306 FROM A MIDDLESEX GARDEN 



Though the Christmas days be very dismal, and frost 

 more than ever severe, or be the weather by chance mild, the 

 happy carols of blackbird and thrush break at times the 

 quiet of empty woodlands ; and especially may they be heard 

 at the peaceful nightfall hours. 



The eve of Christmas closes in ; everything outside begins 

 to whiten with the hoar-frost ; we hang up the holly and 

 mistletoe in hall and room, and we are thankful that, although 

 so many fanciful customs which characterised the Christmas 

 of our forefathers have passed away, this one of decorating 

 our homes is still preserved. As we twine the evergreens 

 around the pictures of beloved faces, we seem to hear, echoing 

 along the corridor of years, voices of those whose smiles were 

 all the light of the happy time. With overwhelming force 

 the thought for a moment steals to us that this Christmas 

 shall 



" Bring no more a welcome guest 

 To enrich the threshold . . . ." 



Then, with our tasks done and the midnight hour creeping 

 on, we sit and listen for the bells to tell us the grand old 

 message. And to how many of us who sit in sweet ex- 

 pectation with lives overflowing with joy, do not some 

 notes of sadness fall as we listen to the midnight chimes. 

 And some (for whom the Prince of Peace is indeed born) 

 whose lives are overburdened with sorrow, must confess, 

 as they listen to midnight melodies, to a joy and hope 

 unspeakable born within their hearts, and feel the rays 

 of light steal into their lives from Bethlehem's unex- 

 tinguishable Star ! 



