tears forbid any more.

"God bless you, Madge! God bless you!"

* * * * *

And thus in peace and in joy MANHOOD passes on into the third
season of our life--even as golden AUTUMN sinks slowly into the
tomb of WINTER.

_WINTER_;

OR,

_THE DREAMS OF AGE_

_DREAMS OF AGE._

_Winter._

Slowly, thickly, fastly, fall the snow-flakes,--like the seasons upon
the life of man. At the first they lose themselves in the brown mat of
herbage, or gently melt, as they fall upon the broad stepping-stone at
the door. But as hour after hour passes, the feathery flakes stretch
their white cloak plainly on the meadow, and chilling the doorstep with
their multitude, cover it with a mat of pearl.

The dried grass-tips pierce the mantle of white, like so many serried
spears; but as the storm goes softly on, they sink one by one to their
snowy tomb, and presently show nothing of all their army, save one or
two straggling banners of blackened and shrunken daisies.

Across the wide meadow that stretches from my window, I can see nothing
of those hills which were so green in summer; between me and them lie
only the soft, slow-moving masses, filling the air with whiteness I
catch only a glimpse of one gaunt and bare-armed oak, looming through
the feathery multitude like a tall ship's spars breaking through fog.

The roof of the barn is covered; and the leaking eaves show dark stains
of water that trickle down the weather-beaten boards. The pear-trees,
that wore such weight of greenness in the leafy June, now stretch their
bare arms to the snowy blast, and carry upon each tiny bough a narrow
burden of winter.

The old house-dog marches stately through the strange covering of earth,
and seems to ponder on the welcome he will show,--and shakes the flakes
from his long ears, and with a vain snap at a floating feather he stalks
again to his dry covert in the shed. The lambs that belonged to the
meadow flock, with their feeding-ground all covered, seem to wonder at
their losses; but take courage from the quiet air of the veteran sheep,
and gambol after them, as they move sedately toward the shelter of the
barn.

The cat, driven from the kitchen-door, beats a coy retreat, with long
reaches of her foot, upon the yielding surface. The matronly hens
saunter out at a little lifting of the storm, and eye curiously, with
heads half turned, their sinking steps, and then fall back, with a quiet
clu