country girl.

"The next book I write shall be all about you," the author used
to say to his wife, in after years, as they sat together before
the fire-place, and watched the bright blaze roar up the chimney.

--_Julian Hawthorne._




_A FROSTY DAY._


Grass afield wears silver thatch,
Palings all are edged with rime,
Frost-flowers pattern round the latch,
Cloud nor breeze dissolve the clime;

When the waves are solid floor,
And the clods are iron-bound,
And the boughs are crystall'd hoar,
And the red leaf nail'd aground.

When the fieldfare's flight is slow,
And a rosy vapor rim,
Now the sun is small and low,
Belts along the region dim.

When the ice-crack flies and flaws,