nooks among the steadier lights that burn
around us. Welcome, all that was ever real
to our hearts; and for the earnestness that
made you real, thanks to Heaven! Do we
build no Christmas castles in the clouds now?
Let our thoughts, fluttering like butterflies
among these flowers of children, bear witness!
Before this boy, there stretches out a Future,
brighter than we ever looked on in our old
romantic time, but bright with honor and
with truth. Around this little head on
which the sunny curls lie heaped, the graces
sport, as prettily, as airily, as when there
was no scythe within the reach of Time to
shear away the curls of our first-love. Upon
another girl's face near it–––placider but
smiling bright–––a quiet and contented little
face, we see Home fairly written. Shining
from the word, as rays shine from a star,
we see how, when our graves are old, other
hopes than ours are young, other hearts
than ours are moved; how other ways are
smoothed; how other happiness blooms,
ripens, and decays–––no, not decays, for
other homes and other bands of children,
not yet in being nor for ages yet to be, arise,
and bloom and ripen to the end of all!

Welcome, everything! Welcome, alike what
has been, and what never was, and what we
hope may be, to your shelter underneath the
holly, to your places 'round the Christmas
fire, where what is sits open-hearted! In
yonder shadow, do we see obtruding furtively
upon the blaze, an enemy's face? By Christ-
mas Day we do forgive him! If the injury he
has done us may admit of such companion-
ship, let him come here and take his place. If
otherwise, unhappily, let him go hence, as-
sured that we will never injure nor accuse him.

On this day, we shut out Nothing!

"Pause," says a low voice. " Nothing?
Think!"

"On Christmas Day, we will shut out from
our fireside, Nothing."

"Not the shadow of a vast City where the
withered leaves are lying deep?" the voice re-
plies. " Not the shadow that darkens the whole
globe? Not the shadow of the City of the Dead?"

Not even that. Of all days in the year, we
will turn our faces towards that City upon
Christmas Day, and from its silent hosts bring
those we loved, among us. City of the Dead,
in the blessed name wherein we are gathered
together at this time, and in the Presence that
is here among us according to the promise,
we will receive, and not dismiss, thy people
who are dear to us!

Yes. We can look upon these children
angels that alight, so solemnly, so beautifully,
among the living children by the fire, and can
bear to think how they departed from us.
Entertaining angels unawares, as the Patri-
archs did, the playful children are unconscious
of their guests; but we can see them–––can
see a radiant arm around one favorite neck,
as if there were a tempting of that child
away. Among the celestial figures there is

one, a poor mis-shapen boy on earth, of
a glorious beauty now, of whom his dying
mother said it grieved her much to leave him
here, alone, for so many years as it was likely
would elapse before he came to her–––being
such a little child. But he went quickly, and
was laid upon her breast, and in her hand she
leads him.

There was a gallant boy, who fell, far
away, upon a burning sand beneath a burning
sun, and said, " Tell them at home, with my
last love, how much I could have wished to
kiss them once, but that I died contented and
had done my duty! " Or there was another,
over whom they read the words, " Therefore
we commit his body to the dark! " and so con-
signed him to the lonely ocean and sailed on.
Or there was another who lay down to his
rest in the dark shadow of great forests, and,
on earth, awoke no more. O shall they not,
from sand and sea and forest, be brought
home at such a time!

There was a dear girl–––almost a woman–––
never to be one–––who made a mourning
Christmas in a house of joy, and went her
trackless way to the silent City. Do we re-
collect her, worn out, faintly whispering what
could not be heard, and falling into that last
sleep for weariness? O look upon her now!
O look upon her beauty, her serenity, her
changeless youth, her happiness! The daughter
of Jairus was recalled to life, to die; but she,
more blest, has heard the same voice, saying
unto her, " Arise for ever!"

We had a friend who was our friend from
early days, with whom we often pictured the
changes .'that were to come upon our lives,
and merrily imagined how we would speak,
and walk, and think, and talk, when we came
to be old. His destined habitation in the City
of the Dead received him in his prime. Shall
he be shut out from our Christmas remem-
brance? Would his love have so excluded us?
Lost friend, lost child, lost parent, sister,
brother, husband, wife, we will not so discard
you! You shall hold your cherished places /in
our Christmas hearts, and by our Cliristmas
fires; and in the season of immortal hope,
and on the birthday of immortal mercy, we
will shut out Nothing!

The winter sun goes down over town and
village; on the sea it makes a rosy path,
as if the Sacred tread were fresh upon the
water. A few more moments, and it sinks,
and night comes on, and lights begin to
sparkle in the prospect. On the hill-side be-
yond the shapelessly- diffused town, and in
the quiet keeping of the trees that gird the
village-steeple, remembrances are cut in stone,
planted in common flowers, growing in grass,
entwined with lowly brambles around many
a mound of earth. In town and village, there
are doors and windows closed against the
weather, there are flaming logs heaped high,
there are joyful faces, there is healthy music
of voices. Be all ungentleness and harm ex-
cluded from the temples of the Household