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Slowly in the shade of hemlocks, and in the dense growth of branches and alders -- slowly settles down and melts away the winter's snow. But warmer suns, longer days, gentle rains prevail; the snow dissolves away even there, and presently there is an end to all the mystery of this gathering and wild flying and cawing of the birds; the painful barking and wild trembling and midnight howling of the dogs. The neighbors have found there, and now completely removed it from the snow, the frozen, poorly clad corpse of a human being. A basket is beside it, and a jug half filled with poorest wine. It is a female -- an aged woman -- long dead, and buried in the deep snows of the winter!

The coroner's inquest that was held on the body, decide that she died from exposure to the cold.

But who is this snow-clad one? Whence came she? Have any lost a friend, beloved, revered -- a grey-haired mother, wife, sister, neighbor? And echo answers, have they?

Go throughout the families of the place, and no one will be found who have missed her. There is not a social relation snapped by her decease and absence in the town. No church there has lost a member, no hamlet is one the less for her.

The town is astir, however, with the news, and many go to the lonely place where the body was discovered, and walk away saying, "this is a strange and mysterious affair!"

The investigations of the coroner's jury go to show that the woman was aged and friendless, poorly clad, and that she probably belonged in some other town -- perhaps even a pauper; that she was overtaken by night in a severe storm, or cold day, and betook herself for shelter to this clump of trees, where she perished, and lay entombed over the sojourn of winter.

Word is forthwith sent out into the towns around announcing this sad and unusual event, and giving all the particulars of the inquest.

"No such person has been living here!" said Squire Ben Stout.

"I think not!" said the selectman, Mr. Jonas Savage.

"You know -- of course you know -- you would know -- Mr. Savage, if any body was missing from the roll of our paupers -- of course you would," said Squire Ben.

"I ought to know," said that gentleman, "I have been there often enough this winter -- and -- lets me see -- they are more full now than ever, I believe."

"Well, so I had got the idea," replied the Squire, "I guess it don't belong to us any how; do you. Savage?"

"The body!"

"Yes, of course -- the body!"

"Don't see how it can, if they are all on hand and alive."

"Just so; that's my opinion. We of course should miss a pauper gone all winter! Better tell them we havn't lost any. Faith and here comes Haddock -- and on my soul! Bunce! How do you do, gentlemen? Savage and I were just counting noses down at the poor-house, and find it all right with us; about this dead person, what is it, Haddock? Do you get any hold of the rumor, Bunce, eh?"

"Why, we feel a little startled," said the latter.

"We fear. Squire Stout," said Mr. Haddock, "that the deceased woman does belong to us, and is the aged Mrs. Dodge of the poor-house family."

"Whe-w!" exclaimed the Squire -- "Dodge I Dodge . Did I ever know any thing about Dodge, Savage?"

"Why, I rather think," said that mouth-piece of the old Squire, "there is a Dodge on the books."

"I've a confoundly treacherous memory," said the Squire. "What Dodge was it, and how long had she been on?"

"Mrs. Dodge was the widow of Mr. Hiram Dodge, formerly a thriving business man here," said Mr. Haddock, "and at last a poor man, keeper of the turnpike gate. You remember him, Squire Ben?"

"To be sure I to be sure, Mr. Haddock, I do indeed.

A fine man of business and character he once was. Pity though that he fell off, and went down; a great, sad misfortune. And our Dodge on the roll was his widow. I declare, I recollect it now as well as if it happened only yesterday. But then it can't be she -- you know -- why, she was of the very first family in Crampton! No, it's some other person -- it's not Mrs. Dodge, Savage! Heavens, no! Besides, Captain Bunce would miss her, you know, at once, and look her up."

"Oh, yes, to be sure," said Captain Bunce, "we missed her, and I asked the paupers about her, and we kinder expected the old lady in every day or two. She didn't come, however, and after a reasonable while we gave up looking for her. One can't spend all the winter months, you know, running after wandering and vagabond paupers.

"True. That's true, Captain Bunce, I don't see but you are excusable if it is she."

"Have they not a claim on us, gentlemen," inquired Mr. Haddock, in a very solemn and serious manner, "for at least a reasonable share of attention and sympathy?"

"Now, Haddock, don't! Don't go into the matter as if any body was unreasonable and inhuman," said Savage. "You know that Captain Bunce makes every provision in his power "

"I don't know any such thing, Mr. Savage," he exclaimed, interrupting him. "I am not at all conscious of any such thing. Captain Bunce is here, and can answer for himself; I can't."