December. As one star differeth from another in glory, and flowers have different degrees of fragrance and beauty, so the months, at whose various charms and teachings we have glanced as they fleeted by us, vary in interest; and though we may love and delight in all, one will bear away the palm of beauty, and another of usefulness; but, who shall say that December possesses not the gem that will outshine all others, whose radiant glory will never grow dim; and whose unfading flowers will never lose their bright beauty? For in this month we celebrate the rising of the "Bright and Morning Star," and in this month, the flowers which bud and blossom (we hope) throughout the year, are fully developed, and shoot forth their brightest petals, and wear their deepest colouring. The days may be short-the gleams of sunshine may be few and far between-the wind may blow over us, as it comes from the cold north, with an icy chill—the trees may be laden with, and their branches bowed down by feathery flakes, and the hills and valleys may be clad in ice and drifted snow-skeletons of the leaves, which in Summer decked the trees, may be fluttering in the air, or lying half buried by the Winter snow-storm-the fields which presented so busy a scene a few months ago, may be empty the cottage porch may be forsaken by the little rosy faces that made it look so bright in the early days of Spring, the warmer ones of Summer, and the fine open weather of Autumn-not the voice of a bird, not a sound of melody, except the note of the robin is heard; -but, the anniversary of the advent of the great central Sun, around whom all systems revolve, is at hand. The bells of our churches announce it by many a merry peal before the glad day itself arrives, and their music breaks the silence of a dark December evening, with less heavenly sounds, perhaps, than those that fell upon the ears of the Shepherds of Bethlehem on the night when Angels sang, "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth, peace, goodwill towards men :" but, with a sweet, charmed sound peculiarly their own; and at this season their music sinks into our hearts, and fills them with gladness, while the sweet carol we sometimes hear, causes a holy, a sacred feeling, that harmonizes well, at such a time, with that of joy. The flowers we spoke of, are those of the breast;warm hearts, hallowed affection, and devotional joy; and though the wintry storm may be gathering over us, and the wind be howling among the leafless trees; these flowers but expand the more, and reveal fresh beauty, amid the genial warmth, and the kindly smiles, the soft whisperings of affection and the songs of joy and gratitude, which cheer our English homes at Christmas. Christmas! oh-how much does that one word convey; L the past, with its many unforgotten scenes rises before. us—we think of the Christmas-days of our childhood, ere an arrow from the quiver of death had been pointed at our family circle, and laid the one most treasured, in the tomb;-ere the orange blossom and the bridal ring had drawn others from the home of our youth, and Death had marked another of the group, that once met so merrily together, for his own. How changed is all since then! she whose kind smile of approval made us happy in those days, has departed and will be seen no more in this life; but, when the last great day for the bodies of the saints to slumber in the tomb shall dawn; when the moment arrives for the glorified souls to be re-united to immortal and glorified bodies, then she will be seen on the right hand of her Redeemer, a monument of His saving mercy; an everlasting memorial of the love of Him, who, when in the inscrutable ways of infinite and unerring wisdom, He judged well to remove in the days of infancy her earthly parents, guided her through this world with His own hand, and in His own good time passed with her through the deep waters, and landed her on the celestial shore. Clothed with humility in life, the garment of peace was thrown over her in the dark valley of the shadow of death, and now she is resting in the Paradise of blissful expectation, for the moment when the "Sun of Righteousness will rise, and she, robed in light, will accompany Him to the mansion prepared for her from the foundation of the world; where, from an orphan upon earth, she will have become a star in the firmament of glory. دو While the tear falls for our loss, we feel we must not, cannot mourn for her, and are ready to exclaim "Forgive, blest shade, the tributary tear, That mourns thy exit from a world like this, "No more confined to grovelling scenes of night, And trace thy journey to the realms of day." Such recollections are not calculated to make Christmas a merry time, as in very early life it generally is; it may be, and is, a most happy one; for, though the eyes we so loved to look upon are closed in their last long sleep, and will brighten no more in this world; though the lips will never again move; the merry laugh, that rang like music in our ears, will be heard no more, and there are vacancies in the family circle; how tranquil the believer feels in the knowledge, that when the vacancy was left on earth, another was filled in heaven. Christmas also brings before us, visions of "the olden time;" when peer and peasant met together; when the old halls of our forefathers resounded with the sound of the harp and the songs of revelry, and the plentiful board was spread with good old English fare. We picture the younger groups assembling for the dance, or the favourite Christmas sports of the day, and the elder ones drawing round the huge hearth to repeat the oft-told tale, or chant the legendary song. The old highbacked, carved oak chairs; their occupants, such as now we see depicted in portraits which time has not injured; the blazing wood-fire; the minstrels; the mummers; the wassail-bowl,-all, all rise up before us. The "fine old English Gentleman" is there, and, with a noble staghound couched at his feet, and happiness enthroned on his brow; the banner of chivalry wreathed with the evergreen ivy; the old armour crowned with laurel; the antlers of the deer decked with holly; and the dread battle-axe half hidden by a mistletoe bough, forms an imaginative picture which we may long look for, in our more polished days, without finding. Oh! There is a charm about the past, Youth's gay enthusiasm checks; And tells that though Jehovah decks To cheer his path through life's short span ; A guide to point the way to heav'n: To raise the thoughts to that bless'd home For those who fear, obey, and love |