Part 14

It is interesting to observe the effects of this disposition of layers upon the safety of the vegetable growths below them. These, at least in the earliest summer, occupy the inclined slopes that face the sun, and the several strata of snow take, of course, the same inclination. The consequence is, that as the upper snow is dissipated by the early thawings, and sinks upon the more compact layer below, it is, to a great extent, arrested, and runs off like rain from a slope of clay. The plant reposes thus in its cellular bed, guarded from the rush of waters, and protected too from the nightly frosts by the icy roof above it.

Dr. Kane.

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There is a pretty, curious old town in Germany. The streets are narrow and the houses very quaint, with their pointed, gable-ends toward the street. One house stands somewhat isolated from the rest. It is at an angle where two streets meet, and is built with so many projections and jutting windows and carved friezes that it is quite a study.

One cold, cold afternoon in midwinter, when the silent frost was penetrating every where, and men moved quickly, muffled up in furs,—a time for people to close their doors, and gather round their firesides,—all the quiet inhabitants were astir. There was a bustle of preparation in parlor and kitchen; and young and old, wrapping their garments about them, were ready to go out in the cold. There were dismay and confusion in all the streets. Why?

They had heard that the French regiment, called the Pitiless, on its retreat from Moscow, was only three leagues off, and was to quarter in their village that night. There was every thing to fear from the revelry and excesses of soldiers, who acknowledged no right but that of the strongest.

In the queer old house of which we have spoken, there was no bustle of preparation. By the fire, in a large old room, sat an aged woman and her two grandchildren. Unable from her lameness to leave home, her grandchildren would not forsake her. Her faith in God enabled her to feel that they might be safer there than when fleeing from danger.

“O God! till darkness goeth hence, Be thou our stay and our defense; A wall, when foes oppress us sore, To save and guard us evermore!”

These, the last notes of their evening hymn, died away amid the rafters of the shadowy room.

“Alas!” said the boy, mournfully, “we have no wall about us to-night to protect us from enemies.”

“He will be our Wall himself,” said the aged woman, reverently. “Think you his arm is shortened?”

“No, grandmother; but the thing is impossible without a miracle.”

“Take care, my boy; nothing is impossible with God. Hath he not said he will be a wall of fire unto his people? We must trust him and he will be our wall of defense.”

They sat quietly by the fireside. The wind moaned down the large open chimney, and the snow fell softly against the window-pane. Steadily it fell all night, and the wind drifted it in high banks, covering the shed, streets, walls, and paths of the silent and deserted town. And yet there was peace by that quiet fireside, the peace that can only be felt by the mind that is stayed on God. Few words were spoken. They held one another’s hands, and looked into the fire, and listened, in the pauses of the storm, to catch the blast of the French trumpets. At nine o’clock the sound was faintly borne to them on the breeze; a few hurried blasts swept past them, intermingled with sounds of trampling feet and loud voices, and all was still.

Their hearts beat almost audibly; and they drew closer together, as they felt that they were now in the midst of their enemies. Helpless age and defenseless youth! What armor had they wherein to trust? The shield of faith! and safely they rested beneath its shadow!

Every house was a scene of revelry. Great fires were kindled. Altars were ransacked. The soldiers, with their songs and wine-cups, their oaths and blasphemy, made the streets ring, striving to drown the remembrance of intense cold and terrible privation in those hours of drunken merriment.

Still the little group in the quaint old house sat peacefully through the long, long hours of the night, till morning dawned and showed them the wall of defense which God had built round about them. Exposed as was their house, from its position, to the eddies and currents of the wind, the snow had so drifted about them that the doors and windows were completely blocked up; and the French soldiers had not found it. With the daylight they had left the town.

Wind and storm had fulfilled God’s word, and encircled those who put their trust in him with a wall that protected them from their enemies,—a wall, not of fire, but of snow.

Under the Snow.

Fall in your gleaming folds of white, And robe the mountain-crest with snow; Make each dark vale and hillside bright, Till all the earth is fair below!

Let all the forest oaks be clad,— The birch, and shivering aspen-tree, Nor fail to shroud the tender buds And roots of frail anemone!

Then fold them close and shield them well To guard against the winter’s cold; While fast yon snowy flakes descend And penetrate the frozen mold.

And we will sing, though wild the storm,— Sing in December as in May, Fill pledges from the icy brook, And all the year be glad and gay.

For when the winter solstice brings The Earth resplendent, like a bride, She, with her snowy coronal, Fulfills her promise, glorified!

Fulfills her promise, when the days And months have brought the circling year, When vernal woods and bursting buds And blue-eyed violets appear.

Faint type of what our hearts foretell, Of something glorious yet to be; The life for which our spirits thirst,— And hid from all eternity!

And most for thee, high Hope, and Faith, I languish. Oh, return to me! Come, fold me in thy heavenly robes, And mantle of sweet Charity.

And hide me from the outer world, And quicken to my inward sense The earnest of those heavenly joys, Till I, departing, shall go hence.