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THE SNOW STORM.

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“Surely he has," I answered.

6. But how came you here, my boy ?

“We went into town this morning to see grandma. It was snowing when we left home.”

“And where is your home?” I asked, “and who is your

father ?“ Farmer Rutland,” he replied ; “we live at High Farm.”

High Farm” lay on the road to my own house; so I told Johnnie we would all go home together. He was glad when he heard my name, and said to himself_“How well it was I said my prayers.”

I found Nellie indeed half asleep, wrapped in a heavy cape, which the little fellow had taken off hinself in his wish to keep her warm. Nor could I get him to put it on until he saw me raise Nellie tenderly in my arms, and wrapping her in my great plaid, gathered her close to my bosom, ready to carry her.

“Now, Johnnie,” I said, “you keep hold of the skirt of my coat, and we shall soon be at High Farm.”

The cold seemed to have become more intense. Manfully the little fellow kept up to my side, though the snow by this time reached above his knees. I tried to cheer him as we trudged along, but I felt the drag upon my coat getting greater, and it

THE SNOW STORM.

we shall

was clear his strength and heart were failing him —then a sob broke from him, and he clung more closely to me as I bent down trying to soothe and comfort him.

“ You are a brave little man," I said ; soon reach the farm now; think of the bright fire there, the nice warm bread and milk, and mother's loving kiss, all waiting for you."

“I cannot walk further,” he sobbed. «0, take Nellie home, but let me lie down here. I will say my prayers again, and perhaps Jesus will send some one else to help me."

“No, no," I answered cheerily, “I cannot leave you behind, Johnnie; you must just make a horse of and mount my

back. There you are now; hold me fast around the neck, and whip hard to make me go better.” And again I started forward, trying to keep him awake with questions and little nice talk; but I felt the burden in such a storm was getting beyond my strength, when suddenly a wavering speck of light shot out of the darkness, then vanished, then appeared once more, getting nearer and brighter. I hallooed loudly, and my shout was answered, and Johnnie called out in a faint and glad voice, “0, that's father!” And happily so it was :

me,

THE SNOW STORM.

ones.

the poor farmer getting alarmed at the long absence of his children, had started, with his two men and a lantern, in search of them, and great tears of thankfulness fell from his eyes when he beheld his loved

Johnnie was at once taken into his loving arms, and a quarter of an hour's walk brought us to the farm, where the anxious mother welcomed us. Nellie was soon aroused by the warmth and light of the great fire, little or none the worse for the night's storm, but poor Johnnie was sadly frost-bitten, and it was long before he got better.

Deep was the gratitude of the honest couple for the aid I had given their beloved children, who doubtless, over-powered with sleep, would have been hidden in the snow ere their father had reached them, and must have perished, but for the prayer which Johnnie's trusting, simple heart had prompted, and had been the means, with God's blessing, of my saving them.

Johnnie lived long after that to tell the tale of this night in the snow-storm. But he never forgot how kind the stranger was to himself and little Nellie, and still thinks that it was because of his humble and real trust in the good Father above that he got home safely.

THE YEARS' TWELVE CHILDREN.

THE YEARS' TWELVE CHILDREN.

JANUARY, worn and gray,
Like an old pilgrim by the way,
Watches the snow, and shivering sighs,
As the wild curlew round him flies ;
Or, huddled underneath a thorn,
Sits praying for the lingering morn.
FEBRUARY, bluff and bold,
O'er furrows striding, scorns the cold;
And with his horses two abreast,
Makes the keen plough do his behest.
Rough MARCH comes blustering down the road,
In his wrath hand the oxen's goad;
Or, with a roug'i and angry haste,
Scatters the seed o'er the dark waste.
APRIL, a child, half tears, half smiles,
Trips full of little playful wiles ;
And laughing 'neath her rainbow hood,
Seeks the wild violets in the wood.
May, the bright maiden, singing goes
To where the snowy hawthorn blows,
Watching the lambs leap in the dells,
List'ning the simple village bells.
JUNE, with the mower's scarlet face,
Moves o'er the clover field apace ;
And fast his crescent scythe sweeps on
O’er spots from whence the lark has flown,

THE YEARS' TWELVE CHILDREN.

JULY—the farmer-happy fellow,
Laughs to see the corn grow yellow;
The heavy grain he tosses up
From his right hand as from a cup.
AUGUST—the reaper-cleaves his way
Through golden waves at break of day;
Or on his wagon, piled with corn,
At sunset home is proudly borne.
SEPTEMBER, with his baying hound,
Leaps fence and pale at every bound;
And casts into the wind in scorn
All cares and dangers from his horn.

OCTOBER comes, a woodman old,
Fenced with tough leather from the cold;
Round swings his sturdy axe, and lo!
A fir-branch falls at every blow.
NOVEMBER Cowers before the flame,
Bleared crone, forgetting her own name!
Watches the blue smoke curling rise,
And broods upon old memories.
DECEMBER, fat and rosy, strides-
His old heart warm, well clothed his sides-
With kindly word for young and old,
The cheerier for the bracing cold ;
Laughing a welcome, open flings
His doors, and as he does it, sings.

-Chamber's Journal.

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