much trepidation, albeit that part consisted of no more than now and then handing some papers to his master, who sat beside him, and who in his turn handed the same papers to one of the officers of the court. Year after year I watched that lad, and again I saw him yesterday. Quantum mmutatus ab illo! He is not yet very old in years, but in experience he is a very patriarch. Every trace of childhood, of boyhood even, has vanished from his face. Brass is plainly written upon his forehead; you see at once that he reverences nothing and fears nothing; he will make any amount of affidavits on any given day, without one idea respecting them, save this, that if he makes any glaring mis-statement in them, he will probably get into some undefined trouble, which may possibly cost him his situation. But that trouble is not at all likely to come on him, for he knows accurately the difference between stating a fact positively, and merely being "informed and verily believing," and he is perfectly aware of the latitude allowed to a deponent in the latter case. He speaks of the judges and of the chiefs of the bar flippantly, by their surnames only; and he is fully persuaded that by far the greatest men in the courts are the taxing officers, and that the neat drawing of a bill of costs is the highest operation of the human intellect, save one, perhaps, namely, the demolition of the bill of costs of an adversary.

Poor little boy that sittest at that green table, still, perhaps, regretting some short gleam of happiness that shone upon thy childhood, it is, I fear, an evil future that is before thee. Mayest thou come unscathed out of the trial, or preserving at least some little of the better and more beautiful parts of thy soul and mind!

Reader, I am moralizing over much, and have grown sad. Let us pass out of this over to the Nisi Prius Court. Briefless, who has just come in, tells me that Boanerges is cross-examining a witness. Something of farce will do us good after so much serious meditation.

HAPPY CHRISTMASES.

PART FIRST,

In the December weather, gray and grim,
In the December twilight, keen and cold,
Stood the farm-house on the green-reached hill,
Piled with thatch roofs, mellowed into gold;
Under the dark eaves trailed the famished vines,
Blood-ribbed skeletons of Autumn days,
And the quaint windows looking to the downs
Flickered and darkened in the ruddy blaze.

Three leagues around, the meadows to the moon
Yearned like a silver dreamland, faint and white,
Below the deep-ploughed road a little pool
Glimmered breezily in the tender light;

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The great ash caught the glory as it dropped
From bough to bough, fantastically fair,
And the stars looked into its leafless heart,
Through shifting vapours and translucent air.
Wild looked the gardens round the drowsy house,
The laurel sparkled in the sifting frost,
But the white gables, where the roses grew,
In the dank atmosphere of fog were lost;
The wicket swang with a perturbèd cry,

The mighty watch-dog crossed the dial floor;
My heart beat as I stroked his shaggy head-
My heart throbbed as I stood beside the door.
In the sweet Christmas light that filled the porch,
As with a glory round a saint she stood,
Welcomes innumerable were on her lips,

And her cheeks reddened with tumultuous blood. My own, my darling one, my life, my love,

That made the common ways of earth divine; 'Twas sweet to stand beneath the balmy roof, Three fingers of thy gloveless hand in mine.

But dearer, sweeter, richer still to know

That thou wert mine-and that thy gentle heart, Won by long sufferance-won in hope and doubt, For me preserved a sanctuary apart;

Some sweet spot in a maiden's nature, where

Her thoughts flower loveliest with unconscious growth; The Eden of her soul where passion lives,

As if the guest to go or stay were loth.

In the old chairs before the household fire

We sat and gossipped; we had histories,
Dear nooks beside the winding river banks,
Dear names carved deep upon the cherry trees.
Old quarrels that the fresh love consecrates
As with some richer and diviner charm,
Old theories we wove as oft we went,

Through the soft evening pastures, arm-in-arm.
And oft I raised my head, when the tall urn
Bubbled between us, and I caught your eyes,
Dear, holy love, fixed sad upon my brows,
And full of dim, delicious mysteries;
Our hands upon the cloth one moment met,
A rough hand, and five fingers cool and white,
And the whole chamber vanished in the mist
Of an unknown and exquisite delight.

Do you remember how your father lookedStared me with pity, stared at me in wrath; Well he was old, and sorrowing shadows lie

On the thick hedges of a downward path. He did not love me; I was strange to him; His mind had measure of the ancient score, He liked a man whom the king's herald knew, And nailed his pedigree above his door.

These were poor times (you did not love me less,) And toil fetched slender recompense; weary Silent and sad the gray past hung behind,

Before the future loomed dark and dense. I saw the sneer that writhed on his lips,

And the white pallor of his feudal blood; I rose, and stood, and trembled on the floor, l'assion, and love, and misery at feud.

And then I went, but when I reached the path,
Slid straight between the alder trees, I turned,
The moon looked yellowly across the downs,
The moon upon the broken dial mourned;
The moon looked full into your yearning face,
And touched the raven ripples of your hair;
But the old saint-like atmosphere was lost

To the fierce vision blended with despair.

Forgive me, Liz, forgive me, patient one,

I blamed you for my sorrow and my shame; Once-thrice 1 turned and stood to say good-bye, But with the message wild reproaches came. Out on the night, apast the wicket step,

Out in the dark, disconsolate and poor,

Sad-as the wind that blown from the low hills, Fainted in monodies from moor to moor.

PART SECOND.

The year lay dying in the east,

The Christmas chimes had swung and ceast,

The Christmas light died at the feast.

Down looked the moon, but looked no more
Upon the silent river shore,

Or on the hill tops, faint and hoar.

Down into London's struggling gloom,
Down on the city of the Doom,
A scarf of cloud around her bloom.

Below the bridge the black ships lay,

The thin lamps gleamed from quay to quay, The thin masts trembled in the gray.

At time a voice was heard to cry
Some sadden warning; by-and-bye
A swift plunge told its mystery.

And deep and grim the river went
Past arch and tower, and monument,
As with a wail of discontent.

The clocks tolled two, and near and far
Rung in a fierce prophetic war,

The chimes roared back with brazen jar.

And as they ceased to clang and stir,
The foggy night grew silenter,
As nearer day the moments were.

Upon the bridge I stood alone,
Listening to the slow waves' moan,
Lapping the weedy buttress stone.

Friendless and homeless, 'twas to me
A sort of Christmas company
To watch the swirls glide to the sca.

To see the starlight glimmer grim,
Across the currents vague and dim,
And wish that I could go with them.

I touched my breast and trembled-there'Twas chiller than the morning air Close lay a cherished lock of hair.

And then, dear heart, my eyes grew wet;
I saw, in vision desolate,

The hill-the house where first we met.

The sweet old landscapes that we knew, When nights were fair and skies were blue, And every wind in odour flew.

I said "To-night, beside the hearth,
The light of the sweet household mirth;
Old days to her are little worth.

And the soft fingers and the palm,
That were to me earth's precious balm,
She gives him with untroubled calm.

And by-and-bye, for his reward,
She rises to the harpsichord,
And crucifies my darling bard.

O, heartless havoc! when such ears
Suck in the whispers of the spheres,
Nor utter thoughts in silent tears!

O, shameless barter of a faith,
Sworn to exist unto her death:
Trifled away in one short breath!"

I clenched my hands in bitter woe,
I felt my brain in tears could flow,
But my ill-angel answered-No!

The sun came up, the cloud went down,
And the sick day-light, dank and brown,
Struggled across the mighty town.

'Twas Summer time, the radiant world of June,

Fell on the dreamful earth.

Within 'twas coolest shadow; the red broom

Lay piled upon the hearth.

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