to be had for
the trouble of gathering; but few cared to undergo that trouble for
the sake of what only reminded them of unattainable sweets, and made
them sigh for the girls they had left behind them."

In 1855, Messrs. Macmillan & Co. published a poem by H. R. F.,
entitled "Christmas Dawn, 1854," in which the writer pictures the
festivities marred by war:--

"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 m