He shows, as he removes the mask,
A face that's any thing but gay.

One word, ere yet the evening ends,

Let's close it with a parting rhyme,
And pledge a hand to all young friends,
As fits the merry Christmas time.
On life's wide scene you, too, have parts,

That fate ere long shall bid you play;
Good-night! with honest gentle hearts
A kindly greeting go alway!

Good-night! — I'd say, the griefs, the joys,
Just hinted in this mimic page,
The triumphs and defeats of boys,
Are but repeated in our age.

I'd say your woes were not less keen,

Your hopes more vain, than those of men; Your pangs or pleasures of fifteen

At forty-five played o'er again.

I'd say we suffer and we strive,

Not less nor more as men than boys; With grizzled beards at forty-five,

As erst at twelve in corduroys.

And if, in time of sacred youth,

We learned at home to love and pray, Pray Heaven that early Love and Truth May never wholly pass away.

And in the world, as in the school,

I'd say how fate may change and shift;
The prize be sometimes with the fool,
The race not always to the swift.

The strong may yield, the good may fall,
The great man be a vulgar clown,

The knave be lifted over all,

The kind cast pitilessly down.

Who knows the inscrutable design?
Blessed be He who took and gave!
Why should your mother, Charles, not mine,
Be weeping at her darling's grave?
We bow to Heaven that willed it so,
That darkly rules the fate of all,
That sends the respite or the blow,
That's free to give, or to recall.

This crowns his feast with wine and wit:
Who brought him to that mirth and state?
His betters, see, below him sit,

Or hunger hopeless at the gate.

Who bade the mud from Dives' wheel
To spurn the rags of Lazarus ?
Come, brother, in that dust we 'll kneel,
Confessing Heaven that ruled it thus.

So each shall mourn, in life's advance,
Dear hopes, dear friends, untimely killed;
Shall grieve for many a forfeit chance,
And longing passion unfulfilled.
Amen! whatever fate be sent,

Pray God the heart may kindly glow,
Although the head with cares be bent,

And whitened with the winter's snow.

Come wealth or want, come good or ill,
Let young and old accept their part,
And bow before the Awful Will,

And bear it with an honest heart,
Who misses or who wins the prize.
Go, lose or conquer as you can;

But if you fail, or if you rise,

Be each, pray God, a gentleman.

A gentleman, or old or young!
(Bear kindly with my humble lays);

The sacred chorus first was sung

Upon the first of Christmas days: The shepherds heard it overhead The joyful angels raised it then: Glory to Heaven on high, it said,

And peace on earth to gentle men.

My song, save this, is little worth;
I lay the weary pen aside,

And wish you health, and love, and mirth,
As fits the solemn Christmas-tide.

As fits the holy Christmas birth,

Be this, good friends, our carol still Be peace on earth, be peace on earth, To men of gentle will.

THE AGE OF WISDOM.

FROM REBECCA AND ROWENA.'

Ho, pretty page, with the dimpled chin,

That never has known the Barber's shear,

All your wish is woman to win,

This is the way the boys begin,

Wait till you come to Forty Year.

Curly gold locks cover foolish brains,
Billing and cooing is all your cheer;
Sighing and singing of midnight strains,
Under Bonnybell's window panes,
Wait till you come to Forty Year.

Forty times over let Michaelmas pass,
Grizzling hair the brain doth clear
Then you know a boy is an ass,
Then you know the worth of a lass,

Once you have come to Forty Year.

Pledge me round, I bid ye declare,
All good fellows whose beards are gray,
Did not the fairest of the fair

Common grow and wearisome ere
Ever a month was passed away?

The reddest lips that ever have kissed,
The brightest eyes that ever have shone,
May pray and whisper, and we not list,
Or look away, and never be missed,
Ere yet ever a month is gone.

Gillian's dead, God rest her bier,
How I loved her twenty years syne!
Marian's married, but I sit here

Alone and merry at Forty Year,

Dipping my nose in the Gascon wine.

THE MAHOGANY TREE.

CHRISTMAS is here;

Winds whistle shrill,

Icy and chill,

Little care we :

Little we fear

Weather without,

Sheltered about

The Mahogany Tree.

Once on the boughs

Birds of rare plume

Sang, in its bloom;

Night birds are we :

Here we carouse,

Singing like them,

Perched round the stem

Of the jolly old tree.

Here let us sport,
Boys, as we sit;
Laughter and wit
Flashing so free.
Life is but short-
When we are gone,
Let them sing on
Round the old tree.

Evenings we knew,
Happy as this;

Faces we miss,

Pleasant to see.

Kind hearts and true,

Gentle and just,

Peace to your dust!
We sing round the tree.

Care, like a dun,
Lurks at the gate:
Let the dog wait;
Happy we'll be !
Drink, every one;
Pile up the coals,
Fill the red bowls,
Round the old tree!

Drain we the cup.―
Friend, art afraid?
Spirits are laid

In the Red Sea.

Mantle it up;

Empty it yet;

Let us forget,
Round the old tree.

Sorrows, begone!
Life and its ills,