painful reflections thronged, stirring my brain with wild commotion--cold

and death-like as the snowy fields was all earth--misery-stricken the

life-tide of the inhabitants--why should I oppose the cataract of

destruction that swept us away?--why string my nerves and renew my

wearied efforts--ah, why? But that my firm courage and cheerful exertions

might shelter the dear mate, whom I chose in the spring of my life; though

the throbbings of my heart be replete with pain, though my hopes for the

future are chill, still while your dear head, my gentlest love, can repose

in peace on that heart, and while you derive from its fostering care,

comfort, and hope, my struggles shall not cease,--I will not call myself

altogether vanquished.

One fine February day, when the sun had reassumed some of its genial power,

I walked in the forest with my family. It was one of those lovely

winter-days which assert the capacity of nature to bestow beauty on

barrenness. The leafless trees spread their fibrous branches against the

pure sky; their intricate and pervious tracery resembled delicate sea-weed;

the deer were turning up the snow in search of the hidden grass; the white

was made intensely dazzling by the sun, and trunks of the trees, rendered

more conspicuous by the loss of preponderating foliage, gathered around

like the labyrinthine columns of a vast temple; it was impossible not to

receive pleasure from the sight of these things. Our children, freed from

the bondage of winter, bounded before us; pursuing the deer, or rousing the

pheasants and partridges from their coverts. Idris leant on my arm; her

sadness yielded to the present sense of pleasure. We met other families on

the Long Walk, enjoying like ourselves the return of the genial season. At

409

The Last Man