interesting it may be to have tame birds flying about our apartments, it is a practice wholly irreconcilable with the maxims of neatness and order; when all these things were constantly pressing upon our attention, we were at last obliged to concur in the decision, that our presuming friend must inevitably be banished the house. But this was a thing more easily talked of than done. The doors and windows could not always be kept shut; nor could we be so constantly on the watch to exclude the bird as he was on the watch to come in. This being the case, an expedient was resorted to, which, it was hoped, might prove successful. The robin was caught, put into a wicker basket, and carried to a village about a mile distant, where he might be likely to find another home in one of the cottages. without causing the same sort of inconvenience as among ourselves. Having set him at liberty in the immediate neighbourhood of these humble dwellings, the messenger returned homewards; but long before he could reach our residence, the robin was at his former post, and taking advantage of the unguarded state of the house, had triumphantly effected an entrance. That it was the same bird, we could not for a moment doubt, for we had, by long companionship, become so well acquainted with his form and habits, that we were able to point him out now, as "our robin," when associated with other birds upon the lawn. Another week was now allowed to pass by, without any attempt to rid ourselves of an annoyance which seemed without remedy. But on the occasion of a visit of the younger members of the family to a country town, about seven miles off, it occurred to the mistress of the house (whose love of order was especially outraged by the manners of the bird) that the robin might as well go too; he might possibly like the town better than the village to which we had previously sent him; at any rate, he could but come back again as before. Again we succeeded in catching the bird, and consigning him to his wicker prison. He was placed in the carriage with the children, who departed well pleased at having the charge of their little favourite. Arrived in the vicinity of the town, they opened the basket and bade adieu to the robin, half hoping, however, that they should find him at home again when they returned. In this they were deceived, for we never saw our pretty intruder again. Other birds of his kind occasionally sought and obtained our hospitality, but none were found so fearless and so troublesome as he; and none, as he did, ventured to follow the members of the family into every part of the house, and to make themselves so completely "at home." — The Chronicles of the Seasons. The Cabinet. THE FIRST CHRISTMAS-TIDE. And behold before me Bethlehem in the land of Judah. There was the stall, the blameless mother, she knelt in lowly worship, with dutiful love, beside the Manger of her Son; and there He lay, a Child among the Poor, the Lamb of GOD! the King of Heaven! Around them oxen kneel, and the Son has turned upon the Mother such a look of heavenly love that her countenance is bright and gleaming. Then heard they over that place the voices of the Angels as they chanted the mystic melody they had learned in Heaven, and gradually the sounds of the lowly and the poor of this world mingled with that lofty strain; for the Shepherds entered in, and knelt, and worshipped the Young Child! Light supernatural had filled the stall, and the Signal-Star came in and stood as though with life, over the spot where a virgin folded a Babe to her thrilling breast. The stately footsteps of the camel and the horse were heard at the door; and see! they enter, in their royal array-the awful Three-the inspired Magi of the land of the morning-the Wise Men of the East, -stern, solemn, old,-and they bow down their faces to the earth, to offer the firstfruits of the homage of the nations-Gold to the King-Frankincense to the GOD-and Myrrh to the Victim, for it was the balsam of death. This, then, was the first-born Christmas-tide; and the light which filled that place, I beheld it, for it gushed as from a fountain, and flowed in its courses from one generation to another! and that psalmody of the Angels, and the song of the shepherdmen, I heard them, for they were blended from age to age in the palace of the king and the cottage of the poor, to hail and welcome the Child on the vigil of His birth. -Manger of the Holy Night. Poetry. THE FUCHSIA. OH! flower of beauty rare! Or match thy deep tints glowing? So royal are the colours thou dost wear. Yet, lowly from thy spray, There are, of beauty rare, Of minds, whose richness might compare And thus hath fancy strayed, "Don't you hear that I have to ring the bell for you? Come to my lady." His mistress always has her shoes warmed before she puts them on; but during the late hot weather, her maid was putting them on without their having been previously placed before the fire. When the dog saw this he immediately interfered, expressing the greatest indignation at the maid's negligence. He took the shoes from her, carried them to the fire, and after they had been warmed as usual, he brought them back to his mistress with much apparent satisfaction, evidently intending to say-if he could-" It is all right now."