despairing effort, he cried aloud, "Come back, my early days! come back!" 7. And his youth did return; for all this was but a dream which visited his slumbers on New Year's night. He was still young; his faults alone were real. He thanked God fervently that time was still his own; that he had not yet entered the deep, dark cavern, but that he was free to tread the road leading to the peaceful land where sunny harvests wave. 8. Ye who still linger on the threshold of life, doubting which path to choose, remember that, when years are passed, and your feet stumble on the dark mountain, you will cry bitterly,8 but cry in vain, "O youth, return! O, give me back my early days!" 1 GOAL. A post or mark set to bound a 5 EM'BLEM. A picture or object represent race; end. 2 STAG'ES. Steps or degrees of advance or progress. 3 VISION. An imaginary appearance, as seen in a dream or in sleep. ing one thing to the eye and another 6 RE-MÖRSE'. Reproach of conscience. ♦ IS'SUE (Ísh'shy). Egress; passage out. 8 BITTER-LY. Sorrowfully. VII. THE SNOW. BEECHER. [Henry Ward Beecher, son of the celebrated Lyman Beecher, was born in Litchfield, Connecticut. He has been for many years settled over a church in Brooklyn, New York. He is a man of active mind and generous temper, an eloquent preacher, and popular lecturer.] 1. THE recent snow-storms bring back our boyhood. experience. Reared among the hills of Western Connecticut, we were brought up in the very school of the snow. We remember the dreamy snow-falls, when great flakes came down wavering through the air as if they had no errand, and were sauntering for mere laziness. The air thickens. One by one familiar objects are hidden as by a mist. Paths disappear. Voices of teamsters are heard, but nothing in the road can be seen. Like a fog, the snow, fast falling, hides all things. It comes straight down; not a breath of wind disturbs its descent. All day long it falls. The fences are grotesquely1 muffled; evergreens bend, being burdened. Even the bare branches of deciduous 2 trees are clothed as with wool. 3 2. Still the noiseless flakes fill the sky. The eye is bewildered in looking out upon the weird haze -so calm, so still, so full of movement, and yet with a sense of death in it! But as one looks, a change is taking place. The snow-flake has become smaller. It has lost its calm and leisurely motion. It begins to pelt down, as if shot by some force from above. Now and then around the corner comes a puff of wind, which drives the snow off in long, slanting lines; or whirls of wind come, mixing them up in a strange medley.4 Night is shutting in. Every moment the air darkens. The wind is coming in earnest. The chimney roars with a hollow and shuddering sound. 3. There is no use of looking out any more: all is black. Drop the curtains. Throw on the logs. The flames fill the whole room with a warm glow. Draw round the table, for now one has the full sense of home security. The wind comes in gusts, and smites the house till it groans; and at times you distinctly feel that it rocks under you. What is that to you? The blacker the night, the more turbulent 5 the wind, the wilder the storm, all the more does each one within rejoice in the contrast. No such night at home in the country as a real stormy night! 4. But the young imagination is keen, and summous all its treasures. It hears in the wind voices in distress. Then come stories of wolves and benighted travellers. As the wind comes shrilly through crack or key-hole, one starts, as if a shriek sounded in his very ear. Now and then comes a buffet against the window-a straining and tugging at the side of the house, as if the night were seeking to storm the castle, and break in all its defences. 5. At length, one by one, we creep off to bed. We cuddle close together, and pull the clothes over our heads to deaden the sounds, as well as to keep out the snow. For no double windows protected the oldfashioned house, and fine snow, sifting in, filled the air; and often the morning found scarfs of snow upon the bed. 6. But what a morning! The sun is up. The wind has not gone down. The snow has ceased to fall, but not to move. It is drifting in every direction. It hangs over the eaves. It has buried the kitchen door. Fences are all gone. It is a new land, a fairy land! Yonder is the top of a haystack, and beyond, the roofs of the sheds. The barn yet towers up in sight. Woe to them who have no wood-sheds, and who now must dig out the unsheltered pile! 7. A way must be cut through the drift that buries the front door! Paths must be opened. Every one in the neighborhood is busy. All intercourse is cut off. It will be late in the day before one can get to another, and per haps several days before one village can communicate with another! For the roads are to be "broken out." The people turn out one and all. Men, boys, cattle, all work with a will. Indeed, it is more like play than work. 8. Now, then, we are ready for settled winter! Two or three feet of snow on a level, that will lie for two months! As soon as the snow hardens a little, one can take his own direction across the country. Not a fence can be seen! Swamps can now be entered safely. The streams need no bridges. The woods are full of men getting out the year's fuel. Every one is glad. Snow now is the poor man's friend, and the working man's helper; while all the young people who love frolic are getting ready for sleigh-rides. Winter in the country is the year's holiday. 1 GRO-TESQUE'LY. In a fanciful man- | WEIRD. Supernatural; unearthly. [Adelaide Anne Procter, daughter of Bryan Waller Procter (better known as Barry Cornwall, under which name his poems were published), was born in London, October 30, 1825, and died February 3, 1864. She published two or three volumes of poems, which were marked by a grave seriousness of thought as well as tenderness of feeling. Her death is said to have been hastened by the self-sacrificing zeal with which she devoted herself to the relief of suffering humanity.] 1. ONE by one the sands are flowing, 2. One by one thy duties wait thee, Let thy whole strength go to each; Learn thou first what these can teach. 3. One by one (bright gifts from Heaven) 4. One by one thy griefs shall meet thee, One will fade as others greet thee Shadows passing through the land. 5. Do not look at life's long sorrow; See how small each moment's pain: 6. Every hour, that fleets 2 so slowly, Luminous the crown, and holy, 7. Do not linger with regretting, 8. Hours are golden links, God's token, 1 E-LATE'. Elevate, as with success; 2 FLEETS. Passes away. 3 LU'MI-NOUS. Emitting light; bright. 4 CROWN. Reward; recompense. 5 PILGRIM-AGE. A long journey; particularly, a journey to a place deemed sacred; journey of life. |