The Press., 1891-01-22

AIRY %, 1891.
 From Stafford Grange Portfolio.
 WINTER AND THE POETS.
 Jack Frost, the king of winter, is won- derful magician. How the touch of his finger glorifies the most common things. Look how he transforms the steam on your kitchen window into such fairy like pictures of grove, and palm trees, gar lands. flowers, and ferns. .s [, Did you notice how the frost on the window panes almost always assumes a leafy .forms as if to remind us that even in the midst of winter, under the ice and snow, the verdure and bloom of springtlme were waiting their resurrection, and so giv- ing us beautiful lessons in hope and faith. He sends his icy breath across. the stream and waterfall and To crystal bridge is formed, and curtains riyaling the most costly tapestry and embroidery are hung before our admiring eyes. ' He waves his scepter, and every tree and bush, every twig and blade of grass, are loaded with diamonds richer than all the mines of the earth could produce, and so cheap that the yer e t beggar can claim them as his own. Winter is a charming season not withstanding the froet and cold. "When the deserted fields put on their winter robe of purest white," how beauti- full is the snow. There are forms through which it floats as airily as it descends from from the sky itself. Longfellow in his s'Snowfakes" says: ''This is the poem of the air
 Slowly in silent sylables recorded;
 Now whispered and revealed To world and feld." Out on the bosom of the air, Out of the cloud-folds of their garments
 shaken,
 Over the woodlands, brown and bare,
 Over the harvest fields forsaken. Silent and soft and slow Descends the snow. t::e Who'd not love to watch the large feathery flakes descending and eBathine everything on which they fall with their own pure whitenees? The ground, the house-tops and the fences are dressed iu ermine fit for 8 queen. The great trees bend beneath their heecy burden. Whit tier gives us charming winter picture ir his familiar poen, "Snow bound" Strange domes and towers
 Rose up where sty or corn-crib stood, On garden wall, or belt of wood; A smooth, white mound the bush pile showed fenceless drift what once was road; The bridle post an old man sat-
 With loose flung cloak and high cooked hat The well curb had 8 Chinese roof And even the well sweep, high aloof In its stout splendor seemed to tell Of Pisa's leaning miracle.
 And Lowell tells us in his charming lverse how:
 The snow had begun in the gloaming, And busily all the night, Had been heaping field and highway With silence deep and white.
 Every pine, and fir, and hemlo k 1 Wear ermine too dear for an earl, ! And the poorest twig on the elm tree Was ridged inch deep with pearl. | From sheds new roofed with cassaya, Came chanticleer's muf1ed crow, l The stiff rails were softened to swansdOwn
 And still duttered down the snow. It is delightful to ride through the wood after such snow storm, when no win( disturbs it's surface and all nature is tuck ed under her sparkling, heecy robes. Blu the snow does not always drop down & quietly like 'feathery flowers" as one poe calls them ''the blossoms of winter"
 'Borne on the breath of winter day
 Leaves and flowers and gems are they:"
 Another poet speaks of them as flower exiled from the gardens of Heaven. :.
 The wonderful snow is falling Over river and mountain and wold;
 The trees bear spectral blossoms, ! Tn ho ynoon1ichk h1urrod on1 cold
 There's beautiful garden in Heaven. l And these are the banished flowers,
 Fallen and driven and drifting | To this dark world of ours."
 In contrast to this, is Miss Gould's mel ry little song for the children
 The feathery flakes how fast they fly,
 As dancers in an airy hall
 That hasn't room to hold them all,
 While some keep up and others fall,
 The atoms shift, then thick and swift,
 They drive along to form the drift, I That waving up so dazzling white,
 Is rising like wall of light. And what can be more purely beautifl than a clean snow drift, with it's waves an lines and mouldings so exquisitly fashiol ed and delicately tinted and shadowed i the sunset light of winter day?
 But there are winter days when the su is hidden and the snow comes down wit g rush and whirl. the wind howls throug the tree tops shaking down the last linge ing brown leaves. It roars down the chin ney, rattles the windows, and drives tt flakes before 1t in perfect tempest, darl ening all the sky and shutting out the vie of the nearest objects.
 Then what so pleasant as to gatht around the comfortable fireside, and wit cheerful talk, while the fingers are but with some useful or pretty work, nal sunshine for yourself and others in spi of the snow outside, or, if it please yo better, lose yourself in the pages of son fascinating book, or weave bright fanci in the glowing freight.
 MRS. J. o. CRAWFORD.
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 MUSICAL.