are worth remembering, from the fact that they bore a just tribute to the generosity, as well as to the courage, of the British soldier. No sooner is the enemy vanquished than the heart of the conqueror is melted into pity. He looks around him, and asks in tones of tenderest compassion,

'Is there no doctor to be found

To cure this deep and deadly wound?'

Upon which a member of the healing art, who doubtless had been provided by the questioner himself to act in any contingency, replies,—

'Yes, there's a doctor to be found
To cure this deep and deadly wound.'

-Few and simple, but touching, words, followed by the active measures which of course set the patient on his legs again.

All this we witnessed snug in the chimney corner, the yule log blazing on the hearth. And what signified to us the frost or the snow?

Thus passed Christmas Eve; and to bed we went in time to enjoy some portion of beauty sleep, but knowing that our slumbers would be broken long before the break of day; indeed, our senses were only half steeped, eyes and ears were at least half open-we were forestalling and anticipating in sleep the Christmas serenade, the arrival of 'the waits.' The said waits were in fact the members of the church choir, but we, in our childish imaginations, had invested them with superhuman attributes, and connected them in some way with angels; so that when in the still night air we caught the sound of their footfall, and the hum of their voices under our windows, we prepared ourselves

for heavenly music. I don't know that the performance in any way justified our expectations. They were a choir of the old sort, a 'sackbut, psaltery, dulcimer, and all kinds of music' choir, who sat on Sundays in a lofty gallery at the extreme west (before the dear old church was restored), and sang psalms, ordinarily according to the Tate-and-Brady version, Sternhold and Hopkins being always resorted to for the Hundredth, popularly called 'Thold Undurth.' Hymns were unknown or unacknowledged. I believe it would have been considered simple schism to have attempted to introduce hymns however ancient. Wesley and the Methodists would have had to answer for the innovation, albeit the said hymns might have been composed before Wesley was born. Therefore psalms and anthems constituted our church music fare-psalms sung, not as psalms are now sung, at express speed (iron roads and electric wires had not galvanised our intellectual and physical energies as they have since been galvanised), but slowly and grandly (as we then thought), with instrumental symphonies between each A psalm then was a thing to be listened to without distraction or hurry, not like the modern hymn, begun, continued, and ended' before you had well caught the air. Doubtless we required a little galvanising. Those were slow days in more senses than one. But are we not now going

verse.

ahead a little too fast? But to return to 'the waits.'

Rubbing our eyes, we change from a recumbent to a

sitting posture, ready to drink in the angelic strain.

sounds the clarionet ;

the flute follows;

the tenor succeeds;

the bass fills up. When the full chord has been thoroughly taken up and sufficiently prolonged, a voice gives out the first line of the hymn,

While shepherds watch their flocks by ni

And then

ght.

Well, what then? We listened till the sound died away, and then we resumed our horizontal position, and courted again.

'tired Nature's sweet restorer, balmy Sleep.'

On Christmas Day itself, of course, our morning and afternoon were given to the worship of God.

We may not

have entered fully into the spirit of the service, but I doubt not we felt the occasion to be one of no common interest, and, though young, were old enough to understand that our observance of the day was not to be wholly secular.

Such were some of the pleasures of Christmas some fifty years ago. I have touched on none of the discomforts, though, atmospherically speaking, they were sometimes hard to bear. The writer is one of those chilly mortals to whom intense cold brings no delight. He devoutly hopes that should he ever transmigrate into another body, it may be that of an African lion rather than a Polar bear; if into the body of an insect, may it be that of a cricket or a butterfly.

He delights in genial warmth and summer suns, and thus it has often occurred to him, what must the difference be between Christmas at home and Christmas at the antipodes. If he were to dwell on the subject, he would be compelled to draw upon his imagination for his facts; but he can well believe that the contrast between an English and a New Zealand Christmas must be very complete. Midsummer and midwinter suggest to his mind thoughts of a very opposite character. He fancies-it may be only fancy that the outward aspect of things, Nature in her summer dress, the world teeming with life, the trees in richest verdure, the birds carolling out their songs of praise, the flowers filling the air with balmy sweetness, that all this would tend to engender and call forth the best feelings of the heart, and that under such circumstances the glad news from Heaven would fall upon ears more sensitive and hearts more susceptible of grateful emotion. But he must not indulge the fancy. Thankful that his lot has been cast in a land of many blessings, he accepts it with all contentment, and is ready to endorse the poet's words,—

'England, with all thy faults'

(and that of a capricious and variable climate is not the least)

'I love thee still!'

JOHN GUARD.

Written for the

OTTERY SUMMER HOUSE CLUB,

1866.

WHICH is the most feeling animal in creation? The carthorse-because he's always alive to the sound of Wo!

A poor cornet having got his brains severely fractured was told by the surgeon that the brain was visible, on which he exclaimed: 'Do write and tell my father, for he always swore I had none !'

'God is love." 'God is a consuming fire.' These are great truths! But how antagonistic do they seem! Peace, hope, joy, trust, confidence. 'God is love.' Fear, remorse, shame, hopelessness, foreboding, despair. 'God is a consuming fire.'

The removing of Cleopatra's Needle to London has been the most costly piece of Needle-work in the world.

'I'll take your part,' as the dog said when he seized on pussy's share of the scraps.

Never retail nor receive scandal willingly. The receiver is as bad as the thief.

'The world's my oyster which I with tongue or pen will open.'

The hopes and consolations of the Gospel shed their balm on the mind of the Christian when everything outward seems adverse; like the light that cheered the Israelites in Goshen when all the rest of Egypt was involved in darkness that might be felt.