CHRISTMAS IN THE COLONIES. 'Through varied climes, o'er many a plain and steep, See Canada, which Boreal blasts assail; The boundless scenes of many a triumph past; DR. JOHNSON defines the word colony as a body of people drawn from the mother-country to inhabit some distant place '-a very short definition, and not one which is absolutely exhaustive. The French Protestants, for instance, who settled in the United Provinces and in Spitalfields, come exactly under this definition of a colony, and yet were not, in fact, colonies. The true and full meaning is-a body of men who go to some outlying possession previously taken by the mother-country by discovery or conquest, and in modern times fostered and governed until sufficiently grown to establish a kind of local government, subject to the imperial government and under its protectorate. The colonies of Greece usually formed, at each exodus, a new state, in most respects independent of the parent one, and subject entirely to local and separate government, but still keeping up the friendly relations which descent, language, and customs would continue. Perhaps the relations kept up on a national scale between the daughter state, and that from which it sprung, might find somewhat of analogy or illustration in the connection, exemplified individually and socially, which subsisted between patron and client in the palmiest days of ancient Rome. As in ancient times, no people colonised so widely, so substantially, and so systematically as the Romans, so, in modern times, no nation has colonised so extensively as our own. Other European nations have a long list of colonies; but they are, for the most part, small in territorial extent, only that of late years France has conquered and colonised Algeria, and is now in process of subduing a part of Cochin China and the peninsula of Malacca. The subjects and colonists of that empire on which the sun never sets must naturally enough pass that festival which we have just celebrated, under every variety of circumstance which difference of latitude or longitude, and therefore difference of climate and products, necessitates. We hail Christmas, or used to do -for an old-fashioned Christmas is now rare-beneath a pale-blue sky, and a crisp and dry and frosty air; the green foliage of the summer trees lost, it is true, but abundantly supplied by the hoary fancies of Jack Frost; the bells of the neighbouring church pealing out in jovial tones, and announcing, in almost articulate voice,' Peace on earth and good will towards men.' It is a misfortune that the first instalment of their song appears far from being realized; but in England, and with Englishmen, in all parts of the world, there is no mistake about the second. There are somewhere about thirtytwo colonies of England on the surface of the globe, and therefore our readers will pardon us for relieving their anxiety at the outset by saying that we do not propose to describe C so many different Christmas dinners, but merely two or three, with a short description of their surroundings. Tasmania, an island nearly as large as Ireland, situated southward from Australia, possesses, according to some persons well qualified to speak of it, one of the finest climates in the world. It has a winter not more severe than that of the south of France, a summer not hotter than that of London, and not so close and dusty; a spring equalling that of Montpelier, and an autumn like that of the south and west of England. The temperature is not marked by extremes of heat or cold; it is free from marsh miasmata, neither remittent nor intermittent fevers occur; the cool nights of the summer prevent the heat of the day from being relaxing, and the cold of winter is not such as to prevent agricultural and outdoor operations being carried on. Here are, throughout the colony, homes marked with all the characteristics of an English house. The small, thatched, hutlike house, built of slabs, and covered to the roof-tree with geraniums. The dairy farm-house, with its vines and trained flowers; the sunlight streaming through the leaves of English forest-trees, planted with a careful hand all round the house, to remind the settler, in the land of his adoption, of his old home sixteen thousand miles away; and the handsome and solid stone-built mansions, overshadowed by the oaks of Old England, with their wide domains of cultivated paddocks and green pastures, their hedgerows of hawthorn and sweet-briar, or in some cases of fuchsias six feet high; their orchards of tall pear-trees and apples; their haystacks, corn-ricks, barns, woolsheds, and outhouses larger than the mansions themselves. Every house has its garden, in which the flowers most carefully tended are those of home-the simple flowers of our childhood, primroses