fore cock-crow, with strains and welcomings which belong to night. They wake us so gently that the music seems to have commenced in our dreams, and we listen to it till we sleep again. Besides this, we have our songs, from the young and the old, jocose and fit for the time. What old gentleman of sixty has not his stock-his one, or two, or three frolick some verses. He sings them for the young folks, and is secure of their applause and his own private satisfaction. His wife, indeed, perhaps says "Really, my dear Mr. Williams, you should now give over these, &c." but he is more resolute from opposition, and gambols through his "Flowery meads of May," or "Beneath a shady bower," while the children hang on his thin, trembling, untuneable notes in delighted and delightful amaze. " Many years ago (some forty-one,— or two, or three) when we were at home" for the Christmas holidays," we occasionally heard these things. What a budget of songs we had! None of them were good for much; but they were sung by joyful spirits, amidst fun and laughter, loud and in defiance of tune, and we were enchanted. There was "Bright Chanticleer proclaims the dawn,' and ""Twas in the good ship Rover," -and, "Buy my matches,"-(oh! what an accompaniment there was with the flat hand and the elbow)"The lobster claw," and others. We should be sorry to strip them, like "majesty" in the riddle, of their merit first and last. (our recollection) and reduce them to "a jest." Yet they were indeed a jest, and a very pleasant one.-Of all the songs, however, which become a time of feasting, there is none comparable to one written by Beaumont and Fletcher. It is racy, and rich, and sparkling. It has the strength and regal taste of Burgundy, and the etherial spirit of Champaigne. Does the reader wish to see it? Here it is the words seem floating in wine. GOD LYAUS-ever young, What a rioter was he that wrote this!-His drink was not water from Hippocrene. His fountain flowed with wine. His goddess was a girl with purple lips; and his dreams were rich, like the autumn; but prodigal, wild, and Bacchanalian! -Leaving now our eve of Christmas, its jokes, and songs, and warm hearths, we will indulge ourselves in a few words upon CHRISTMAS DAY. It is like a day of victory. Every house and church is as green as spring. The laurel, that never dies, the holly, with its armed leaves and scarlet berries, the mistletoe, under which one sweet ceremonial is (we hope still) performed, are seen. Every brave shrub that has life and verdure seems to come forward to shame the reproaches of men, and to show them that the earth is never dead, never parsimonious. Then, what gay dresses are intermixed,-art rivalling nature !— Woe to the rabbits and the hares, and the nut-cracking squirrels, the foxes, and all children of the woods, for furriers shall spoil them of their coats, to keep woman (the wonder of creation) warm! And woe to those damsels (fair anachronisms) who will not fence out the sharp winter; for rheumatisms and agues shall be theirs, and catarrhs shall be their portion in spring.-But, look! what thing is this, awful and coloured like the rainbow,-blue, and red, and glistening yellow? Its vest is sky tinctured! The edges of its garments are like the sun! Is it -A faery vision No:-it is the Beadle of St.-'s! How Christmas and consolatory he looks! How redolent of good cheer is he! He is a cornu-copia,-an abundance! What pudding-sleeves! what a collar, red and a like beefsteak, is his! He is a walking refreshment! He looks like a whole parish,— full, important, but untaxed. The children of charity gaze at him with a modest smile. The straggling boys look on him with confidence. They do not pocket their marbles. They do not fly from the familiar gutter. This is a red-letter day; and the cane is reserved for tomorrow. London is not too populous at Christ mas. But what there is of population looks more alive than at other times. Quick walking and heaps of invitations keep the blood warm. Every one seems hurrying to a dinner. The breath curls upwards like smoke through the frosty air; the eyes glisten; the teeth are shown; the muscles of the face are rigid, and the colour of the cheek has a fixed look, like a stain. Hunger is no longer an enemy. We feed him, like the ravenous tiger, till he pants and sleeps, or is quiet. Every body eats at Christmas. The rich feast as usual; but the tradesman leaves his moderate fare for dainties. The apprentice abjures his chop, and plunges at once into the luxuries of joints and puddings. The school boy is no longer at school. He dreams no more of the coming lesson or the lifted rod; but mountains of jelly rise beside him, and