thought, with the mind's eye half shut, and two in pleasant dreams,
and two in that strangest of enjoyments, the forgetfulness alike of
joy and woe. The moment of rising belongs to another period of time,
and appears so distant, that the plunge out of a warm bed into the
frosty air cannot yet be anticipated with dismay. Yesterday has
already vanished among the shadows of the past; to-morrow has not yet
emerged from the future. You have found an intermediate space, where
the business of life does not intrude; where the passing moment
lingers, and becomes truly the present; a spot where Father Time, when
he thinks nobody is watching him, sits down by the wayside to take
breath. O that he would fall asleep, and let mortals live on without
growing older!

Hitherto you have lain perfectly still, because the slightest motion
would dissipate the fragments of your slumber. Now, being irrevocably
awake, you peep through the half-drawn window-curtain, and observe
that the glass is ornamented with fanciful devices in frostwork, and
that each pane presents something like a frozen dream. There will be
time enough to trace out the analogy, while waiting the summons to
breakfast. Seen through the clear portion of the glass, where the
silvery mountain-peaks of the frost scenery do not ascend, the most
conspicuous object is the steeple, the white spire of which directs
you to the wintry lustre of the firmament. You may almost distinguish
the figures on the clock that has just told the hour. Such a frosty
sky, and the snow-covered roofs, and the long vista of the frozen
street, all white, and the distant water hardened into rock, might
make you shiver, even under four blankets and a woollen comforter.
Yet look at that one glorious star! Its beams are distinguishable
from all the rest, and actually cast the shadow of the casement on the
bed, with a radiance of deeper hue than moonlight, though not so