There are visions of conquests, of splendor, and mirth Floating over each drear winter's day, But the tintings of hope, on this storm-beaten earth, Will melt, like the snowflakes, away; Turn, turn thee to heaven, fair maiden, for bliss ; That world has a pure fount ne'er opened in this. "It snows!" cries the widow, "Oh, God!" and her sighs Have stifled the voice of her prayer; Its burden ye'll read in her tear-swollen eyes, On her cheek sunk with fasting and care. 'Tis night, and her fatherless ask her for bread 1; But, "He gives the young ravens their food," And she trusts, till her dark hearth adds horror to dread, And she lays on her last chip of wood. Poor sufferer! that sorrow thy God only knows, 'Tis a most bitter lot to be poor when it snows! -MRS. S. J. HALE. 20. FROST-WORK. A little one sought me this morning, Were playing in changeful light. "Come, come to my room," she whispered; "A curious thing is there; A painter has been at work all night "He has made a beautiful castle, "He has made both towers and temples, They are all on my window painted, I went with the little prattler, For, all night long, the artist And only put by his pencil Softly and stealthily toiling, He had gone, as he came, in silence; Like a friend who sends his favors How often the silent seeker For better things above, And when lip and brow have faded Oh! teach me, beautiful frost-work, The web that is woven by night-time In the morning with gems may be rife. 21. THE FRINGED GENTIAN. In the late days of September and the early days of October, when the sumachs are reddening and the oaks are feeling the touch of frost, when the gleaming light and life of summer have given place to the soft haze and dreamy stillness of autumn, along the borders of meadow brooks or swampy lowlands, expanding in the warm. light of midday, the flower-seeker may find a blossom 66 bright with autumn dew And colored with the heaven's own blue," the fringed gentian -the Lucy flower or flower of light, the flower which Miss Bartlett declares was never yet sung or painted sweetly enough." 66 Near it still linger the blazing golden-rod and starry asters, the curious turtle-head and the slender, pink gerardia; but the quiet blue of this flower harmonizes more truly with the soft lights and sombre shadows of advancing autumn. From New England to Kentucky, in most lowlands it is found, yet not all know the beauty of this lovely child of autumn. Let us peep into those deep flower-cups — Helen Whitman has given us a very beautiful as well as interesting and instructive picture of the flower visited by the bee, "Upon those soft-fringed lids the bee sits brooding Or with shut wing through silken folds intruding This flower has interesting kindred in the curious closed gentian, the famous Alpine gentian blossoming on the snow-line of the Alps, and the brilliant cultivated species. The blue fringed gentian is a favorite with artists and poets; Ruskin, Bryant, Whittier, Bayard Taylor, and Helen Hunt Jackson are among those who have written of it. Its name perpetuates the memory of Gentius, a king of Illyria, who seventeen hundred years ago prized the tonic derived from the root. But of all the tributes offered to this flower, that by William Cullen Bryant is the finest. He sees in the courageous little blossom, boldly, mid "frosts and shortening days," lifting its cup serenely to the sky, a type of human steadfastness and courage, and says: "I would that thus, when I shall see |