how much they value, or how greatly they wish to cultivate their friendship. And then the bonbons!-relative to which, Mrs. Plumptre, in her "Residence in France," so pleasingly tells us: 'the shops of the confectioners are dressed up the day before with looking-glasses, intermixed with festoons of silk or muslin, and branches of ribbands or flowers. The counters are covered over with a nice table cloth, and set out with cakes, sweetmeats, dried fruits, and bonbons, made up into pyramids, castles, columns, or any forms which the taste of the decorator may suggest; and in the evening they are illuminated for the reception of company, who come to buy their bonbons for the next day. Endless are the devices for things in which they are to be enclosed: there are little boxes or baskets made of satin, ornamented with gold, silver, or foil: balloons,-books,-fruit, such as apples, pears oranges:-or vegetables, such as a cauliflower, a root of celery, an onion;— any thing, in short, which can be made with a hollow within to hold the bonbons. In these things, the prices of which vary from one franc to fifty, the bonbons are presented by those who choose to be at the expence of them; and by those who do not they are only wrapped in a piece of paper; but bonbons in some way or other must be presented.' Such elegant trifling is characteristic of Le Jour de l'An in Paris, and yet more particularly perhaps in the south of France. Let us now see how it is greeted by our northern neighbours the Scotch; and in truth it should seem, that no people upon earth have been wont to welcome it with broader mirth, or more unrestrained hilarity. Still, by numbers among them, the vigil of this day is celebrated with the utmost festivity, divested of its joyaunce alone by the anxiety with which the hour of twelve is anticipated by the juniors of each merry party. For at that hour-his step upon the very threshhold of the new year, and every sorrow thrown back upon the "bye-gane" one-the first foot, or favoured youth of each expectant lassie, is privileged to enter, and pour all his ardours into the salute with which he half smothers the blushing fair one. Careful has been the swain to take post at the door long ere the last stroke o'twal-lest a rival should anticipate him-and now, the object of his wishes delighting equally with himself in happy converse, the "gude New-year" goes gaily round, and the het-pint, we may readily believe, not less gaily. At a former period, one half at least of the middling and lower ranks in Edin burgh were totally unaccustomed to think of bed upon the New-year's vigil; but, having prepared the het-pint, (composed of ale, spirits, sugar, and spices,) they sallied out as the clock struck twelve, to be the first foot at the house of a sweetheart or a friend. Uproarious was the din in the crowded streets, broad and bright the flashings of the lights from the innumerous lanterns: "Auld Reekie" seemed heaving under the tumultuous joys of her wandering sons; who had themselves seemed very bacchanals. at best, had not innocent good humour, and merry hearted kindness, so well proclaimed themselves the goddesses of the rout. Of later years, however, the fiends of riot, and even murder, usurped the sovereignty of this happy eve, too readily availing themselves of the opportunities afforded by such nocturnal perambulatings; and such disastrous consequences having once ensued, this custom has since been greatly on the wane, and much of the harmless festivity of the season has declined with it. For England-no longer "merry England" in her observances of festal times, Christmas alone perhaps excepted-little can be said as to her mode of celebrating the birth of the Year. Meeting friends indeed, even with us, wish each other "a happy new year;" but abating that form of civility, some few dinnerinvitations in our towns and cities, and some remnants of rude and rural provincial customs, we suffer this once universal rejoicing-day to pass almost without a token. But, stay-I had. forgotten one other English mode of celebrating the season-for Hark! even now the merry Bells ring round and truly I ought not to be of the number of complainers that New-Year's Day in England. passes with so few signals of rejoicing, being myself of the pensive turn, that, even at this moment, might lead me to exclaim with Fawcett: Ye gladsome Bells-how misapplied your peal! Is he your foe that thus you ring his knell? That festive notes announce his awful flight? 'Tire ye of day, that sounds of triumph tell How swift the wing that wafts your last long night? And then anon I moralise on "Bye-past times:" but how can I do that so sweetly as in the words of the Poet,-though his language be somewhat better adapted to a later season?— The sky is blue, the sward is green, 3RD. I think on childhood's glowing years- The long, long summer holiday! 1 may not muse-I must not dream- For earth and mortal man; but when I think of sunny eves so soft, When through the bloomy fields I roved Alas! the world, at distance seen, A rocky waste, a thorny ground! Again I turn to youth;-but when Winter to-day is in his sternest mood, and I like him the better for it; being mightily inclined to the sentiments so felicitously delivered on this subject by the OpiumEater. I put up a petition annually for as much snow, hail, frost, or storm of one kind or other, as the skies can possibly afford us. Surely every body is aware of the pleasures which attend a winter fire-side; candles at four o'clock, warm hearth-rugs, tea, a fairtea-maker, shutters closed, curtains flowing in |