head suddenly stung by the "wild white bees of winter." She contemplated with complacency the indications of an increasing storm, for it brought pleasant visions of merry sleigh-riding parties, or better still, of coasting down the long hills beneath the winter moon, in most congenial company. Faster and faster the snow came down, and the flakes grew larger and larger, and when the afternoon school was out, the chattering children were jubilant with the excitement of wading home through the snow, which they found knee-deep. The early winter twilight came on earlier than usual, and by the time the customary chores were all done up, when the cows and horses were attended to, when the kindlings were prepared, and the wood and water brought in, it was quite dark. Still the snow came down faster and faster, and the wind increased in violence, till the naked branches of the elms tossed, and writhed, and moaned, like an anguished spirit. A stormy winter evening at home, when nobody could issue forth and nobody was expected to come in from without, we gathered about the evening lamp; the father with his newspaper, the mother with her knitting, the older children busy with book or work, and the younger ones industriously conning their lessons for the morrow. And all the while the storm raged fiercely, the snow coated the window-panes, rendering curtains quite unnecessary, and the wind rattled wildly at the sashes, and shrieked for admission to the warm and cosy kitchen. By-andby, when the lessons were all learned, and the newspaper read to the bottom of the last column, and the knitting laid aside, came the time for recreation. We cracked nuts and jokes simultaneously, we named, roasted, and ate apples, we popped corn, we told conundrums, and when all other diversions had failed, we had recourse to our favorite and inexhaustible pastime, of "guessing names." So the evening passed quickly by, and bed-time,—which was the good old-fashioned hour of nine in those days, guiltless of the student's midnight lamp, or the dissipations of evening parties, came all too soon. But before retiring, the good man must needs go out and examine the state of the weather. Through every crack and cranny of the storm-porch, the snow had sifted and drifted, until the door-mat was entirely buried beneath its symmetrical heaps and curves. When the latch of the outside door was lifted, a gust of wind dashed it wide open with furious spite, and through the two open doors the rays of the lamp shone, making a path of light into the very heart of the white and whirling tumult of the storm. A few seconds' tarry in the blinding conflict was amply sufficient, and the goodman came back breathless, and powdered with snow to rejoin the group clustered about the stove. "It is a very severe storm," said he, "a fearful night for vessels coming on the coast." Then we wished that all vessels were in port, or that the storm might subside so that the sailors could see and read aright, the signal lights along shore, and keep safely on their way ; and in the next breath with childish inconsistency, we wished that the storm might be so bad the next day that there could be no school. And commenting on this delightful possibility we went up to our lowly chambers, and soon, warm in bed, we were dreamily listening to the driving storm, beating about the eaves and on the roof so near us, yet powerless to gain entrance to secure shelter. Ere many minutes had elapsed, the deep sleep of youth and health locked our senses in oblivion, and we became unconscious of the commotion of the elements. Our We were wakened by a dull, muffled sound that died away almost as soon as it fell upon our ears. But though it was scarcely louder than the wind which was still rattling the windows, it was not, unfortunately, so unusual a sound but that we recognized it at once as the signal of a vessel in distress, in the channel or on the bar just beyond the hill that rose close by our home. We wondered what the hour might be, but through the eastern window of our little attic chamber, we could not distinguish the faintest indication of coming dawn. For a few minutes we lay listening with bated breath to the sullen and ominous "boom boom!" that came at regular intervals. As we 'lay listening, the loudsounding kitchen clock commenced to strike. We counted. One, two, three, four. Hardly had the last stroke died away, when we heard borne on the wind the hoarse noise of loud voices outside, which were calling and talking at the bed-room window below. Although the clattering windows rendered it quite impossible for us to distinguish a single word that was said, we know well enough what it meant. The men were getting up a crew to go off to the rescue in the life-boat. "It will soon be dawn," we said. "Let us get up and go up on the hill to see the wreck." We scrambled out of bed and dressed ourselves hastily and noiselessly in the dark. Great care was necessary lest the little ones should be awakened, who would of course be eager to join us in our expedition, and that would inevitably bring down the maternal interdict on the whole scheme. Our hands grew numb with cold as we groped in the dark for our clothes, always so elusive when wanted in a great hurry. We compared progress in whispers and at length we were ready to go down, and the little ones were still asleep. We prepared ourselves as well as we could for the struggle with the drifts, that we well knew awaited us without. Hoods, shawls, cloaks, tippets, mittens, rubber-boots, all were in requisition, and when the goodman was ready to go forth, panoplied in pea-jacket and slouching sou'wester, we too were in readiness and waiting at the outside door to join him. He had no objection to offer to our plan, and so we set forth. It had grown intensely cold during the night. The snow had ceased to fall, and overhead the stars glittered in a steel-blue sky. But the wind still