Year: 1866

The December days are stealing away, silent
w. swiftly and softly, and Christmas, with
oil its hallowed and golden memories, is al
most here. Hearts are swelling with gIadness
at the thought; and as young heads are
pressed upon the pillows, the fairy touch of a
magic hand is feltupon each brow, aud Dreams
where no dark images or mocking fends dare
intrude, spread like glorious halo over and
around peaceful slumber.


And do Christmas thoughts bring no airy
visions to those who have passed the bounda-
nes Of childhood, and who now feel the weight
Of years upon the brow? Have they forgotten
the romance of youth iu the cold struggles
With practical life? Ah no; this romance


is too closely welded with every precious
memory of childhood to pass unforgotten now.
1t is the poetry of the past and no hand, how
ever strong and rude, can erase single outline
Of the glowing picture, painted in the warmest
colors Of fertile imagination. TO the old, the
memory of the romance is link reminding
them that they once were young, and binding
the present to the halowed past. Though
the happy vision may have vanished long ago,
he or she still treasures the memory Of it, and,
instead of wishing to destroy the happy illu-
sion in the eyes of children, each would have
them outgrow it, aud thus secure such quiet
and gradual, almost unconscious dispelling Of
the charm, as to preserve the beauty and the
poetry of the idealty. We who have entered
upon the cares Of manhood and womanhood,
can bend over the sleeping couch OF our babes,
watch the radiant smile upon the face, and an
ticipating the fairy dreams, bow our heads to


listen to the merry tinkliug of the bells strap
ped to the reindeer, bounding over the snowy
roofs, dragging after them, like a fash of
light, the sleigh-chariot of jolly old Santa
Claus Nay, as we watch the influence Of the
magic spell, we grow unconscious Of the pre-
sent and are tempted to hang up our stockings,
before the world grows gay with the rosy dawn
Of morning.


Christmas not only reminds US of cur own
happy hours Of childhood, but to many Of US,
the day brings our children back to us. They
come, perchance from the close schoolroom to
receive the warm kisses upon heir white brows,
and to find the welcome home as bright and
Joyous as it was ever painted by the hand of
fancy; or they come from the distant and busy
walks of life, 10 reconstruct the circle of other
days and to pledge their faith anew to the dear
old hearthstone. Love, bound with golden
memories, is the star that guides them to their
pilgrimage; and, as worn, weary and almost
heart broken with the struggles OF hte, they
turn their backs upon the treadmill, they are
reminded of the star that rose on Judea' g
plains, and which guided the simple Shepherds
to Bethlehem, that they might rejoice with the
young mother, the Virgin Mary, over her new
born-the Saviour and Redeemer Graded IN q
mangA. Welcome, then, is Christmas to all,
for it is the great holiday Of the Christian
world. Though it comes to US in the cold OF De-
cember, its dawn, by bright anticipations and
precious memories, is made as sweet and rosy
as the softest June morning. An hour before
the sun gilds the tree tops or the church spires,
and while yet the merry stars twinkle IN the
cold, clear sky, the children have left their beds
to explore the depths of stockings, or to gather
around the Christmas tree, and, each Esplng
prattler is busy with his morning salutatlon.
On such day, we all grow young, and time
treads on airy wings Though poor in worldly
goods, we feel rich in being surrounded by SO
many happy faces and in holding sweet com
munon with the past. The springs OF love
are touched and the heart goes kindly out to
every one. We clasp children to our hearts,
spread the feast and gather around the board,
and bless God for having given us day so In
terwoven with His own history, and SO closely
bound to the broad feelings of Christian love.
The Field and the Fa,ma.