"Some dark ravine
Took shadow, or the sombre green
Of hemlocks turned to pitchy black
Against the whiteness at their back."
To be "snow-bound" may be very nice in a large, well-ordered household; but in solitude, with neither books nor companions, and with the remembrance of a family far away, who perchance may just then need your stout arm to release them from a like imprisonment, it is not a cheerful position; and I could not repress a sigh as I gazed over the trackless way, remembering that I was five miles from a railroad station, in a small upland village, not famous for the enterprise of the inhabitants. The sigh was scarcely breathed when, on the confines of the opposite meadow, I espied two figures struggling against the elements, evidently intent on working their way to the inn through the terrible drifts. It was weary work; for they fell and arose again often, during the short time I watched them before hastening to the old landlord, who was smoking his pipe where was once the barroom, and dreaming over the visions of his long-gone youth. As soon as the purpose of my call was known, he summoned three stout laborers from the kitchen, where they were rejoicing with the maids over the prospect of an idle day, and bade them go at once to the relief of the travellers. I grew impatient with the long delay of the servants, the more as but one of the two men was to be seen breasting the storm; the other must have fallen. Forgetting my delicate lungs and small physique, I donned my overcoat and hat, and, fortified with a flask of brandy, hastened to the rescue, reflecting that brains are often as useful as muscle in an emergency. The more successful traveller, a stout son of "green Erin," was quite exhausted when we reached him; but he found breath to articulate, in answer to our inquiries for his companion: "Indeed, he fell near the big tree. Oh! he be's a real gintleman." The informer was conveyed to the house by two of the men, while with what seemed to me supernatural strength, I made my way with the third toward the aforesaid "big tree," walking on the drifts where the stouter man went down, and though the strong, keen northwest wind nearly took away my breath, and the sleet almost blinded me, I was first on the spot. It seemed to me two hours, though it was less than half that time, from the moment when I lifted the head of the fallen man and succeeded in pouring into his mouth a spoonful of brandy, till we landed with our burden at the door of the inn.
There was something in my first glance upon that cold, handsome face that came to me like a dream of early days—something that claimed kindred with the associations of my youth. By the motherly solicitude of the landlady I knew that he would be speedily resuscitated, and, prostrated by my exertions, I was leaving him in her care, when I stooped to reach the hat of the gentleman from the floor where it had been thrown, when I saw the name "Redwood R. Hood," written in the crown. Immediately I knew why I had been impressed with his face, and turning to that form over which strangers were bending with curious gaze I said peremptorily, "Take the gentleman to my room; he is a friend of mine; and, Mrs. S——," I added to the landlady, who looked incredulous, "with your help we can very soon restore the circulation, and he will have more quiet there than here." I will not enter into the process of resuscitation; let it suffice that by evening my friend was the occupant of the large arm-chair before the piles of burning peat, and we had gone over the years intervening between us, with the circumstances of our meeting again in a summary manner, and we now sat in the early twilight quietly looking at one another.
"The 'wolf' snow came near devouring little 'Red Riding Hood' this time," I said, bursting into a laugh again at the joyous memories that name recalled.
"Even so," replied the pale figure opposite, "and I owe my life to you, William Dewey, the 'billet doux' of early days. Happy hours of our youth!" he added, almost regretfully. "Yes, they were happy," I responded, "even with all their drawbacks; yet what do you think now of the sermons of two hours in length filled with the strong meat of total depravity, election, inability, foreordination, and reprobation, to which we were under bonds to listen and to give a rehash at home, and the tedious prayers which we were obliged to take all standing; a much more respectful attitude, however, than the lounging, sitting posture of the present generation of the so-called orthodox?"
"Do you remember," he said, a smile spreading all over his face, "when we were at Parson Freewill's school in L——, in the old meeting-house with the square pews, with seats that lifted when the congregation arose for prayer, and the vigorous slam we gave the covers when we reseated ourselves? I think that powerful stroke rather compensated for the length of the prayer; it was something to look forward to. But my most fearful remembrance is the hour after supper devoted to the Assembly's Catechism. I can see my poor aunt now, shaking her grey curls over the old family Bible, from which she was endeavoring to prove to me the words of the Catechism which said I had lost all communion with God, was under his wrath and curse, and so made liable to all the miseries of this life and the pains of hell for ever, and that through no fault of mine; but that such was the corruption of my nature that I was utterly indisposed and made opposite unto all that is spiritually good, and wholly inclined to evil, and that continually!" (Vide Catechism of Westminster Assembly.)
"How is it possible you have your catechism at your tongue's end even at this date?" I replied. "Really I doubt if I could repeat an answer correctly; but I thank God who has brought me out of such terrible darkness."
"Then you have escaped?" he inquired, putting out his hand to grasp mine; "you, a deacon's son, brought up in the very midst of 'Brimstone Corner'! Well, well! I must believe the age of miracles has not passed, for this cannot be anything less than a miracle!"