-Jesse's Anecdotes of Dogs. HINT TO COTTAGE GARDENERS.-Pars nips are particularly valuable to cottagers, being nourishing and profitable. Six pennyworth of seed, well sowed and trodden in, will produce more meals than four sacks of potatoes; and, what is material to those whose gardens are small, will not take more ground than would be required to grow half a sack of potatoes.-Copley's Cottage Com forts. The glitter of riches often serves to draw attention to the worthlessness of the possessor, as the light emitted by the glowworm reveals the insect. Activity and Happiness.-When we see the rapid motions of insects at evening, we exclaim, How happy must they be! So inseparably are activity and happiness connected in our minds. Next to friendship, the blessing of consolation lies in useful activity. QUARRELLING.-A little boy, seeing two young birds in a nest pecking at each other, inquired of his elder brother what they were doing. They are quarrelling," was the answer. "No," replied the child," that cannot be; they are brothers." DOMESTIC HAPPINESS.-It is a pleasant sight to see everything smooth and smiling within the same walls. To have no separate interests, no difficulty of humour, no clashing of pretensions to contest with. Where Blossoms which only there unfold, and do every person keeps to his post, moves in his not fade? From DAYS AND SEASONS. ww Miscellaneous. A DOG IN WAITING.-A lady of high rank has a sort of colley or Scotch sheepdog. When he is ordered to ring the bell, he does so; but if he is told to ring the bell when the servant is in the room whose duty it is to attend, he refuses, and then the following occurrence takes place. His mistress says, "Ring the bell, dog." The dog looks at the servant and then barks his bow vow, once or twice. The order is repeated two or three times. At last the dog lays hold of the servant's coat in a significant manner, just as if he had said to him, order, and endeavours to make himself acceptable; where envy and contempt have no place, but where it is a pleasure to see others pleased. MANY hundred years ago, there dwelt on the outskirts of a thick wild wood, a poor fisherman and his wife. Sinda's little cottage stood on a pleasant green slope, between the forest and the lake; all day and night, around the hut, was the sound of plashing waters, for the small waves of the dark blue mere broke gently against the shore, within a few paces of the dwelling. All day long, Sinda fished upon the lake, and his wife Lisette sat at her door spinning wool, and watching his small boat glide quietly over the waters. But sometimes Sinda would draw his boat ashore, and prepare his panniers to carry the fish for sale to the distant villages, and to bring home thence such things of household use as Lisette had need of; and Sinda loved not these expeditions, for the mountains on the other side of the lake were impassable, and the thick dark wood had an evil report. It was said to harbour fierce beasts, who roamed through it night and day; and there were enchanted spots therein, luring the unwary traveller with strange witchcraft. Moreover, the fisher was vassal to one who dwelt in the wood; and Sinda dreaded his Lord, for he was a harsh master, and stern in his requirements, though he spake fairly, and made many good promises. Therefore Sinda loved not the path through the forest. Oftentimes, too, in the long winter nights, when Lisette had piled the fire, and sat with her husband mending his nets by the red light, when the wind swept strongly from the wood, strange voices came upon the blast; voices, it seemed, sometimes of riotous joy, sometimes of horror and fear; and the two would drop their work, and press close • to one another, and discourse in low tones of the terrible power of their Lord, of his wondrous influence, how all the land was subject to him, and he ruled its tenants at his will. And then Sinda would tell, with a pale cheek, how many of his neighbours had been torn from their quiet homes, and peaceable possessions, and borne into a far land, none knew whither; only it was whispered it was an evil place, yet more under the dominion of the Lord of the wood, who had sent his own messenger for them-an armed man, riding on a pale horse, whose summons none might resist. And Lisette would recollect, that sometimes, when she had gone through the wood to meet her C husband, she had heard men talking how the Master oppressed the land, and that he was not the rightful lord thereof, but had gotten possession of it by guile: and some spoke dimly of a Deliverer. But Sinda's soul was dark, and it seemed he never thought of escaping from the hard bondage which oppressed him. There were times, too, when they seemed to forget the yoke altogether; when the summer sun shone brightly, and the clear lake trembled in its rays, and the boughs of the forest moved gently in the pleasant air, which, as it swept through them, bore away the scent of their blossoms, and the songs of the many birds that dwelt among