and cowslips, pansies and daisies; while the sweet little violet blooms under hedges of ever-flowering geraniums ten feet high. We quote a short and lively account of a Christmas here from the pen of a forty years' resi dent: The English reader must picture to himself a Christmas Day passed amidst the scenes of summer; a population turning out on New Year's Day to play at cricket, or to make pleasure excursions on the water; and an exhibition of fruits and flowers in December. We are the antipodes of home: the 21st of December is the longest day; the thermometer frequently stands, at Christmas, at 70° in the parlour. Now the citizen chooses the shady side of the street, or indoors throws up the window and lets down the blind. Beyond the precincts of town, the country is one vast expanse of verdure: the tall corn waving in the gentle summer breeze, while haymaking is going on, or some early crop courts, by its yellow tints, the sickle of the reaper. In the garden one is pleased with flowers of every hue, and tempted by luscious fruit. The farmer flings himself on his back on the lawn, and with merry child-faces around him, eats strawberries and cream to a delicious extent. In our evergreen forests, the cattle begin to seek the shelter of the trees, under whose grateful shade, in some cool brook, the boys are wont to bathe. Parroquets, in green and gold, flash past with their brilliant colours; the birds are merrily singing, and the locust makes his summer life one ceaseless song. No fire can be borne save in the kitchen; doors and windows are thrown open; flowers and evergreens grace the dining-rooms for lack of the traditional holly; but the roast beef and plum pudding of Old England retain their place of honour on the festive board. At that board the colonist, mindful of the custom of fatherland, unites his family, and after service in the neighbouring church, entertains his friends with grace and no stinted hospitality. And if Christmas does not come to him with the old associations of his youth with its wind in gusts howling through leafless trees or fastfalling snow; if scene and clime and season invest the festival with a different aspect to that familiar to the Englishman at home, he is not the less happy; nor is he saddened by the reflection that his neighbour is too poor to enjoy with him the good things of the season, with its holiday and feasting; for it is Christmas to every man, woman, and child in Tasmania, and there are none so poor that they cannot have in abundance the immemorial fare; and on all sides is heard the old English greeting, "A merry Christmas and a happy New Year." As the daughters of the Pharaohs, who in the marble palaces and gilded halls of their foreign husbands sighed for a draught of the waters of the sacred Nile, so do the daughters of Tasmania, under the burning suns of India, though they possess all the rich fruits and gorgeous flowers of the tropics, and live in palaces, yet sigh for the delicious climate of their own loved home, and prefer the scent of the simple mimosa to the most noble rhododendron of the Sikkim Himalaya.' The Australian colonies generally have, if not quite, very nearly the advantages of Tasmania. Here, also, nature is prodigal of her gifts, the forests abounding in beautiful trees, and thronged with birds of the gayest plumage - the Australian mocking-bird, called by the colonists the laughing jackass, is a species of woodpecker. The following curious account is given of its vocal performances. His chant, frequently kept up for a lengthened period, is the most laughter-provoking of sounds. It is, indeed, impossible to hear with a grave face the jocularities of this feathered jester. He commences with a low, cackling sound, gradually growing louder, like a hen in a fuss. Then suddenly changing his note, he so closely imitates Punch's trumpet, that you, would almost swear that it was the jolly 'roo-tootoo' of that old favourite that you heard. Next comes the prolonged bray of an ass, followed by an almost articulate exclamation, which might very well be translated, 'Oh! what a guy!' and the whole winds up with a suppressed chuckle, ending with an uproarious burst of laughter, which is joined in by a dozen others hitherto silent. A writer on the Australian colonies would give us an extraordinary idea of the size of men there, for describing the emu, a bird very like an ostrich, he says:-This bird often stands nearly as high as a man, varying from five to seven feet.' The emu, however, in its great and increasing rarity, is fast becoming 'simillima nigroque cygno.' These adjuncts following, do not, however, promise any increase of comfort to the Australian settler. Snakes and lizards are numerous, and the deaf adder, a disgusting and dangerous creature, guanas, a