Crash! crash!! crash!!! A heavy, thunderous sound

Crash! crash!! crash!!! A heavy, thunderous sound, Re-echoed from the snow-clad mountains round. Then shrieks and voices hoarse came through the night And far below we saw the lantern's light,— It was the slides again! Through misty damp, We hastened downward to the stricken camp.

The Christmas Eve! Ill time had chosen Fate To work her will and joy annihilate! Women and children lay beneath that snow, And many a bronzed cheek was touched with woe. Think not those men who toil amid the hills Lack generous fire that noble bosom fills.

Their hearts are tender and their hearts are true, Their sympathies come quick as mountain dew. I've been at many rescues; seen the tears Fill manly eyes, when hope came after fears. Seen cheeks turn pale, as from their prisons deep, Crushed, lifeless forms were lifted in last sleep: As some dear comrade, thought past hope, beneath The hard-pack'd snow, was found to live—to breathe. Oh, true those brawny delvers of the mines, Though in their fashion they are rough at times!

Have you ever seen a snow-slide?—No? Ah! oft I've wished their pictures to outgrow! I've drunk a drop or two the thoughts to drown, 'Tis hard, sometimes, to keep emotion down. Soon we had rescued four; and found three—dead; A father, mother, child. The cradle-head Stood by the shattered wall, and close there hung— Not one but felt his heart with pity wrung— The child's blue, tiny stocking. On the man Lay the roof-tree; we hardly dared to scan With sidelong glance the sight. But wife nor child The snow had marr'd, for still the mother smiled; The little hands were clasped as if in prayer— As lisped words but echoed mother's there, Or as the thoughts were filled with visions bright, Of what the eyes should see at dawn of light. Alas! those eyes would open never more; How quick their time for smiles and tears was o'er! The clasped hands that toy should never lift Saint Nicholas had brought for Christmas gift.

And so we worked, and ere the darkness fled Six others we had placed among the dead, But none we found were living. Nine there lay All stark upon the snow, that black night's prey. Where it would end, there was no time to ask, As steadily we held the grewsome task. We did our best—I'm over sixty now, And strife with Fortune early lined my brow— So I, when overcome with labor sheer, A lantern held or uttered words of cheer.

At last we reached them—all too late it seemed, So pale their faces as the cold morn gleamed. Around the father's neck her arms were flung, As if in terror from her couch she sprung, When first upon her ears came, faint and low, The distant rumble of the loosened snow. Lovely she lay in her long, broidered robe, Her brown hair rippling o'er each argent globe Of her ripe bosom's wealth. A long lash press'd Silken on either cheek. Even when oppressed By death's close presence—she was lovely then, But still more lovely as those days came when Her cheeks with health were red, and in her eye The light of friendship shone, and, by and by, The tender look of love. No wonder Jo Lost then and there his heart. The girl to know Was prelude sure to loving. Wonderful Indeed, had he not loved her. And a full And generous destiny appeared to say, You'll stand together on your Wedding Day. Whene'er I saw them happy side by side, My foolish heart said, "Jo has found his bride." Perhaps when heart's for heart, there is a link We do not understand. I sometimes think Love called to love from Death's dark portico— Or else what urged the lad to labor so? 'Twas he who, reverent, raised her in his arms, All mute at her sweet face and maiden charms. My full belief it was that from the grave The girl had come to wed my boy so brave. But not so fast, old Time has chastened me, For who can tell what Fate will say, shall be!

Yes, once again the story all revives— Strange part the Christmas Eve played in their lives!