing with glee and merriment also from beneath our feet. Ah, Lizzy, your mother was right! They are shouting from that deep irregular pool, all glass now, where, on two long, smooth, liny slides, half a dozen ragged urchins are slipping along in tottering triumph. Half a dozen steps brings us to the bank right above them. May can hardly resist the temptation of joining her friends; for most of the varlets are of her acquaintance, especially the rogue who leads the slide,-he with the brimless hat, whose bronzed complexion and white flaxen hair, reversing the usual lights and shadows of the human cour.tenance, give so strange and foreign a look to his flat and comic features. This hobgoblin, Jack Rapley by name, 13 May's great crony; and she stands on the brink of the steep irregular descent, her black eyes fixed full upon him, as if she intended him the favor of jumping on his head. She does; she is down, and upon him: but Jack Rapley is not easily to be knocked off his feet. He saw her coming, and in the moment of her leap sprang dexterously off the slide on the rough ice, steadying himself by the shoulder of the next in the file, which unlucky follower, thus unexpectedly checked in his career, fell plump back.

wards, knocking down the rest of the line like a nest of card-houses. There is no harm done; but there they lie roaring, kicking, sprawling, in every attitude of comic distress, whilst Jack Rapley and Mayflower, sole authors of this calamity, stand apart from the throng, fondling and coquetting, and complimenting each other, and very visibly laughing, May in her black eyes, Jack in his wide close-shut mouth, and his whole monkey-face, at their comrades' mischances. I think, miss May, you may as well come up again, and leave master Rapley to fight your battles. He'll get out of the scrape. He is a rustic wit-a sort of Robin Goodfellow-the sauciest, idlest, cleverest, bestnatured boy in the parish; always foremost in mischief, and always ready to do a good turn. The sages of our village predict sad things of Jack Rapley, so that I am sometimes a little ashamed to confess, before wise people, that I have a lurking predilection for him (in common with other naughty ones), and that I like to hear him talk to May almost as well as she does. 'Come May and up she springs, as light as a bird. The road is gay now; carts and post-chaises, and girls in red-cloaks, and, afar off, looking almost like a toy, the coach. It meets us fast and

soon.

How much happier the walkers look than the riders-especially the frostbitten gentleman, and the shivering lady with the invisible face, sole passengers of that commodious machine! Hooded, veiled, and bonneted, as she is, one sees from her attitude how miserable she would look uncovered

Another pond, and another noise of children. More sliding? Oh no. This is a sport of higher pretension. Our good neighbour, the lieutenant, skaiting, and his own pretty little boys, and two or three other four-year-old elves, standing on the brink in an ecstacy of joy and wonder! Oh what happy spectators! And what a happy performer! They admiring, he admired, with an ardour and sincerity never excited by all the quadrilles and the spread-eagles of the Seine and the Serpentine. He really skaits well though, and I am glad I came this way; for, with all the father's feelings sitting gaily at his heart, it must still gratify the pride of skill to have one spectator at that solitary pond who has seen skaiting before.

Now we have reached the trees-the beautiful trees! never so beautiful as to

This ancient edifice is about five miles from London, by the way of Stoke Newington, and Stamford Hill. It is in a delightful situation, and has lately attained considerable attention in consequence of its being now occupied as a seminary for an improved method of education, upon the plan of the celebrated "Hazlewood School," near Birmingham.

The castle is said to have been built by earl Waltheof, who, in 1069, married Judith, niece to William the Conqueror, who gave him for her portion the earldoms of Northumberland and Huntingdon. Their only daughter, Matilda, after the death of her first husband, married David I., king of Scotland, and, being heiress of Huntingdon, had, in her own right, as appended to that honor, the manor of Tottenham, in Middlesex. Through her these possessions descended to Robert Bruce, grandson of David, earl of Huntingdon, and brother to William III., king of Scotland. Bruce contended for the throne of Scotland with John Baliol, who was the earl's great grandson by his eldest daughter, and who ultimately was adjudged heir to the crown. Upon this adjudication Robert Bruce retired to England, and settling on his grandfather's estate at Tottenham High Cross, repaired the castle, and, acquiring an adjacent manor, named it and the castle Bruce. The above engraving, after another from

a view taken in 1686, represents one of the four towers of the ancient castle This tower is still stauding, together with the house.