blancmange, with its treacherous foundations, threatens to overwhelm his fancy; roods of mince pies spread out their chequered riches before him; and figures (only real on the 6th of January) pass by him, one by one, like ghosts before the vision of the king of Scotland. Even the servant has his "once a year" bottle of port; and the beggar his "alderman in chains.” Oh! merry piping time of Christmas! Never let us permit thee to degenerate into distant courtesies and formal salutations. But let us shake our friends and familiars by the hand, as our fathers and their fathers did. Let them all come around us, and let us count how many the year has added to our circle. Let us enjoy the present, and laugh at the past. Let us tell old stories and invent new ones-innocent always, and ingenious if we can. Let us not meet to abuse the world, but to make it better by our individual example. Let us be patriots, but not men of party. Let us look of the time,cheerful and generous, and endeayour to make others as generous and cheerful as ourselves. ON A SLEEPING CHILD. 1. O'tis a touching thing to make one weep- Had lined its slumbers with a still blue sky; Tom Hood The blushes warm and the mild odorous breath: Oh blossom-boy! so calm is thy repose, So sweet a compromise of life and death, II.* Thine eyelids slept so beauteously, I deem'd I did not think a smile could sweetlier play, And odorous silence ripens into sound, And fingers move to mirth,-All-beauteous boy! How dost thou waken into smiles, and prove, If not more lovely, thou art more like Love! T. A COCKNEY'S RURAL SPORTS. Guns, horses, dogs, the river, and the field, These like me not.-Anon. I was lately invited by a French gentleman to pass a few weeks with him at his chateau in the Auxerrois, at fifty leagues from Paris. As I am fond of the country, and Monsieur De V-, moreover, being an excellent fellow, I did not long hesi tate in accepting his invitation. Ah! when I pronounced the fatal "Oui," little did I suspect that, by the uttering of that one word, I had devoted myself to a week of bitter suffering. But that the tortures I endured may be fully appreciated, it is necessary to state what are my notions of the country, and what my occupations and amusements there. The country, then, is a place where, instead of thousands of houses rising about us at every turn, only one is to be seen within a considerable space; where the sky is presented in a large, broad, boundless expanse, instead of being retailed out, as it were, in long strips of a yard and a half wide; where the trees grow naturally and in abundance-by dozens in a clump! and are of a fresh, gay, healthy green, instead of being stuck about here and there, sad exiles from their native forests, gasping to refresh their lanky forms with a puff of air caught from above the chimney tops, smoke dried, sun-burnt, and covered with urban dust, the sack-cloth and ashes of the unhappy mourners;—where, for flags and pebbles, one is provided with the soft and beautiful tessellations of nature;where the air may be respired without danger of suffocation, and the rivers run clear water instead of mud. This is the country. Its pleasures are to sit still in a quiet room during the early hours of the morning; then to stroll forth and ramble about, always within sight of the house, avoiding long walks, and the society of all such walkers as compute their pedestrian excursions by miles; then to sit down in some shady place with a book' in one's hand, to read, ruminate, or do neither; then to take a turn into the farmyard, and look at the fowls, or throw crumbs into the duck-pond; then to walk leisurely to the bridge, lean over the parapet, and watch for hours together the leaves, twigs, and other light objects floated through it by the stream, occasionally spitting into the water-the quintessence of rural ease and idleness!- and so on the livelong day. These are my notions of the country, and of the pleasures it affords; and though my late excursion has instructed me, that other pleasures than those I have enumerated exist, to me they present no charms; they are adapted to tastes and habits far different from mine. I never loved them; and now, for the sufferings they have recently occasioned me, I hate, loathe, and detest them, and cling with increased fondness to my own first ideas of rural enjoyment. Would I had but been allowed the undisturbed indulgence of them! The evening for our departure arrived. We took the diligence to Auxerre. At intervals, during our nocturnal progress, I was saluted with a friendly tap on the back, accompanied with the exclamation, "Ah, ça, mon ami, nous nous amuserons, j'espere." This brought