ere in the years to
come, after much wandering and weariness, guided of God, we may come
to that fountain of which the ancients dreamed, and for which the
noblest among them sought so long, and died seeking; plunging into
which, we shall find our lost youth in its cool depths, and, rising
refreshed and strengthened, shall go on our eternal journey re-clothed
with the beauty, the innocence, and the happiness of our youth.

The poor woman slept uneasily, and with much muttering to herself;
but the rapid hours slid noiselessly down the icy grooves of night,
and soon the cold morning put its white face against the frozen
windows of the east, and peered shiveringly forth. Who says the earth
cannot look as cold and forbidding as the human countenance? The sky
hung over the frozen world like a dome of gray steel, whose invisibly
matched plates were riveted here and there by a few white, gleaming
stars. The surface of the snow sparkled with crystals that flashed
colorlessly cold. The air seemed armed, and full of sharp, eager
points that pricked the skin painfully. The great tree-trunks cracked
their sharp protests against the frosty entrances being made beneath
their bark. The lake, from under the smothering ice, roared in dismay
and pain, and sent the thunders of its wrath at its imprisonment
around the resounding shores. A bitter morn, a bitter morn,--ah me! a
bitter morn for the poor!

The woman, wakened by the gray light, moved in the depths of the
tattered blankets, sat upright, rubbed her eyes with her hands, looked
about her as if to recall her scattered senses, and then, as thought
returned, crept stealthily out of the hole in which she had lain, that
she might not wake the children, who, coiled together, slumbered on,
still closely clasped in the arms of blessed unconsciousness.

"They had better sleep," she said to herself. "If I fail to bring them
meat, I hope they will never wake!"

Ah! if the poor woman could only have foreseen the bitter
disappointment, or that other something which the future was to bring
her, would she have made that prayer? Is it best for us, as some say,
that we cannot see what is coming, but must weep on till the last tear
is shed, uncheered by the sweet fortune so nigh, or laugh unchecked
until the happy tones are mingled with, and smothered by, the rising
moan? Is it best, I wonder?

She noiselessly gathered together what additions she could make to her
garments, and then, taking dow