It was now the latter end of February, 1692. The winter had been cold, and the ground since December had most of the time been covered with snow. Our young friend, James Lyford, we left in Hadley. He was spending a few weeks in the family of Mr. Temple, who in the days of General Goffe was his intimate friend, and by his generosity and personal society had contributed greatly to the quiet and happiness of the exiled patriot. James had spent his early youth in Hadley, and a thousand pleasant associations were connected with its natural scenery, and the localities and friends of his childhood. The little time allowed for his visit, passed rapidly away, and his engagements at college required his return early in March. He wished also to spend a few days in Worcester on his return, to see a friend who had just located in that new settlement. One of Mr. Temple's sons, named Henry, a lad of fourteen years of age, was permitted to accompany him.

The little fellow had heard much of Boston, and longed to see a place which contained so many objects to gratify curiosity. The notions of the peaceful villagers of Hadley, in those days, were confined very much to their own beautiful territories, and they never thought of visiting Boston except for purposes of business, and having supplied their wants, which were few and simple, they always gladly returned to their homes, and in the community of friendship and good will, together with the christian sympathy which pervaded their little settlement, they found a degree of contentment and happiness, to which wealth, fashion and luxury can never attain.

But the youth of Hadley were not always satisfied with the quiet scenes of rural life. The fame of Boston, its high buildings, crowded market, the steeples and bells of the churches, the ships in the harbor, and its various objects of interest and attraction, possessed a charm which never invested their own blue hills and blooming forests. Boston at this time contained six thousand inhabitants, and was a beautiful town, covered with fine buildings, pleasant gardens, and streets ornamented by trees. Many of our young readers will remember their feelings, when for the first time they came to visit this now splendid city, and will readily imagine those of young Temple, when the same prospect, though in miniature, was held out to his eye.

It required some special preparation for a journey to Boston, the distance being one hundred miles, and through a country but little travelled, and with only two inns on the road. The sleighing was now fine, and Lyford preferred this mode of conveyance, as they had several articles to carry, which could not be taken on horseback. Mr. Temple provided them with every thing necessary for themselves, and provender for the horse; they had also materials for producing fire, an axe, and a shovel, to be used in case of snow-drifts, besides the trunk which contained Lyford's clothes, and books; a rifle, with sufficient powder and ball, completed their arrangements for the journey.

Thus equipped, the two friends started on the twenty-sixth of February, and in the evening arrived at a little settlement, thirty miles from Hadley, where they passed the night. Leaving early the next morning, they hoped to reach Worcester in the evening, and they rode quietly most of the day, moving very slowly on account of the difficulties of the road, which was but slightly broken. The morning had been fine and clear, but towards noon the clouds came up, and the wind changed to northeast,—indicating one of those violent snow-storms which sometimes filled up the roads, and placed a long embargo on social intercourse. As the day declined, it began to snow, and James now urged his horse to his utmost speed, as they were far from any habitation, and there seemed no alternative, but either to get to Worcester, or perish in the woods. The snow was now falling thick and fast, with a high northeast wind directly in the faces of the travellers, and creating new obstacles to the already difficult road; the evening was at hand, and they were still ten miles from Worcester, and so violent was the storm, that it soon became evident they could not reach the settlement. In this dilemma, they hesitated for a moment, when James recollected a kind of shed he had seen on his way up, about a mile from their present position; and being assured that the only chance for their lives was in reaching that spot, they redoubled their efforts, James clearing the way with his shovel, and Henry leading the horse, the tempest meanwhile raging with the greatest violence.

The horse was now hardly able to keep his feet, having been jaded and exhausted by incessant toil, and they were still a quarter of a mile from the shed: at this moment they reached a high drift, which it seemed impossible to pass; and Henry, worn out with cold and fatigue, could no longer make the least effort. Lyford was now in the most alarming circumstances; he was himself greatly fatigued, and his strength could not much longer sustain him. He placed Henry in the sleigh, and covered him with blankets, while he returned to the snow-drift with his shovel, and in half an hour worked through. It was now dark, and the wind had fortunately blown the snow from the remainder of the road to the shed, which he reached, at last, nearly overcome by anxiety and fatigue. It was well they found a resting-place there, for just before them an immense snow-drift reared its white and impassable barrier, which the strength of twenty men could not sufficiently reduce, and there was no circuit by which it could be avoided.

The shed under which our travellers were now resting, was built of logs, and wholly open in front; it faced the south, and its roof, composed of lighter wood, sloped nearly to the ground. It was built merely to feed horses on their way, and furnish a convenient spot, where travellers might rest for an hour. In one corner was a rough chimney, made of stones, but there was no furniture of any description, and little shelter from rain when the wind was south; but it seemed to our travellers, in their forlorn condition, like a home of safety and rest. They were yet unable to tell what might befall them, but their first duty of devout thanksgiving to a kind and protecting Providence was immediately and gratefully performed.

The storm had now increased to a furious tempest; the wind roared among the trees, and its wild and startling echoes sounded from the valleys and rocks. Sometimes they came in the loud tones of thunder, and then in the rapid sweep of the whirlwind; and vast clouds of snow were driven along the open spaces, and piled in huge heaps near the open front of the shed, affording some additional shelter to its inmates. But the place was at best a cold and comfortless lodging: there was no wood for a fire, and only the dim candle of the lantern to afford them light. In these circumstances, Lyford made the best possible arrangements for the night: the sleigh was placed in a corner, two large blankets were extended before it and fastened to a pole, which was secured to a low beam that ran across the shed, and by a rude frame-work supported its roof. This contrivance furnished a kind of enclosure, which kept out the snow, and afforded a partial shelter for the horse as well as themselves. The poor animal, thoroughly exhausted, on being loosed from the harness, immediately laid himself down, and was covered by a blanket, and protected as far as possible from the storm. Lyford prepared a bed in the sleigh, of such materials as he could collect, and after taking some refreshment they covered themselves and went quietly to rest.

