CONCEPTION TIDE. 347 



DEC. 12. SS. Epimaciius and Alexander, mar- 

 tyrs, A.D. 250. 

 St. Finian or Finan, bp. and conf. in Ireland, 552. 

 St. Columba, abbot in Ireland, 548. 

 St. Corraac, abbot in Ireland. 

 St. Colman, abbot in Ireland, 659. 

 St. Eadburge, abbess, 751. 

 St. Valery, abbot, 622. 



St. Corentin, 1st bishop of Quimper, 5th cent. 

 Another St. Corentin, or Cury, hermit, 401. 



Ohs. Whilst the persecution set on foot by Decius raged with 

 the utmost violence at Alexandria, in 250, Epimachus and Alex- 

 ander fell into their hands, and upon confessing the name of Jesus 

 Christ were loaded with chains, and committed to prison. Some 

 time after, their martyrdom was consummated by fire. Four mar- 

 tyrs of the other sex were crowned on the same day. 



And now dark sablemantlcd winter sits 

 In saddest plight , and counts the drops of raine 

 That drip from off the thatch, like some old liermit 

 Counting his beads, and seem^ like him to pray 

 For airs more genial and for brighter skies ; 

 Then cheer him with woodfire and merry ring 

 of gesting wassaillers 'gainst Christmas comes. 



Crowded Heath Erica conferta still fl. 



The Heaths constitute a beautiful genus of greenhouse plants, and 

 should never be omitted in conservatories, as some of tiieir species 

 flower nearly all the year. A light mixture of loam and bog earth 

 suits them best. 



Imitation of the Ranz des Caches. 

 When shall I return to the Land of the Mountains, 



The lakes and the Rhone that is lost in the earth. 

 Our sweet litlle hamlets, our vi!las;e.«, fountains, 



The tiowerclad rocks of the place of mv birth ; 

 O when shall I see my old garden of flowers. 



Dear Kmma the sweetest of blooms in the glade, 

 And the rich Chesnut grove, where we pass'd the long hours 



With Tabor and Pipe, while we dancwd in the shade ? 

 When shall 1 revisit the Land of the Mountains, 



Where all the fond object> of memory meet; 

 The Cows that would follow my voice to the fountains, 



The Lambs that I call'd lo the shady retreat ; 

 My father, my mother, my sisier and brother ; 



My all that was dear in this valley of tears; 

 My palfrey grown old, but there's ne'er such anotlier ; 



My dear dog, still faithful, tho' stricken in years. 

 The vesper bell tolling, the loud thunder rolling. 



The Bees thai humm'd round the tall vinemantled tree, 

 The smooth water's margin whereon we were strolling 



When evening painted its mirror for me. 

 And shall I return to this scenery never '. 



These objects of in fan tine glory and love; 

 O tell me, my dear Guardian Angel, that ever 



Floats nigh me, safe guide to the regions above. 



