"Oh Winter,

I crown thee king of intimate delights,
Fire-side enjoyments, home-born happiness,
And all the comforts that the lonely roof
Of undisturbed retirement, and the hours

Of long-uninterrupted evening, know," { Cowper.

THE weather had been intensely cold since our arrival at the Villa, and for the last two days the snow had descended without any intermission; but on the preceding evening a sudden change came over the face of the sky -the new moon threw her feeble light across the valley -the stars bespangled the serene heavens, and when I stepped out in the morning, I found that the frost had so hardened the fallen flakes that I could walk on them without leaving the impression of my foot on the surface. As I was fond of rambling in the country, no less when the wintry storms drift o'er the hills, than when the spring sheds its softening radiance over the fields and glens, and take as much pleasure in gazing on the fantastic forms which may be traced when the hedges and trees and projections of the rocks are covered with snow, as in surveying the face of nature under the calm tranquillity of a summer's sky, after taking an early dinner, I sallied forth on my rural ex

cursion.

On looking round to discover the most favourable post for observation, I determined, after some little hesitation, to revisit the spot where, some months before, I had sat to feast myself on the enchanting scenery of the country, which was then clothed with verdant beauty, and enlivened by the melody of the earliest and latest birds. But what a change! The foliage had dropt from the trees of the shrubbery which now stood shrouded in white, as if prepared for the tombevery voice was still the wind, which had been rushing out of the north with tempestuous fury, was gone to rest in its undiscovered chambers-and when I reached the sturdy oak, whose wide-spreading branches had shielded me from the scorching rays of the sun, I

*See No. of this series.

could find no resting place, for the stump of the neighbouring elm was buried beneath the snow of heaven.

As I stood viewing the change which a few months had made in the appearance of nature, my mind very naturally adverted to the changes which as suddenly take place in the dispensations of providence, and I recalled to my remembrance many, who, during my short pilgrimage, had been removed from the heights of prosperity to the depths of adversity, and whose opening spring of plenty and of hope had been succeeded by the sterile and stormy winter-closing up the visions of their anticipated bliss in the sombrous gloom of disappointment and of woe. While thus musing on the mutations of nature and of providence, I saw two young men approaching from a distant meadow, and when they drew near enough for me to trace their features, I recognized the children of the woodman whom I visited on the evening his little daughter departed this life. They looked very sorrowful and dejected, and exclaimed, as soon as they knew me, "Oh, Sir, we are again in trouble! We have lost father. Have you seen him, or heard of him? We have been walking about ever since the break of light, but we cannot find him." They then gave me the following account of the calamity which had befallen them.

After the interment of his daughter, he regained his usual flow of spirits, and felt resigned to the will of God; but within the last few weeks he had sunk into such a low, desponding state, and often spake of his decease as one who believed the hour of his departure was at hand and yet health nerved his arm, and he was strong to labour. "Mother often told him," said the eldest son, "that he ought not to mistrust Providence, who had always provided food and raiment for us, nor yet to think that he was going to leave us: but she could not comfort him; for after coming home at night he would sit and weep, and talk to us till we all wept with him; and we knew not why, for we saw no danger coming. We were all well and happy except father."

He went to his work on the preceding day at his usual hour, taking with him, in his bag and bottle, his refreshment, and was seen by his master, about noon,

walking away, from the field in which he had been at work, with his dog by his side, but neither of them had since been heard of. "We fear, Sir," said the lad, who sobbed aloud as he spoke, wiping away at the same time the falling tears with the sleeve of his frock, which appeared moistened by the waters of grief, "he has tumbled into some pit, and has perished in the snow; but, Sir, we cannot trace any marks of his footsteps, nor yet hear Trail bark nor howl. We none of us slept all night, and mother is so unhappy! she does nothing but wring her hands and cry, for she does not know where to go to find him."

Having heard this tale of woe, I resolved once more to visit the woodman's cottage, and following the two lads, I reached it about two o'clock. The distracted wife was standing at the door; and on seeing me, she clasped her hands in the agony of grief, and began to tell me the affecting tale. "I have thought at times he would not live long; for within the last two months, his spirit and his prayers all seemed to prove that he was getting ripe for glory; but I did not expect to lose him

so soon."

"You do not," I remarked, "suppose that he is murdered?"