When the morning appeared, the storm was wild and fierce as ever. An immense quantity of snow had fallen, the atmosphere was filled with its driving masses, and there seemed no prospect of a favorable change. Lyford dug his way a few steps from the shed, but it was vain to contend with the furious elements, and he was glad to retreat to his forlorn shelter. By the light of day he discovered a quantity of broken wood and branches of trees, which afforded them the relief of a fire; and this was the more necessary, as the air was now excessively cold. A survey of their supplies followed, by which it appeared their corn and provisions were sufficient, with economy, for eight or ten days; the horse, however, it was necessary to keep on very short allowance, as there was little prospect that they could proceed on their journey for ten days at least.

On the third day the storm abated, and in the afternoon the sun came forth in his glory. Lyford succeeded in digging his way to a neighboring tree, and ascended to its topmost branches, where he beheld a vast and trackless expanse of snow, which had spread over hill and valley to an average depth of nearly three feet, but which in many places was piled like mountains, and seemed to defy all the power of man to break down its barriers and force a passage.

As Lyford descended from the tree, he saw a dark object on the snow, about a quarter of a mile distant, and in the direction of what appeared to be the road. It first seemed like the trunk of a tree, which had been burned to a coal, yet he soon perceived it had a slow motion towards him. His curiosity was strongly excited, and he gazed with increasing interest, until the outlines of a human figure were distinctly visible, as it dragged its slow pace through the heavy snow drifts towards Lyford. In about an hour from the time he was discovered, Pompey—for it was no other than he—stood before Lyford, who was extremely perplexed and surprised at his sudden appearance.

'Be this you, Massa James?' said Pompey. 'How came you up in dis tree, and among dese snow banks?'

'It will be time enough to ask these questions when I get out. But what brings you here, Pompey?'

'Come to find you, Massa. Went to Wooster first, but no Massa Lyford there—so I came all the way here. Will you tell me, Massa, where I get something to eat?'

'All in good time. But where did you stay last night, Pompey?—you could hardly walk a mile a day through such snow drifts as these.'

'Staid in the trunk of a tree, Massa, these two nights, and glad to get there,—snow storm drove me in. I look out to-day, and saw a man climb a tree. I thought if Pompey get to that man, he may find something better than snow to eat.'

'Hard fare, Pompey; how do you like this blessed land now?'

'Nothing but trouble in it, Massa James; kicks, prisons, and snow-storms. No such things in Virginny. Hope Massa Walter send me back before de debils carry me off. Boston and Salem full of debils as dey can hold; de women full of debils, too, and de men running as if de debils were after them. Here's a letter for you, Massa Lyford.'

James took Pompey to the shed, where the poor negro obtained some food, and was soon in a condition to give some further account of himself. The letter he brought was from Strale, in which he requested Lyford to return without delay. He stated that universal distrust prevailed, and that consternation and dismay extended to every circle; the regular studies at college were interrupted, accusations for witchcraft were coming in from every quarter, and it was fully believed the reign of Satan had commenced. For himself, he held the popular notions in utter contempt; but it was foolish and dangerous to oppose them openly, and he begged that Lyford would not tarry at Worcester, but return at once, as his counsel and assistance might be necessary; and as no one was safe, it was better for him to be at home, where such measures might be adopted, as the course of events should require.

Walter had despatched this letter to Worcester, in the expectation that Lyford was there; but the faithful negro, finding he had not arrived, pushed on towards Hadley, until driven by the snow-storm into such shelter as he could find, when he fortunately discovered Lyford in the manner we have related.

It was impossible to leave the shed with any hope of making progress through the snow; the travellers were therefore compelled to wait for a change of weather. They succeeded in procuring wood enough in the neighborhood to keep up their fire, and by good management they were tolerably comfortable for a few days. During this time, the solitary waste was cheered by no voice or track of man; all was silent, save that now and then the loud report of Lyford's rifle, aimed at some passing wild-fowl, sent its echoes among the trees: but on the sixth day a gentle south wind sprung up, which was soon followed by a cloudy sky, and in the evening torrents of rain began to fall, which deluged the country like a flood. It continued all the next day, and it was with great difficulty a dry spot could be preserved in the shed. In the evening it cleared up; the wind suddenly changed to north-west, and became extremely cold. The next day, being the eighth from the time they first entered the shed, the travellers were again on their way over a smooth surface of snow and ice; and in two hours the little cluster of houses at the settlement, with its white church spire, greeted their eyes, and gave them promise of refreshment and rest.

Such adventures as these were very common among the pioneers of New England. Her vigorous and hardy population, despising the rigor of the climate, penetrated her deepest recesses, planted themselves in the midst of her forests, and there, rich in contentment, in honest industry and vigorous health, and above all in the unfettered exercise of the rights of conscience, they fulfilled their work on earth, and calmly and peacefully descended to their graves. Other generations like themselves have filled the land; the welcome of hospitality, the house of God, the family altar, the blessed Bible, and the thousand endearments of home and friends,—these, all these, and unnumbered other blessings, have been conferred upon New England by her primitive inhabitants, and are at once the monuments of their fidelity, and the pledges that if the sons walk in the footsteps of the fathers, she will continue to advance in national eminence and glory.