Nathan sprang upon the shed at the side of the church, and scrambled up to the little window. Mr. Dudley followed, and, with Nathan's help, gained the same precarious foothold. "Look in, Sir," said Nathan, not venturing a glance himself. Mr. Dudley looked, and had not Nathan's arm been about his body he would have lost his hold, in sheer amazement. The building was crowded, as he had never known it before; and crowded with people whom his eye, versed in the dress and manners of our forefathers, recognized as the church-goers of a century and a half ago. The singers' gallery was filled by a choir of girls and boys, while his own place in the pulpit was occupied by a white-haired figure, whom he recognized as the original of a portrait which he had purchased and hung in his parlor at home for its singular beauty. It was said to be a portrait of a minister in the town, who lived in the last century, and is still remembered for his virtues. The sight of this old man's face completely stilled the agitation of the young minister. He was leaning over the great Bible, with his hands folded upon it, and his eyes seemingly filled with tears of pleasure and gratitude, and bent upon the choir. Mr. Dudley listened intently, and could catch what seemed the words of some old Christmas caroclass="underline"
"Thou mak'st my cup of joy run o'er."
And he was so rapt with the sights and the sounds within, that it needed all Nathan's endeavors to uphold him.
By this time the sound of a gathering crowd below, which he had not heeded at first, was forced more and more upon his notice; and the anxious voice of his oldest deacon calling, "Mr. Dudley! Mr. Dudley!" rose high and loud; while a great thundering at the front door of the church announced that the people below had also caught the sound of the music, and were clamorous for admission. Mr. Dudley hastened round to prevent their causing any disturbance to the congregation within; but he came only in time to see the door burst open, and to be borne in with the crowd. All gazed about in wonder. The congregation, indeed, were gone, and the preacher, and the choir; and the room was cold. But there was a great green cross over the pulpit, and words along the walls, and festoons upon the galleries, and great wreaths, like vast green serpents, coiled about the cold pillars. The church of the Orthodox parish of --had been fairly dressed for Christmas by spirit hands.
When Mr. Dudley reached his home, after the wonder had in part spent itself, he found that an enormous Christmas pie had been left at his door by a white-haired old man dressed in black, about six in the morning, just after he had gone to visit his sick parishioner. The girl who received it reported the old man as saying, in a tremulous, but very kind voice, "Give your master the Christmas blessing of an old Puritan minister." How the meaning of this message would have been known to Mr. Dudley, had not the events we have told disclosed it, who can say?
Need I add, that my friend, Mr. Dudley, from whose lips I have taken down the above narrative, has directed the decorations to remain in his church during the coming month, and that he avows the intention of observing the Christmas of the following year with public services, unless, indeed, he should be anticipated by his ancient predecessor. It may not be impertinent to observe, that I am invited to dine and spend the day with the Dudleys on that occasion, and I shall not fail to make an accurate report of whatever glimpse I may obtain into the mysterious ceremonies of a Puritan Christmas.
IN THE CHURCHYARD AT CAMBRIDGE.
A LEGEND OF LADY LEE.
In the village churchyard she lies,
Dust is in her beautiful eyes,
No more she breathes, nor feels, nor stirs;
At her feet and at her head
Lies a slave to attend the dead,
But their dust is white as hers.
Was she, a lady of high degree,
So much in love with the vanity
And foolish pomp of this world of ours?
Or was it Christian charity,
And lowliness and humility,
The richest and rarest of all dowers?
Who shall tell us? No one speaks;
No color shoots into those cheeks,
Either of anger or of pride,
At the rude question we have asked;-
Nor will the mystery be unmasked
By those who are sleeping at her side.
Hereafter?-And do you think to look
On the terrible pages of that Book
To find her failings, faults, and errors?
Ah, you will then have other cares,
In your own short-comings and despairs,
In your own secret sins and terrors!
H.W.L.
THE LITTLE SOUTH-WIND.
The little south-wind had been shut up for many days, while his cousin from the northeast had been abroad, and the clouds had been heavy and dark; but now all was bright and clear, and the little south-wind was to have a holiday. O, how happy he would be! He sallied forth to amuse himself;-and hear what he did. He came whistling down the chimney, until the nervous old lady was ready to fly with vexation: then away he flew, laughing in triumph,-the naughty south-wind! He played with the maiden's work: away the pieces flew, some here, some there, and away ran the maiden after. What cared she for the wind? She tossed back her curls and laughed merrily, and the wind laughed merrily too,-the silly south-wind! Onward he stole, and lifting the curtain,-curious south-wind!-what did he see? On the sofa lay a young man: a heavy book was in his hand. The little south-wind rustled through the leaves, but the young man stirred not; he was asleep; hot and weary, he slept. The wind fanned his brow awhile, lifted his dark locks, and, leaving a kiss behind, stole out at the casement,-the gentle south-wind! Then he met a little child: away he whirled the little boy's hat, away ran the child, but his little feet were tired, and he wept,-poor child! The wind looked back, and felt sad, then hung the hat on a bush, and went on. He had played too hard,-the thoughtless south-wind! A sick child lay tossing to and fro: its hands and face were hot and dry. The mother raised the window. The wind heard her as he was creeping by, and stepping in, he cooled the burning face: then, playing among the flowers until their fragrance filled the room, away he flew,-the kind south-wind! He went out into the highway, and played with the dust; but that was not so pleasant, and onward he sped to the meadow. The dust could not follow on the green grass, and the little south-wind soon outstripped it, and onward and onward he sped, over mountain and valley, dancing among the flowers, and frolicking round, until the trees lifted up their arms and bent their heads and shook their sides with glee,-the happy south-wind! At last he came to a quiet dell, where a little brook lay, just stirring among his white pebbles. The wind said, "Kind brook, will you play with me?" And the brook answered with a sparkling smile, and a gentle murmur. Then the wind rose up, and, sporting among the dark pines, whistled and sung through the lofty branches, while the pretty brook danced along, and warbled songs to the music of its merry companion,-the merry south-wind! But the sun had gone down and the stars were peeping forth, and the day was done. The happy south-wind was still, and the moon looked down on the world below, and watched among the trees and hills, but all was stilclass="underline" the little south-wind slumbered, and the moon and the stars kept guard,-poor, tired south-wind! Old lady and maiden, young man and child, the dust and the flowers, were forgotten, and he slept,-dear little south-wind!
LINES
WRITTEN AT THE CLOSE OF DR. HOLMES'S LECTURES ON ENGLISH POETRY.
[Footnote: The Poets are metaphorically introduced as follows. ROGERS, The Beech; CAMPBELL, The Fir; BYRON, The Oak ; MOORE, The Elm; SCOTT, The Chestnut; SOUTHEY, The Holly; COLERIDGE, The Magnolia; KEATS, The Orange; WORDSWORTH, The Pine; TENNYSON, The Palm; FELICIA HEMANS, The Locust; ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING, The Laurel.]