Middletown transcript., 1882-01-20
MORE THAN CoNQUERoR.

Winter in Russia is more emphatic
than with us. There is a steely glitter
in the ice, barbed arrow in the hail.
Eternal glaciers lie upon the hillside ;
at least it seems as if blossom and leaf
and fresh green grass were gone for
ever. The sky, sparkling, blue and
cold as turquoise stone, has only snow
drifts Of clouds floating here and there,
illumined by a golden light called sun
shine, but totally different from the
life-givingradiancewehail with delight.
Beneath such a sun we would imagine
only snowfowers could bloom.
Yet young man loiters along the
frozen road as if summer zephyrs were
waiting the subtle odors of fields of
violets and roses to his senses. He is
not mufled in costly furs, yet there is
something within that makes life warm
and ecstatic and full of rosy bloom, des-
pite the desolate fields about him,
where the snow lies pure and cold as a
quarry of Carrara marble. He does
not note the beauty Of the scene, either /;
thedelicate penciling of the bare branch
es against the luminous sky /; the dainty
snowflowers, pure bridal wreaths of
white, that deck the trees for earth's
winter festival the glitter Of the ice,
with its cold opaline splendor where a
sunbeam strikes it the crystal sheath
ing Of twig and brush flashing bravely
like coat of mail in the noontide light.
He is dreamer, and he is in love, so
the present does not exist for him. 1t
is nothing that he has never spoken to
the lady of his dreams that she is set
far above him that his love is like
"The desire Of the moth for the star;
Of the day for the morrow
1t is enough that he sees her every
day-and he lives upon that-though
her sky-blue eyes have never rested
upon his face. By-and-by he will want
more than a glance, and the torment of
love will begin.
In the distance he can see a glimpse
Of the lordly structure that is her home,
and in his mind he contrasts it with his
own humble abode. But he is a soldier
eef forth and who can say what the
future may have in store for him :?
Russia offers prizes to intellect and
zeal, why should he not gain one and
make name for himself ; or, oh, &C.
static thought, for her-for Vera !!
That is her name-it sings itself to
mystic music in his dreams-it is writ
ten on his soul.
Yet he has only seen her whirling by
him day after day in sleigh fashioned
like a white swan. Sometimes she
drives herself, and he has been devising
means to say some word to her, to
make her look at him once and speak
to him. All ! if she is only alone to-
day. It is coming now He stops with
sudden flash of fire kindling his blood.
A slim girlish figure, in dark, wine
colored velvet skirt trimmed with sa-
bles. Her golden curls are streaming
in the wind her blue eyes are full Of
the sunshine of youth, that light that
is clouded so soon her lips are scarlet
as pomegranate blossom on her
cheeks the keen wind has brought vivid
roses.
Nicole loses his head at the sight.
He does not note the thin, gray-haired
old man at her side, half-buried in his
furs, and shrinking from the icy blast.
This mans face is cold and hard as if
caryen from stone; his lips are stern
and compressed !; no kindly light warns
his pale eyes. A man with an iron will,
you would say-no prayers or tears
would avail with such an one. Nicole,
blinded by the splendid vision of the
girl, supreme in her young beauty, sud-
denly stepped forward and took off his
hat.
An idea had come to him-a frenzy
to hear her voice. She had heart of
heavenly pity, he knew, and SO he
would come as a mendicant. He felt
indeed like one who was willing to
kneel before her, if he could win one
smile.
But he merely held his hat as one
that asks for alms-and he looked poor
enough-like poor scholar whose in
tellect is his only wealth, and who finds