kind of lizard four feet in length. Frogs are numerous, and sometimes intrude into the settler's dwelling. Scorpions, centipedes, and other smaller members of the reptile tribe, are also sufficiently, and more than sufficiently, numerous. Snakes, especially, appear to exist in inconceivable variety, for there are snakes of the following variety of nameblack, brown, diamond, ringed, hazel, whip, and many others. The black snake, when broiled on the fire, has the very good gastronomic quality of becoming white as an eel and tender as a chicken. These are the reptile torments, but the insects are really the greatest nuisance, on account of their more constant presence, and the greater difficulty of guarding against them. A colonist says: "The mosquitoes and flies constitute, during six months of the year, an intolerable nuisance these detestable items of entomology are a perfect torment to the settler, leaving him no peace, either by day or night; the mosquitoes ruthlessly exact their tribute of blood from beneath his irritated and tortured skin. Fortunately, it is chiefly to new comers that the bite of the mosquito is extremely annoying, and it does not often produce any swelling on those who have become by long residence habituated to it. Then there are "lion-ants"-ugly, venomous, black creatures, the sting of which is as severe as that of a wasp; woodticks, that burrow under the skinand other abominations. Towards the North, in the neighbourhood of Cape York, there are ant-hills of an enormous size, sometimes twelve feet in height. The ants are of a pale brown colour, and a quarter of an inch long. These, however, must bide their time, for they have no white settlers to provoke at present.' The common flies are a more general nuisance, settling so thickly and pertinaciously on every article of food, as to make it almost impossible to avoid swallowing some during the progress of every meal. One small matter on the other side is, that the native bees do not sting, and produce very fine honey and wax. However, the climes of the sunny south do not contain more than their share of English colonies; for where in the wide world exists any considerable extent of country that bears not Englishmen; and what sea or port where does not wave The flag that's braved a thousand years That Christmas in the colonies may be anything but merry, let us see how a poor unsuccessful emigrant spent Christmas Day some years ago in the remote wilds of Canada. Here, though the summer months are hot, the winter is perfectly Russian. The rivers are frozen over, or blocked with ice for six months of the year. About Christmas the atmosphere is dry and exhilarating, and soon after come great falls of snow; then the smoothgliding sleighs make their appearance, drawn by horses, to whose harness bells are attached, that jingle merrily as they trot over the frozen surface of the roads. All work, of course, is at a standstill, and nothing attended to but visiting, sleighing, and enjoyment among the well-to-do classes. Amidst the festivities and jollity of a Canadian Christmas, however, one poor emigrant at least had a sorry time of it. He had been unsuccessful, and his stock of money and provisions exhausted, hoping against hope for work, but in vain; and, to crown all, Christmas came, but no work. In the words of the poor man himself, 'This was the climax. I counted the contents of our scanty purse, and small, indeed, was the sum that remained. My resolution was taken. I bought a load of firewood, split it, and piled it indoors, that my children might not have to go out to fetch it, and carefully stopped all the chinks and openings in the walls and floor to exclude the cold. I then laid in a small store of salt pork and potatoes, and with a wallet on my shoulder, and one dollar in my pocket, started before daylight on the morning of Christmas Day, after a sorrowful leavetaking, to walk over the hills eighty miles to the nearest city, where I hoped to meet with some occupation by which I might be able to support my wife and family till the genial spring returned. As I closed the outer door of the house, I seemed to lose half the courage that had hitherto animated me. The morning was dark and starless; heavy clouds obscured the sky; the sullen roar of the ice, drifted up and down by the tide in the neighbouring river, was wafted drearily to my ears: everything seemed to be in accordance with the depression of my feelings; and after walking about an hour, my reflections became so painful that I turned round to retrace my steps. The feeling, however, was but temporary. "Go ahead!" came to my mind; I fancied, like Curran, that my little boys were pulling in the opposite direction, and I once more turned my face to the East. To add to my discomfort, with