THE MOTHER PERISHING IN A SNOW STORM.* BY SEBA SMITH. THE cold wind swept the mountain's height, *"In the year 1821, a Mrs. Blake perished in a snow-storm in the night time, while travelling over a spur of the Green Mountains in Vermont. She had an infant with her, which was found alive and well in the morning, being carefully wrapped in the mother's clothing." And colder still the winds did blow, And darker hours of night came on, And deeper grew the drifting snow; Her limbs were chilled her strength was gone. 'Oh, God!' she cried, in accents wild, 'If I must perish, save my child!' She stripped her mantle from her breast, And round the child she wrapped the vest, And smiled to think her babe was warm. At dawn a traveller passed by, And saw her 'neath a snowy veil; The frost of death was in her eye, Her cheek was cold, and hard, and pale ;— He moved the robe from off the child, The babe looked up and sweetly smiled! THE POET'S MISSION. BY THE EDITOR. Он уе, who sweep with an unfettered hand Strike us the notes of joy! Ye who have poured, of heaven, A minstrelsy of madness, mocking us Part them a little for the light of heaven, Priesthood of holy song, go in, go in THE RAINBOW. BY CHARLES H. UPTON. ETHEREAL diadem! whose blended rays Celestial smile! beneath whose beans the dove And bore the emblem of returning love Resplendent arc! whose prism-blended hues Till He the holy effluence did diffuse Sign-manual of God! inscribed on high, Where, on the tablet of the vaulted sky, |