Year: 1874

The moon rising over the snow
mantled town of. Brattleboro, Vt,
flooded all the streets with mellow
light. Doubtless, Jack Frost had
some unusually fine pictures to ex-
ecute with his silver pencil, and had
requested her ladyship to shine bright
ly.


There was another artist, besides
Jack Frost, at work in Brattleboro
that night, and very grateful was he
for the moons bright shinig. This
was little Larkin Meade, who, after
the town was fast asleep, had crept
noiselessly from his room and out in
to the street to work on a snow-fgure.
His heart was so full of bright, beau
tiful thoughts, he did not feel the
cold as his little red hands heaped to-
gether the snow, and shaped it to suit
his fancy.


The moon might well have shOne
that night, if only to light up the
face of the boy artist, gazing up so
proudly, rapturously at his work
when finished, for under his hands
the form of an angel had grown out
of the snow.


1t was rude, to be sure, but there
was holy beauty in the upturned
face and folded hands, a majestic
grace in the sweeping wings and flow
| irg raiment, that betrayed the hand
OF genius.


The housetops were shining now
| like silver, the streets were sparkling
as though strewn with powdered
pearls, and the Angel of Snow shone
with lustrous splendor in the moon,
light. Larkin had seen just such an
angel-face bending over him in his
dreams. As he gazed upon it, the
snowy form seemed to change into
one of unutterable radiance and; ;beau
ty; the smiling lips seemed to part,
and he fancied he heard a soft, low
voice. sweet as the echo of silver
bells, thrilling his soul with joy.


Dear child" the voice seemed tc
say, ''be glad! have opened for you
the Gate Beautiful, and through il
YOU shall be led to undreamed Of
! heichts of happiness"


1t might have been the whisperings
of unseen angels, or it might have
been only the wind stirring the icy
branches of neighboring trees, and
echoing the longmgs Of his OWL
heart.


The next moment the moon drop
ped behind a cloud and the radiance
departed. \ warning clock struck
twelve, and the young sculptor star
tied from his dream, ran home, and
stole in as noiselessly as he had crePt
out.


The next morning. the good people
Of Brattleboro were amazed and de
lighted by the sight of majestic
Snow Angel, standing at a corner Of
two of the large avenues of the town.
The children flocked around it in
crowds, and it was the wonder OF the
whole village until it melted away.


In the meantime, it became whis
nared ohout that this wonderful crea
ton was the work of Larkin Meade.
the son OF prominent lawyer of Brat
tleboro. The marvellous story wa:
even talked about in the papers. II
this way it reached the eye of gooc
old Mr.. Longworth, of Cincinnati, {
man who loved to cherish native ar
especially sculpture.


Now, what should this good mar
do but sit down and write to tht
! Postmaster of Brattleboro, inquirinG
about the young artist. Hearing
good account of Kim, he wrote Il
Larkin himself, telling him that i
he were really ambitious to become
a sculptor he would gladly lend hin
a helping hand. One of the proud
est moments IN Larkin's life wa
when he read that letter at home
1t seemed as if the Gate Beautiful
had swung open sure enough, and h