66 Oh no, Sir! He has fallen into some bog and perished in the snow, which fell yesterday in larger and thicker flakes than I ever saw before; but I feared no danger, because he knows the parts so well. I expected him home sooner than usual, on account of the badness of the weather, and as I thought something warm would comfort him, I had got a stew ready, but "-she could add no more. The scene was too affecting for the finest pencil to describe. The neat round table stood near the fire covered with a clean cloth—a deep wooden trencher with a spoon and salt-cellar made of the same material were placed upon it-the oak chair was in readiness to receive its owner- -and the small kettle was still hanging over the fire, which had been suffered to dwindle from the bright blaze into dying 'embers." I endeavoured to comfort her in this the hour of her sorrow; but the whirlwind of anguish beat too furiously around her perturbed spirits to allow the words of consolation to enter her heart; and after praying to Him who "Manageth the storm,"

I left her with a promise that I would call again to see her before I left the Villa. The lines of the Poet with which I had been long familiar, now recurred to my recollection, and I could not repress the tear which the scene of their description had involuntarily occasioned. think the gay licentious proud, pleasure, power, and affluence surround; They, who their thoughtless hours in giddy mirth, And wanton, often cruel, riot waste;

Ah! little in

4

Ah! little think they, while they dance along,
How many feel, this very moment, death,
And all the sad variety of pain.
How many sink in the devouring flood,
Or more devouring flame. How many bleed,
By shameful variance betwixt man and man.
How many pine in want, and dungeon glooms;
Shut from the common air, and common use

Of their own limbs. How many drink the cup
Of baleful grief, or eat the bread

Of misery. Sore pierc'd by wintry winds,
How many shrink into the sordid hut
Of cheerless poverty. How many shake
With all the fiercer tortures of the mind,
Unbounded passion, madness, guilt, remorse;
Whence, tumbling headlong from the height of life,
They furnish matter for the tragic muse.
Even in the vale, where wisdom loves to dwell,
With friendship, peace, and contemplation join'd,
How many, rack'd with honest passions, droop
In deep retir'd distress. How many stand
Around the death-bed of their dearest friends,
And point the parting anguish. Thought fond man
Of these, and all the thousand nameless ills,

That one incessant struggle render life,

One scene of toil, of suffering, and of fate,
Vice in his high career would stand appall'd,
And heedless rambling impulse learn to think;
The conscious heart of charity would warm,
And her wide wish benevolence dilate;
The social tear would rise, the social sigh;
And into clear perfection, gradual bliss,
Refining still, the social passions work."

On my return to the Villa, I found the Roscoes spending the evening there, and after receiving the congratulation of the family on my safe arrival, Mrs. Stevens said, "I hope you have not been detained by any painful event,"

"I have been," I replied, "to the house of mourn

[82

ing, and one whose grief is still raging unassuaged." I then narrated the tale, which deeply affected the whole party; and various plans were suggested for the recoof the lost woodman.

very

It will be impossible for us," said Mr. Roscoe, "to expect to find this poor man, if we were to go forth to search for him, but we may make some provision for the support of his widow, by commencing a subscription for her, which I think is no less our duty than our privilege."

"Very good," replied Mrs, Stevens, who immediately drew from her pocket-book a £5. note, which sum was increased to the amount of £17. by the donations of the rest of the party.

"How soon," remarked Mr. Stevens, "may a mysterious Providence lay waste the pleasant things of our possession, and leave us in a state of destitution and affliction. I saw the woodman and his family at church on Christmas morning, and I was struck with the healthful bloom of his countenance, and the fine glow of animated delight which came over it when Mr. Ingleby was describing the effects which would be produced on the mind of a redeemed sinner when taking the first look at the Great High Priest of the heavenly temple, and I have no doubt but he spent the evening of that day in the bosom of his family, blessing them with his smiles, and prayers, and instructions."

"At no season of the year," said Miss Roscoe," am I so powerfully impressed by a sense of the divine goodness, as during the inclement season of winter; when I am sheltered from the rude storm which often beats through the shattered roof of the poor man's cottage-am warmed by the cheerful blaze which ne'er burns on his hearth→→→→ have extra clothing to cover me whenever I am exposed to the severity of the weather-and have all the comforts and conveniences of life, while many,

'Sore pierced by wintry winds,

sink into the wretched hut

Of cheerless poverty !'.

༄,,

But why am I favoured with these mercies of which many others are deprived? Why was not I doomed to handle the distaff, rather than exempted from the neces'sity of manual labour? Or why was not my dear father