to my mind pleasant anticipations of my friend's clumps, his meadows, and his silver streams. Day-light opened to us the prospect of a delightful country. Every now and then a hare scampered across the road, or a partridge winged its way through the air. On such occasions Monsieur De V- would exclaim, "Vois-tu ça, mon cher?" his eyes sparkling with delight. This I attributed to his fondness for roasted hares and partridges, and promised myself a plentiful regale of them; little did I foresee the torments these reptiles were to occasion me. On our arrival at Auxerre, owing to some unusual delays on the road, we found we were too late for the regular coach to Vilette, the place of our destination. "C'est un petit malheur," said my companion (a Frenchman is so happily constituted that he seldom encounters a grand malheur): "It is but fifteen leagues to Vilette, and at nine this evening we'll take the Patache." Now the Patache, though a very commodious travelling-machine, is not quite as easy in its movements as a well-built English chariot, nor as a post-chaise, nor as a taxed-cart, nor, indeed, as a common English roadwaggon. It is a square box, without springs, fastened flat down upon poles, and dragged along upon two heavy ill-constructed wheels. it so. The night was dark; our route lay along a bye-road, not paved, but covered with large stones, thrown loosely and carelessly along it, and our driver was half drunk and half asleep. We were jolted to the right and to the left, backwards, forwards, bumped up to the roof, and, in heavy rebounds, down again upon the hard seat. It was making a toil of a pleasure. For some time we laughed, or affected to laugh, but at length our sufferings grew too real for a jest. We were bruised from head to foot, and our situation was not rendered more agreeable by the reflection that it was without remedy. "C'est egal," exclaimed my friend, in the intervals between his groans. I did not find After five hours' pulverising, at two o'clock in the morning, and having made but little progress on our journey, our driver stopt at a miserable village, and resolutely refused to proceed any further till daybreak. "N'importe," said Monsieur De V," that will allow us an hour and a half's rest, et ça sera charmant." Charming! What is there so perversely tormenting as the short period of unrest thrust upon one in the course of a fatiguing journey? It is scarcely sufficient to recover one from the state of feverish agitation, excited by long-continued motion, and which it is necessary to subdue before sleep will operate, and the instant it begins to do so one is cruelly dragged forth again. However, any thing was better than the Patache. I was lifted out, for I was totally deprived of the power of self-exertion. At day-break I was lifted in again; and at eleven o'clock of the third day after our departure from Paris, we arrived at Vilette. I passed the whole of that day on a sofa, and at night I slept soundly. The next morning, after arranging my writing materials on a table, I selected a book as my intended companion in my rambles, put pencil and paper into my pocket, that I might secure such bright ideas as I doubted not the country would inspire, and went into the breakfastroom. A party of ladies and gentlemen, visitors at Vilette, were already assembled. The repast ended, this was Monsieur De V's address to me: "Maintenant, mon cher, nous nous amuserons. You are an Englishman, consequently a fine sportsman. You will find here every thing you can desire. Fishing-tackle, dogs, guns, horses-par exemple, you shall ride Hector while you stay-no one here can manage him, but you'll soon bring him to reason. Allons! we'll ride to day. Sacristi! Hector will fly with you twelve leagues an hour! Only remember, that as we shall not be equally well mounted, you must keep him in a little, that we may not lose the pleasure of your conversation by the way." Then turning to some others of the party, he said, "The English are in general better horsemen than we; il n'y a pas de comparaison, Messieurs; vous allez voir.” " to This was an unexpected blow. I wished the earth would open and hide me in its deepest recesses. 1, who had never in my life caught a flounder! I, who had never pulled a trigger to the annoyance of beast or bird! I, who had never performed any very extraordinary equestrian feat, suddenly called upon witch the world with noble horsemanship," and sustain the sporting credit of England !