The Cincinnati daily star. [volume] ([Cincinnati, Ohio]) 1875-1880, 1880-03-04
BIRDS IN THE SNOW.
t0uida in Belgravia.l


and the snow fell over land and sea so
heavily, so blindingly, so continually,
that ships were wrecked, trains were
wrecked, trains were blocked, posts were
stopped, and traffic well-nigh came to an
end in many of the districts even of
Ssathern England. and how much more
SO in the cold bleak North! Even down
in Dover snow was deep and ice was
thick-even in mild, moist Dover, where
mostly in winter time the roses blow,
and the south winds too, and all is green
at Yule.
Some little people who lived at an old
vicarage on the Dart River did not know
what TO make of it. None of them, ex-
cept Ray, the eldest, who was seven years
old, had eversee snow lie on the ground
at all; Ne had, and knew all about'it, be-
cause because he had spent a Christmas
tide on the moors of the East Riding
with his eod-mother; but his brothers
and sister, Rob and Tam and Dickie, and
tlfe twin sisters, Susie and Nellie, never
l. had seen the earth white in this way be-
fore, and they were very much delight
ell and very much alarmed, which is a
state of mind that has its pleasures at all
AGES, and its pain, too.
These six little mortals lived in a
vicarage, and their father was the Vicar,
and mother, alas for them! they had
none, for she had gone away into the
sky $50 they were told) when little Susie
and Nellie came down from there on to
earth.
perhaps it is the down of mammals
wings" said little Rob, who could re-
member her very well, and cried for her
still, when he saw the fine snow-fakes
coming down through the air.
"If she had wings am sure she would
come to U.S." said Ray, wistfully looking
up. II don't believe she has wings l
son't."
"But papa says she is an angel, and
Angels always have" said Rob, who was
very positive.
"She would come to us if she could
fy," said Ray; sat least, if God would
let her." he added, on reflection. Don't
you think, if she said to Him, I want to
kiss Rob and Ray and Tammie because
they miss me 80, He wouldn't say noT
Rob thought minute, then said to
his brother:
"Papa always says No. so p'rhaps God
does too"
"P'rhaps" sighed Ray, with tired
voice.
"No" was always said to them, and
how much sorrow that means in the life
of a childl
The vicarage was an old long wood
en- house, over-run with creepers, the
very house to be a paradise for children
and dogs, with all kinds of deep old case
ments and chimney-places, and corner
cupboards and paneled passages; the
very place for twilight romps and firelit
stories, for fun and play, and mirth and
mischief. But fun and play, and mirth
and mischief were all quartet frowned
upon at the yicarage, and though they
crept in at times, because they can never
be wholly absent where six children are,
yet they came in timidly and were in
hiding for the most part, and never
laughed out Justify or scampered about
without fear. For cold dark shadow
was upon the house and the hearts of
the children; and this shadow was that
of their father. He was the vicar of the
out-of-the-world parish of Goldenrod,
that lay on the banks of the Dart in a
secluded part of the county, as Herrick's
did before him; but he was in every
way unlike that bright-hearted and gem
ial country priest. Unhappily for his
: children, he was Of taciturn and
gloomy nature, very mean too, and very
harsh, and the sound of his heavy foot
along the passages made Rob and Ray
flee trembling, and the younger morsels
cry. What little tenderness he had
ever had was buried with his wife under
the big green yews on the south side of
of the church, and the children were
afraid of him; sadly and terribly afraid.
Their father was very good man;
that is to say, he was very truthful, very
honest, very laborious, never shrank
from any duty, however distasteful, and
never INDUCED in any pleasure however
tempting. But he was a stern man and
rigid, and he was also very mean; "close-
fisted," Keziah called it. His parish
was immense in extent, and very poor
In what it'rendered to him. There WAS
scarcely well-to-do person it, and the
Vicar, though he had snug sum in the
county bank and was by no means
Strengthened, living like very poor
man too, from inclination rather than
necessity; his thoughts were apt to be
sordid, and his laws apt to be harsh.
They were very happy very often in
deed, because there were the old messy
orchards and the broad green meadows,
and the hedges, and the woods and the
cattle, and the chickens, and the huge
kitchen, where they could curl on the
wooden settles, and eat their porridge,
and hear wonderful tales from Keziah,
who was cook, and nurse, and dairy-wo-
man, and housewife, all in one. Keziah
loved them; she had seen them all born,
and when their mother had lain dying,
had promised not to leave them, and she
kept her word, though she was buxom
woman, much beloved, and might haye
married the rich miller that had the
water-mill eight miles away down the
rives. But there we're many things