blew furiously, and it whirled about the icy particles of the new-fallen snow, which came driving against our faces with stinging power. As the snow yielded beneath our feet, it emitted that peculiar gritty, crunching sound heard only when the cold is extreme. Our progress in the teeth of the gale was no easy matter, and more than once we were obliged to pause and turn about to catch breath. Fortunately the snow was hardened somewhat by the severe cold, so we did not sink very deep in the drifts. Now and then there came a little lull in the wind which enabled us to look around and take our bearings, but most of the time we stumbled blindly, onward in the general direction that we knew we must take. When we reached the line where road and pasture met, there was no stone wall to climb. An unusually deep drift had utterly obliteratec. and buried it. We might have fancied ourselves in some unexplored arctic region, so strange did everything seem, were it not that in the occasional lull of the wind, we recognized here and there in the dim light, some familiar boulder from whose summit the fierce wind had snatched every particle of snow. Slowly and patiently, on and on we went, while ever nearer and louder the solemn "boom" of the signal gun still greeted our ears. At length we reached the "lookout," where under the lee of a huge boulder, we found a group of men and boys and a few adventurous girls already collected. It was still quite dark, though the dawn was beginning to brighten the eastern sky. But the bar, the channel, and the wreck were to the west of us. But even then when the snow settled down in the momentary lull of the wind, the trained eyes of the seamen, who formed the greater part of our little company, could distinguish the vessel on the bar, and we fancied that with our less skilful eyes we could detect a darker spot in the darkness. Yes, we were right. We saw it, for even as we were looking, there came from the dark spot a flash, followed by the report of the gun. A heavy sea was running and the waves broke on the beach with deafening noise, and all the bay was white with foam. "She is driven high up on the bar, beyond the rocks, and the crew are in no danger," said one of the men. "It would be folly to attempt to launch the life-boat" said another. "No boat could live a minute in such a sea." "The tide has already turned," said a third, "and in a few hours they can walk ashore without wetting their feet." It was now growing light, and the shape of the stranded vessel was becoming clearly defined to our watching eyes. "She is upright as a dish, and the crew are as safe as if they were ashore, if they did but know it," said one. "Ah, yes, if they only knew it," said another, "but it is a strange vessel, and I am half afraid that seeing the shore so near, they will try to land." They were very near the shore, but would they dare attempt to cross the seething, surging maelstrom of a channel, narrow though it might be, in their little boat? Heaven forbid ! The plaintive call of the signal gun ceased. It grew lighter and lighter. When the clouds of snow did not obscure our vision, we could now distinguish the figures of men on the deck. If we could but send them some message of comfort assuring them of their safety! They were so near that if the winds and waves were at rest, they could hear a voice calling to them from the spot where we stood. But above roar of the surf, the most powerful voice could not make itself heard at the distance of a few feet even. Nay the wind that had brought so distinctly to our ears, the signal of distress of the anxious crew, would hardly permit the sound of a cannon fired on shore to reach their ears. We were powerless to send them any message. could only watch and wait. We We saw an unusually high wave break over the deck. The we saw then men moving about evidently making preparation for something. Then the snow whirled by on the wind, and for some minutes we could see nothing. Then the wind quieted, the snow settled, and we could look again. Good heavens, they had lowered the boat and got it alongside. Now if it would but swamp before a single human being gets into it! We all see and know that they are going to leave the vessel, but nobody in our little group speaks. Nobody goes frantic with excitement at our dreadful inability to restrain them. The monotone of the surf breaks on our ears, as in speechless anxiety we watch the doomed mariners. One man climbs over the rail and gets into the boat. Two, three. Then a figure appears, half carried, half walking, which is scarcely distinguishable as the white prison of the snow shuts us in again. When we can no longer see, we talk. "Was it a sick man closely muffled," we ask, "or a woman's cumbrous drapery that we saw?" "It looked like a woman with a child in her arms," ventured an imaginative girl. But hush! hark! the wind dies away again. The air slowly clears. We see the boat at a little distance from the vessel. It rises on the crest of a wave, We see more than half the keel in mid-air. It sinks and disappears in the trough of the sea. The next wave is gigantic. Breathless we wait and watch, but the boat rides not to its summit. Hark! does a shrill shriek of human woe make itself heard for an instant above the ceaseless sound of the surf, or is it our strained and overwrought fancy? How the seconds rush by, with our hearts beating almost to suffocation. The snow shuts us in again, and the boat has not reappeared. It never reappeared. We saw it no more. With its precious freight, it went down before that mighty, ons weeping wave. There was no longer any need or use in watching or waiting. And with ifs masts lifted to the skies, high up on the bar where the mighty force of the wrathful elements had driven it, the forsaken vessel remained motionless, and the tide had now ebbed so perceptibly that not even the highest wave could leap upon the deck. We