Bruce Castle became forfeited to the crown, and had different proprietors. In 1631 it was in the possession of Hugh Hare, lord Coleraine. Henry Hare, the last lord Coleraine, having been deserted by his wife, left all his estates to a natural daughter, born in Italy, whom he named Henrietta Rosa Peregrine. This lady married the late Mr. Alderman Townsend, but being an alien she could not take the estates; and, lord Coleraine having legally barred the heirs at law, the estates escheated to the crown. But a grant, sanctioned by act of Parliament, confirmed the estates to the alderman and his lady, whose son, Henry Hare Townsend, Esq, afterwards inherited them, and resided in Bruce Castle. In 1792 Mr. Townsend sold his estates, and Bruce Castle is now occupied by Mr. Rowland Hill. This gentleman directs the establishment for education upon the plan of his father's at Hazlewood, of which, indeed, this is a branch for the convenience of persons who desire their sons to derive the advantages of the Hazlewood system, and yet be near to the metropolis. The appearance of this spacious mansion is somewhat different from the preceding view of it.

It is not convenient to introduce an a

count of Mr. Hill's methods of education. They are fully developed in a volume of extraordinary interest, entitled "Plans for the Government and liberal Instruction of Boys in large Numbers; as practised at Hazlewood School, London, 1825." In this work the Hazlewood system of education is advantageously detailed, with anecdotes of incidents in the course of its execution which show its superiority for well grounding and quickening the minds of the pupils teaching them things as well as words, and fitting them for the practical business of life.

January 24.

Until 1831, Hilary Term usually began about this day: of St. Hilary, there is an account in the Every-Day Book, i. 98, with another account at p. 154 of the ceremonies observed on the first day of term, which of ancient usage is a gaudy day among the lawyers.

TEMPLARIA.

On the Two Figures of a Horse and a Lumb,over the Inner Temple Gate.

As by the Templar's holds you go,
The horse and lamb, display'd
In emblematic figures, show

The merits of their trade.
That clients may infer, from thence,
How just is their profession,
The lamb sets forth their innocence,
The horse their expedition.
"O happy Britons! happy isle !"
Let foreign nations say,
"Where you get justice without guile,
And law without delay."
Answer.

Deluded men, these holds forego,

Nor trust such cunning elves;
These artful emblems tend to show
Their clients, not themselves.
'Tis all a trick: these are but shams,

By which they mean to cheat you;
For have a care, you are the lambs,

And they the wolves that eat you. Nor let the thought of no "delay"

To these their courts misguide you; You are the showy horse, and they

Are jockeys that will ride you.

January 25.

WINTER NIGHT CAPS.

One of the best night caps in use at the University of Oxford is "a Bishop,”—a delicious winter beverage of antiquity beyond the memory of man, and hence not discoverable. Its name is presumed to have been derived from a custom in old times of regaling prelates with spiced wine, when they honored the University with a visit. To sanction its modern use, the erudite editor of “Oxford Night Caps" produces from an "Ancient Fragment," co-eval with his work, the following lines: Three cups of this a prudent man may take; The first of these for constitution's sake, The third and last to lull him to his rest. The second to the lass he loves the best,

Upon this authority, in addition to the usage, it may be affirmed that "a bishop" is a comforter-"the last thing"-on going to bed.

According to ecclesiastical custom, as respects the beginning of a bishop, he must be of necessity a doctor before he can be a bishop: but, in the list of the University beverages which are called "night caps," there is not at this time any liquor called a "doctor:" on which account, and notwithstanding the fair presumption of the fore-cited Oxford editor concerning the origin of the term "bishop" from a usage, yet it seems likely hat there was a potation called “a doctor” more ancient; and, that the members of the University may have so admired the higher dignity, that, of by-gone reason, aud in haste, they may have rejected the liquor of degree. and passed at once to the ultimatum; thereby, and to the present time, ceasing the use, and forgetting the inductive and more ancient beverage called "doctor," the readier thereby to favor themselves with the "bishop." For the manner of making the tipple called "a doctor" is now as utterly unknown in the University as the reason for making a D.D. in boots. Upon which it bootetb not to enquire, but rather to think of our "night caps," and, so, at once to compotation.

Bishop.

Make incisions in the rind of a lemon, stick cloves in the incisions, and roast the lemon by a slow fire. Put small but equal quantities of cinnamon, cloves, nace, and ailspice, and a race of ginger,