them; when the rose and the honeysuckle looked through the lattice of the cottage, and the daisies sprang in the close turf around it. Then would Lisette and Sinda come forth together, and seeing all things so fair and joyous, (for they dwelt in a beautiful country,) they, too, were happy, and felt no fear of their Lord, and forgot that there would come long dreary winter nights, and thought not of the armed messenger on the pale horse. But thought and anxiety returned to the bosom of Sinda, when, in the midst of one beautiful summer time, they brought him tidings that a son was born to him; and when he saw Lisette fondling her newborn babe, and heard her telling how fair he was, a feeling of hopeless sorrow mingled with his fatherly pride. "Alas!" said he, "was it not enough for me to bear this hard yoke, this bitter bondage? Must my child be subject to it also? What avails it to him that the summer sun is bright, and the land is fair? He must toil all day, and serve the stern Lord of the wood, and at last depart with his unpitying messenger." So spake Sinda; and Lisette heard him from the couch where she lay, and she wept bitterly. Through the long night she lay awake, thinking on her husband's words; for the doom of her innocent babe lay heavy at her soul. In the morning she arose troubled and restless, and said to Sinda, (for her mother's love had brought back many things to her recollection,) "Husband, let us walk forth in the wood: I have told you that some of its inhabitants have spoken words that were strange to me, words of hope and safety; could we meet with any such now, perchance there is a better fate for our boy." Sinda noted her pale cheek, and troubled eye, and he refused not to accompany her; so she laid the babe in her bosom, and they went forth together. Beautiful was the babe that Lisette held in her arms; no sun or wind had touched its face, and it was very fair. Yet, when the parents looked carefully upon it, there were dark stains on the white brow, and ever and anon a shadow would come over it, and the child would give an evil look, like his father in his most troubled hour. Lisette and Sinda noted this, and they wept again. The forest path was green and broad, the sun shone bright, and the butterflies floated in its light; a thousand flowers sprang amid the roots of the trees, or, climbing upwards, hung their delicate bells amid the branches, where a thousand birds spread their gaudy plumage, and sang their notes of joy. The two felt the soft air very pleasant, as they wandered through the forest. Sometimes they were all alone, and heard no sound but the voices of the birds, or the leaves rustling in the breeze, or the purling of a stream far off, up the green wood. Sometimes they would meet with a gay company in rich attire, with garlands on their heads; sometimes men of serious aspect hastened by, intent on toil or gain; and once, there past one whose attire, albeit of the same material as the others, was whiter, and otherwise disposed; he looked like a pilgrim, for his sandals were laced, and he had a girdle round his loins, and a sword at his side; and the red trimming of his robe had been past to and fro, on his breast, forming a device, which Lisette and Sinda had never seen before; so they marvelled, as they looked after him. How Now they were approaching the most thickly peopled part of the forest, and the hum of many voices rose upon their ears, when Lisette said to Sinda, "Not here, not here, shall we meet with any help or comfort. Did you note the stranger who passed us anon? gentle was his mien, how placid his brow! I watched him turn in, yonder, where the oak and the linden tree meet over that narrow pass. There is a desire in my heart to follow him, for methinks he looketh happier than we." They came to the path where the strange man had entered: it was narrower and more difficult than the broad road, there sprang not so many flowers in its turf, and the birds sang in softer, sweeter notes. But strange and solemn it seemed to Lisette and Sinda, as they looked down the long green path; the branches of the tall trees that grew close together, on either side, met in pointed arches overhead, and the wind sighed through them, with a low unearthly sound, like the voice of some mighty wind instrument. 66 "Methinks the spot is charmed," said Sinda, "and I see not the man who preceded us. Let us turu back, and walk in the other path." Nay, nay," said Lisette, "the awful quiet of the place suits with my weary heart; and yonder, far off, where the sunbeam falls through the arched boughs, see you not moving forms? And hark! what sound was that? Do birds sing strains so sweet?" As she spoke, she laid her hand on Sinda, and he, too, paused to listen. The strains they heard seemed to come from the upper air; there were many voices mingled, and every one was sweet as the voice of a young child, or the summer nightingale, only far more clear and powerful. Thus they sang, while the twain stood bewildered in the narrow path beneath : Through the forest branches, brightly And gay words of mirth and gladness Yet, that joy shall turn to sadness, |