s to fly, while the rich dark foliage of the
trees appeared cool and refreshing against the glowing sky. But this
sadness could not last long in a party animated by christian hopes,
sustained by christian faith; ere the hour for evening service arrived
our sorrow grew lighter, each seemed to feel in the stored words an
individual comfort, and we retired to rest committing the consolation of
all near and dear to us to Him who had preserved _us_ through so many
and great dangers, for the sake of His Son Jesus Christ. Thus we sat for
hours on this Christmas-day, but what was going on at home?

CHAPTER XXIII.

In a distant county, in the North of England, there was situated in a
quiet country parish a rural rectory, surrounded by a garden, and
adorned with the only good trees in the neighbourhood; it stood
sheltered at the foot of a hill, the only rising ground to be seen
amidst a flat and smoke-dried country. Within that rectory lived a
venerable and venerated father, with a loving and adored mother, who had
hitherto been surrounded at Christmas by the happy faces and smiling
countenances of thirteen children, with their numerous offsprings.

A bright blazing fire is sending a gloomy tint all over the pretty
drawing room, hung with green, and adorned with bright flowers, worked
by skilful fingers. Various beautiful and rare specimens of Foreign
workmanship ornament every part of the room, chairs and sofas of ease
and luxury pervade the apartment, nothing seems wanting to render this
room the beau ideal of an English home at Christmas time, for the bright
green holly with its scarlet berries is hung in every direction. It is
well inhabited too. In the high-backed old-fashioned chair sits a sweet
and dignified lady, but her face had a painful expression, her eyes were
fixed on nothing, her delicate white fingers were half clasped together,
her thoughts seemed far away. On the opposite side of the fire sat a
girl writing, whose pretty figure bent over the paper until the long
chestnut curls lay resting on the table, but they quite concealed the
face. A tall slim figure was busily winding silk, with her back to the
fire, her dark hair, beautifully plaited in a thick Grecian plait,
shewing her small head to great advantage. In full front of the fire sat
another girl, whose pretty sweet face was bedewed with tears, which
every now and then she wiped away. A step was heard on the stairs, the
sweet Mother's eyes recovere