motes of tbe U*f0bt 



while sure of my footing, I was continually col- 

 liding with branches that should not have been 

 across the path. I soon gave it up, although I 

 had but a few rods to go. I struck a match, and 

 directing the feeble light about me, found I had 

 taken the opposite direction and was going to- 

 ward my neighbor's, not my own home. A few 

 wax tapers soon set me aright, and without acci- 

 dent or incident I reached the garden gate. 



At this hour, before dawn and long after mid- 

 night, how very silent was all the outdoor world ! 

 Every insect was quiet, and not a creature of 

 higher grade, I fancy, was astir. Had I placed 

 my ear against some rotting log, I might perhaps 

 have heard some blind grub toiling where light 

 never comes. Elsewhere the world was at rest. 



Thou art a grand artificer betimes, 



O hearty Winter, in thy sterner moods ; 



Guide me to building of as worthy rhymes 



As thou hast wrought in these wild solitudes 



The rugged landscape, where the bleak ice piled 



Fills the lone vale where summer sweetly smiled. 



Read " lines " instead of " rhymes," and we have 

 a fitting prayer, for who can aptly describe the 

 frozen river, or even the tamer ice-clad meadows ? 

 What the latter are, under a covering of snow, 

 we have seen, but there is a great difference be- 

 tween this and acres of smooth ice in like position. 

 The absence of repelling whiteness is a relief. The 

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