the appearance of daylight it began to rain, at first slightly, then heavily, and at last settled into a downright pour. After walking thirty miles, I felt so jaded, from the constant soaking and bad condition of the roads, that I was glad to stop at a tavern, which opportunely appeared at nightfall, but where little denoted Christmas save the blazing logs, of which there was no stint, and by which I gladly recovered from the soaking and cold I had suffered. Certainly to me this Christmas was no merry one, nor were the prospects of a happy new year very bright.' Our good neighbours, the French, do not call us 'les perfides Anglais for the first time in the last century or two; but we shall hardly expect to learn this fact from a Frenchman of the time when Agincourt was just fought, and Crecy no very remote tradition. It may be said fof the English, neither in war are they brave, nor in peace are they faithful; and as the Spaniards say, "England is a good land with a bad people." Again he says: The people are proud and seditious, with bad consciences, and are faithless to their word, as experience has taught. These villains hate all sorts of foreigners; and although they have a good land and a good country, they are all constantly wicked, and moved by every wind, for they will now love a prince; turn your head, they will wish him killed and crucified. The people of this nation mortally hate the French, as their old enemies, and always call us France chenesve (French knave), France dogue, and so on.' Again: 'In this country you will not meet with any great nobles whose relations have not had their heads cut off. Certes, I should like better to be a swineherd, and preserve my head: for this affliction falls furiously upon the heads of the great nobles.' But what can be expected of people who call our national dish rosbif, and prefer 'marsh chickens' to the most tender delicacy? At the risk of cavil I choose to call, for the purposes of this paper, the English community in Paris, a colony-I have seen it so called by other people, and it suits me now. There are two immortal plumpuddings celebrated in the annals of the English colony at Paris; and I am only sorry that I cannot just now unkennel the records where their memory is preserved, but must trust to a somewhat treacherous memory. An English colonist in Paris, determined to have an English plum-pudding for his Christmas dinner, gave his French cook the most elaborate directions as to the composition and preparation of the delicious compound, according to the dictates of Mrs. Glasse. Having thus insured the proper preparation of the pudding, he left it to his cook, with instructions for it to be well boiled, which my fair readers who versed in the coquinary art know to be most essential. are The expatriated Englishman looked forward with considerable pleasure to his pudding, and under such circircumstances almost considered the rosbif, and especially French rosbif, a bore. Looking longingly for the introduction of the anxiously-waitedfor luxury, he beheld his chef de cuisine, anxious for his credit, bearing the pudding himself-in a soup tureen! The vexatious truth instantly flashed upon our countryman, that although he had taken every precaution to insure the proper mixing and manipulation of the pudding, he had forgotten the mention of the pudding-bag. And so it came about that an English plum-pudding became French soup; and though by no means soupmaigre, I do not suppose it was eaten with any relish, if at allwhich latter hypothesis I take to be the most probable. There is another pudding whose history is preserved in the traditions of the English colony at Paris. Briefly, for our subject is voluminous and our space scanty, the contriver of the second pudding, with the experience of the former failure in his memory, not only superintended the manipulation of the pudding, but, putting aside his dignity for the occasion, tied it in a bag himself. Knowing the necessity, well known also to our fair caterers, of leaving room for the expansion of the unctuous contents of the puddingbag, he tied it loosely, and left it to the care of his cook to boil. When this second Parisian colonial plum-pudding came to table, it made its appearance in the shape of a great bullet or shot, harder than lead, and altogether like a stone. The contriver of the pudding demanded an explanation, and was informed that the cook, finding the bag tied so loosely, had taken the responsibility of tying it tighter; and so again, the most anxious precautions of an Englishman to secure an English plum-pudding for his dinner at a Parisian Christmas were disappointed. From a paper in a Cape Town journal I extract a very graphic description of the anticipations of Christmas in Cape Colony, which, |