been its nature, that, except on one occasion, she has not been able to
leave home for more than six years.

"THE SNOW-DROP" would never have appeared had not life's wintry hour
given it birth! It was written to beguile tedious time. Winds, as they
played through groves that surround her aged father's retired and humble
dwelling, sweet songsters, as they caroled from spray to spray, and the
ripple of the Androscoggin, as it glided past, to her ear, were nature's
sweet minstrels, that cheered her heart in solitude and inspired _her,
too,_ to attempt the artless strains of nature.

This little work, at the suggestion of her friends, is presented and
dedicated to the benevolent public, humbly hoping and trusting that it
may give pastime to the leisure hour, impress more fully moral and
religious sentiment, and afford some little return for the thought she
has bestowed upon it.




THE SNOW-DROP[1]


Sweet little unassuming flower,
It stays not for an April shower,
But dares to rear its tiny head,
While threat'ning clouds the skies o'erspread.

It ne'er displays the vain desire
To dress in flaunting gay attire;