"A happy Christmas! Happy! to whom? Perchance to infancy, And innocent childhood, while the germ of sin, Yet undeveloped, leaves a virgin soil For joy, and Death and Sorrow are but names. But who, that bears a mind matured to thought, A heart to feel, shall look abroad this day And speak of happiness? The church is deckt With festive garlands, and the sunbeams glance From glossy evergreens; the mistletoe Pearl-studded, and the holly's lustrous bough Gleaming with coral fruitage; but we muse Of laurel blent with cypress. Gaze we down Yon crowded aisle? the mourner's dusky weeds Sadden the eye; and they who wear them not Have mourning in their hearts, or lavish tears Of sympathy on griefs too deeply lodged For man's weak ministry. A happy Christmas! Ah me! how many hearths are desolate! How many a vacant seat awaits in vain The loved one who returns not! Shall we drain The cheerful cup--a health to absent friends? Whom do we pledge? the living or the dead?" Thus did the poet, "sick at heart," explore "the realm of sorrow"; and then again he mused: "In humbler mood to hail the auspicious day, Shine forth rejoicing in thy strength, O sun, Shine through the dubious mists and tearful show'rs That darken Hope's clear azure! Christ is born, The life of those who wake, and those who sleep-- The Day-spring from on high hath looked on us; And we, who linger militant on earth, Are one in Him, with those, the loved and lost, Whose early graves keep the red field they won Upon a stranger shore. Ah! not in vain Went up from many a wild Crimean ridge The soldier's pray'r, responsive to the vows Breathed far away in many an English home. Not vain the awakened charities, that gush Through countless channels--Christian brotherhoods Of mercy; and that glorious sister-band Who sow by Death's chill waters!--Not in vain, My country! ever loved, but dearest now In this thine hour of sorrow, hast thou learnt To bow to Him who chastens. We must weep-- We may rejoice in weeping" CHRISTMAS IN ABYSSINIA. Wherever Englishmen are on the 25th of December, there is Christmas. Whether it be in the icy regions of the Arctic zone, or in the sweltering heat of tropical sunshine, the coming round of the great feast brings with it to every Englishman a hearty desire to celebrate it duly. And if this cannot be done in exactly home-fashion, the festival is kept as happily as circumstances will allow. In this spirit did our soldiers keep Christmas in Abyssinia, in 1867, with the thermometer at seventy-five in the shade, and even here the edibles included at least one traditional dish--a joint of roast beef. There was also an abundance of spur-fowls, guinea-fowls, venison, mutton, &c., and the place in which the festive board was spread was decorated with branches of fir and such other substitutes for holly and mistletoe as could be found.