11 



CHRISTMAS NUMBER AND ALMANAC 



like those who are ready iu the use of the steel, and careless 

 of consequences. 



All have their admirers. Poets use them constantly in the 

 way of simile. They are, however, not only hobbies ; they 

 have their useful points. They provide delicate meals for 

 invalids, luxuries for those in health. They eke out scanty 



incomes. They afford a harmless and pleasing excitement 

 in the way of competition. 



Most of our readers keep them. When the cock wakes 

 you on the blessed Christmas morn, may he call you to a 

 merry and happy Cliristmas, ami may he find you striving 

 for peace upon earth, and showing good will towards men. 



J. B. 



THE IVY AND THE BELL. 



A LEGEND OF CLONALLEN TOWER. 



N days when Alfred rxded the land. 



As ancient legends tell, 

 The Ivy was a gardener's lad, 



And loved a lady weU ; 

 And the Bell that hangs in the tun'et high 



"Was the lady pure as snow, 

 The oidy daughter of an earl, 



A thousand years ago. 



That lady fair, so bright and rare, 



Had suitors many a one. 

 Both knights and eails, and knaves and churls ; 



But she loved the gardener's son. 

 They pledged their faith, in life or death. 



In happiness or woe, 

 And seai'd the promise with a ring, 



A thousand years ago. 



The grim earl read his magic book. 



And lo 1 before his sight, 

 The deeds they did, the love they hid, 



Were clear as morning light. 

 He swore an oath to slay them both, — 



The maid for looking low, 

 The gardenei-'s lad for looking high, — 



A thousand years ago. 



By magic might he changed the lad 



Into an Ivy flower, 

 Aud the lady bright to the booming Bell 



That swings in the donjon-tower. 

 " Be this," quoth he, " the doom they dree. 



Who guiled a father so 1 " 

 And the grim earl biurned his magic books, 



A thousand years ago. 



But every time the BeU was rung 



The Ivy spread and grew, 

 " Climb to me ! climb !" said every chime, 



"0, Ivy ! ever true !'' 

 And the Ivj clomb an inch a day. 



As never did Ivj' grow, 

 And reached the Bell and cover'd it o'er, 



A thousand years ago. 



A mortal hand ne'er rang the Bell, 



But up iu its turret high 

 It peal'd sweet tunes, like Norland runes. 



To the breeze that wander 'd by ; 

 And every year at Christmas Eve, 



As winds begin to blow, 

 You may hear it ling — as oft it rang 



A thousand years ago. 



Sometimes merry, and sometimes sad, 

 But always sweet and clear, 



And all who Ksten dream of Love, 

 And the hearts they hold most dear. 



For Love's the same, and ever the same, 

 Though ages ebb and flow ; — 



O Love, be happier than thou^wert 



^A thousand years ago ! 



C. Mackat. 