had forgotten ourselves in the intense excitement of the time. Now as one after another of our company turned homeward, we suddenly knew that our feet were freezing, our fingers stiff, and our faces so chilled that we could scarcely speak. And so sadly and half-reluctantly we turned away from the wreck for our homeward tramp across the pastures. With the wind in our favor this should have been ccmparatively easy, but, we were so cast down and dispirited by what we had seen, that the way seemed longer and more toilsome even than when we had come. swam ashore; and on subsequent days we speculated as to the possibility of recovering the bodies. But mortal eye never again caught a glimpse of that boat, or of one of the human beings, who that bitter morning were swallowed up before our eyes by the remorseless waves. Very likely they were all swept, by the out-going tide and the powerful current where they went down, many miles out to sea. The vessel though not seriously injured by being driven ashore, was an old one, and it had been forced so high up on the bar, that the owners decided that it would cost more than it was worth to remove it from its position. So the sails and other articles of value were removed, and then the stranded vessel was left to be the sport and plaything of the winds and waves, of the summer's burning sun, and the winter's bleak storms. As months went by, the shifting and yielding sands of the bar let the vessel down lower and lower, until at filled the cabin and hold. Still the naked masts rising skyward, called attention to the ill-fated and half-buried vessel. At length, one stormy autumn night, the masts were wrested away and borne out to After that at high water nothing of the wreck could be seen, and then gradually the ever-encroaching sands heaped themselves about it, until even at low tide every vestige of it had sunk and disappeared. sea. A day or two later, on a calm, mild, and sunny afternoon, when not a white-cap was visible on all the blue expanse of the bay, we rowed out from the light-house at half-length the sand swept over the deck and tide, to visit the stranded vessel. Everything remained just as the crew had left it in their unfortunate flight. The' cabin floor had never been wet at all. On a bit of line fastened up behind the stove, hung a little child's garments, and there were various articles of woman's clothing lying about. We knew then that the form we had so dimly seen, was a woman with a child in her arms, and if we needed any further assurance, it came when the newspapers, giving a list of the disasters of the gale, stated that the captain of this vessel had taken with him on this voyage, his young wife and only child. On the cabin table was a china cup, and a lamp that had burnt itself out. The open door of the closet revealed the dishes on the shelves orderly arranged, and on a narrow ledge at one side of the cabin was a pipe freshlyfilled with tobacco. The smooth and undisturbed berths, told with silent eloquence of a night of watching and sleepless anxiety. Few words were spoken as we stood there, and in silence we rowed back over the smiling and treacherous sea. VOL. LI. 17 When you walk on the beautiful, smooth, white beach near the bar, in the summer gloaming, and a flood of mellow radiance from the light-house tower comes dancing over the sparkling waters to greet you, you thoughtfully contemplate the bit of driftwood left at your feet by the softly-murmuring and retreating wave, and wonder whence it has come to you. Perhaps it is a bit of that buried hulk set free from bondage by the busy sea; or perhaps it is a bit of the mast returned from its long voyaging over the vast and mysterious ocean. Who knows? Sarah G. Duley. The Suburban Beauties of Washington. ELOW Georgetown and across the Long Bridge from Washington stands Arlington, with its templed front looking out from a picturesque frame-work of hill and tree,-looking out always, over river and city, sad in its very beauty; for once it was the home of those who loved it-the scene of elegant hospitality; now it is but a sentinel, guarding the dead. And while we gaze on this scene of beauty, To which he could forfeit a home so dear. Its templed columns and ancient trees, Brilliant and bright the flag is floating And the hills beyond with their brilliant tinges But the strangers' feet are walking Each day through the ancient hall, O, souls of the dead! O hearts of the living! In the soft moon's sudden light. In the days when Arlington was built, all mansions of any pretension took the form, in a greater or less degree, of the Greek temple; and to this day in our city, there are hundreds of small frame houses still standing, with pointed and pillard porticoes in this style, some of them, grand in their day, being decorated with wreaths and festoons of carved oak leaves, preserved for a hundred years by renewed coats of paint. The ancient city of Alexandria comes next, with its narrow, grassy streets, and It seems its old, unpainted buildings. Below and back of the city are many of the old Virginia mansions; some in moderately good repair, and still occupied by the discendents of the original possessors; some dilapidated and neglected; and others purchased by Northern people, renewed and modernized. One of the most historical of these is the old Mason Mansion, on the Potomac below Mt. Vernon. It has been renovated but not modernized, its possessor having the good taste to be fond of oldstyle mansion-houses. In olden times all good houses were mansions; now every detached residence, no matter how large, is a cottage; and "love in a cottage" has an entirely new meaning. This house is a fine specimen of the residences of the wealthy in the olden times, with its spacious halls, stairways and chambers, and its old style adornments of carved wood.. It is now owned and occupied by Col. E. Daniels, editor of the Richmond Journal, |