-I, who am the exact antipode to Colonel Th—n, and stand at opposite points of preeminence with him; he being the very best sportsman in the world, and I the very worst,-a superiority which, in each case, leaves competition so far behind, that I have sometimes been proud of mine. Now it availed me nothing. What would I not have given for my great opposite's dexterity of hand, his precision of eye, his celerity of foot! How did I envy him his power of riding more miles claimed my friend, "Nous nous amu- in a minute than any horse could carry him! How did I yearn to be şerons." And now, ex able, like him, to spit with a ramrod a dozen partridges flying, or angle with six hooks upon the same line, and simultaneously catch a pike of twenty pounds weight with each! These were vain longings, and something was necessary to be done. It seemed to me that the equestrian honour of England was confided to my keeping, and depended on my exertions that day; and with the desperate reflection that, at the worst, I should be quits for a broken neck, I went with the rest into the courtyard, where the horses were waiting for us. I must here beg permission to digress; for that my readers may fully appreciate the horrors of my situation, their attention to my equestrian memoirs is indispensable. I will be as brief as possible. Till somewhat an advanced period of my life, learning to ride had always appeared to me a superfluous part of education. Putting one foot into the stirrup, throwing the other across the saddle, and sitting astride it, as I had seen many persons do, seemed to me to be the mere work of intuition, common matter of course, as easy and as natural to man as walking. Having principally inhabited the capital, horse-riding, as a thing of necessity, had never once occurred to me. I had never considered it as a recreation; and my journeys, whether of business or pleasure, I had always performed in carriages. Thus I had attained the age of manhood-confirmed manhood, reader!-without ever having mounted a horse; and this, not from any suspicion that I was incompetent to the task, nor from any unwillingness to the effort, but simply, as I have said, from never having experienced the absolute necessity of so doing. It happened that I was chosen one of a numerous party to Weybridge, in Surrey;-alas! though but very few years have elapsed since then, how are its numbers diminished! Death has been fearfully industrious among us; and the few whom he has spared are separated from each other, some by intervening oceans, others by the wider gulph formed by the decay of friendship, the withering of affection.-No matter. On the eve of our departure, it was discovered that all the places in the carriages would be occupied by ladies: each man, except myself, was provided with a horse, and the important question arose-" How is P. to get there?" It was soon settled, however, by some one saying, "Oh! I'll lend him a horse; and my accepting his proposition, and thanking him for his civility, in just the same tone of nonchalance as if he had offered me a place in a postchaise. No doubts, no misgivings, concerning the successful result of the morrow's undertaking, came across me: I had nothing to do but get upon a horse, and ride him to Weybridge. That night I slept soundly; the next morning I rose in a placid state of mind, ate my breakfast as usual, and conducted myself with becoming decency and composure till the appointed hour of starting. I was the first at the place of rendezvous. The horse intended for me was led to the door, I walked towards it with a steady and firm step, mounted-gallantly, I may say-and, to the last, exhibited no signs of emotion. The carriage drove off. In consequence of some little derangements, a full quarter of an hour had passed before the whole of the cavalry was assembled; I waited patiently at the street-door; and without pretending to rival Mr. Mackean or young Saunders, I may boast that during the whole of that time I kept my seat with wonderful tenacity: I sat in a way that might have excited the envy of the statue in Don Juan. At length the signal for starting was given. I advanced with the rest, neither ostentatiously taking the front, nor timidly seeking the rear, but falling in just as chance directed in short, as any experienced rider would have done, who attached no sort of importance to the act of sitting across a horse. Our road lay down St. James's-street, (the place of meeting) through the Park and along the King's-road. Arriving opposite the Palace, my companions turned their horses to the right, while my horse turned me to the left. This occasioned a general cry of, "This is the way-this is the way; and already I fancied I perceived among them signs of distrust in my equestrian talents. For my own part, I was all confidence, and just giving my horse's head a twitch to the right, I soon " |
