LXXXIII.-THE SNOW-STORM.

LITTLE Hannah Lee had left her master's house

soon as the rim of the great moon was seen by her eyes, that had been long anxiously watching it from the window, rising, like a joyful dream, over the gloomy mountain-tops; and all by herself she tripped along beneath the beauty of the silent heaven.

2. Still as she kept ascending and descending the knolls that lay in the bosom of the glen, she sang to herself a song, a hymn, or a psalm, without the accompaniment of the streams, now all silent in the frost; and ever and anon she stopped to try to count the stars that lay in some more beautiful part of the sky, or gazed on the constellations that she knew, and called them, in her joy, by the names they bore among the shepherds. There were none to hear her voice or see her smiles but the ear and eye of Providence.

3. As on she glided, and took her looks from heaven, she saw her own little fireside; her parents waiting for her arrival; the Bible opened for worship; her own little room kept so neatly for her, with its mirror hanging by the window, in which to braid her hair by the morning light; her bed prepared for her by her mother's hand; the primroses in her garden peeping through the snow; old Tray, who ever welcomed her home, with his dim white. eyes; the pony and the cow; friends all, and inmates of that happy household.

4. So stepped she along, while the snow diamonds glittered around her feet, and the frost wove a wreath of lucid pearls round her forehead. She had now reached the edge of the Black Moss, which lay

half-way between her master's and her father's dwelling, when she heard a loud noise coming down GlenScrae, and in a few seconds she felt on her face some flakes of snow.

5. She looked up the glen, and saw the snowstorm coming down fast as a flood. She felt no fears; but she ceased her song, and had there been a human eye to look upon her there, it might have seen a shadow upon her face. She continued her course, and felt bolder and bolder every step that brought her nearer to her parents' house.

6. But the storm had now reached the Black Moss, and the broad line of light that had lain in the direction of her home was soon swallowed up, and the child was in utter darkness. She saw nothing but the flakes of snow, interminably intermingled and furiously wafted in the air close to her head; she heard nothing but one wild, fierce, fitful howl. The cold became intense, and her little feet and hands were fast being benumbed into insensibility.

7. "It is a fearful change," muttered the child, to herself; but still she did not fear, for she had been born in a moorland cottage, and lived all her days among the hardships of the hills. "What will become of the poor sheep!" thought she,-but still she scarcely thought of her own danger; for innocence, and youth, and joy are slow to think of aught evil befalling themselves, and, thinking benignly of all living things, forget their own fear in their pity for others' sorrow.

8. At last she could no longer discern a single mark on the snow, either of human steps or of sheeptrack, or the foot-print of a wild fowl. Suddenly, too, she felt out of breath and exhausted, and, shed

ding tears for herself at last, sank down in the

snow.

9. It was now that her heart began to quake with fear. She remembered stories of shepherds lost in the snow; of a mother and child frozen to death on that very moor; and in a moment she knew that she was to die. Bitterly did the poor child weep; for death was terrible to her, who, though poor, enjoyed the bright little world of youth and innocence. The skies of heaven were dearer than she knew to herso were the flowers of earth.

10. She had been happy at her work, happy in her sleep, happy in the kirk on Sabbath. A thousand thoughts had the solitary child, and in her own heart was a spring of happiness, pure and undisturbed as any fount that sparkles unseen all the year through in some quiet nook among the pastoral hills. But now there was to be an end of all this; she was to be frozen to death, and lie there until the thaw might come; and then her father would find her body, and carry it away to be buried in the kirkyard.

11. The tears were frozen on her cheeks as soon as shed, and scarcely had her little hands strength to clasp themselves together, as the thought of an overruling and merciful Lord came across her heart. Then, indeed, the fears of this religious child were calmed, and she heard without terror the plover's wailing cry, and the deep boom of the bittern sounding in the moss.

12. "I will repeat the Lord's Prayer;" and, drawing her plaid more closely around her, she whispered, beneath its ineffectual cover, "Our Father, which art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name; Thy kingdom

come; Thy will be done on earth as it is in Heaven." Had human aid been within fifty yards, it could have been of no avail; eye could not see her, ear could not hear her in that howling darkness.

13. But that low prayer was heard in the center of eternity, and that little sinless child was lying in the snow beneath the all-seeing eye of God. The maiden, having prayed to her Father in Heaven, then thought of her father on earth. Alas, they were not far separated!

14. The father was lying but a short distance from his child. He, too, had sunk down in the drifting snow, after having, in less than an hour, exhausted all the strength of fear, pity, hope, despair, and resignation that could rise in a father's heart, blindly seeking to rescue his only child from death, thinking that one desperate exertion might enable them to perish in each other's arms.

15. There they lay within a stone's throw of each other, while a huge snow-drift was every moment piling itself up into a more insurmountable barrier between the dying parent and his dying child.

John Wilson.

EXERCISES IN INFLECTION.

1. She sang to herself a song, a hymn, or a psalm.

2. She felt no fears; but she ceased her song.

3. It is a fearful change," muttered the child.

4. "What will become of the poor sheep!"

5. It was now that her heart began to quake with fear.

6. Now there was to be an end of all this.

7. Eye could not see her, ear could not hear her.

8. Alas, they were not far separated!

9. He, too, had sunk down in the drifting snow.

LXXXIV. SNOW-BOUND.

SILHOUETTE (Siloo-ět), a profile, or representation of the outlines of an object, filled in with a black color.

THE

HE sun, that brief December day,
Rose cheerless over hills of gray,
And, darkly circled, gave at noon
A sadder light than waning moon.
Slow tracing down the thickening sky
Its mute and ominous prophecy,
A portent seeming less than threat,
It sank from sight before it set.
The wind blew east: we heard the roar
Of Ocean on his wintry shore,

And felt the strong pulse throbbing there
Beat with low rythm our inland air.

2. Unwarmed by any sunset light,
The gray day darkened into night,
A night made hoary with the swarm
And whirl-dance of the blinding storm,
As zigzag wavering to and fro

Crossed and recrossed the wingéd snow:
And ere the early bedtime came,

The white drift piled the window-frame,
And through the glass the clothes-line posts
Looked in like tall and sheeted ghosts.

3. So all night long the storm roared on:
The morning broke without a sun:
In tiny spherule, traced with lines
Of Nature's geometric signs,
In starry flake, and pellicle,
All day the hoary meteor fell;