Six long, tedious months in her father’s gorgeous palace, had the lovely maiden been constrained to mingle in the festal scenes which enlivened the monarch’s dwelling during that dreary time when the poor earth lay helplessly beneath the iron hand of winter. How often from the palace-windows had she looked with eyes dimmed with tears, and most melancholy glances on the world that was subject during all those months to a _natural_ kind of heathenish slavery! Despoiled of their rich garments the old princes of the forests stretched forth their naked arms toward her in supplication of her presence and charitable aid. A voice, to no ear audible save her own, crept up from beneath the winding-sheets which envelopes streamlet and river; and a wail that broke forth from the poor in their agony and want, reached her gentle heart, and her tears fell afresh. And even the children of gayety and fashion felt an irresistable yearning in their hearts to listen once more to her soft and gentle teachings! But “’tis always the darkest the hour before day;” and while Sunlight was half-despairingly revolving in her mind all possible means by which she might again, without the utmost danger of sudden death, be enabled freely to wander over earth to beautify and bless it, the discerning old king, her father, saw how pale her cheek was growing, and how dimness was creeping over her bright eyes. He knew she wearied of, and longed heartily to escape from the heartless pomp and magnificence which surrounded her; so he resolved to carry into immediate execution a plan he had long been contemplating. He would make a sudden and strong attack on his old foe who was lording it so magnificently over earth! He would teach the rough, boorish chieftain, in a way he could not mistake, that there were other and mightier powers in existence than his own. So he fought long and valiantly, and won the victory—a glorious one it was, too. In a few days many sharp, fierce conflicts had taken place, the glittering crown of winter was broken, his staff of office taken from him, and the disagreeable old gray-beard was forced to skulk away in silence and shame and confusion of face, to his bleak and fitting home at the North Pole. (Would he were wise enough not to attempt again another short-lived triumph! But he is so Napoleon-ish in his nature, we may well have our fears on this point.) When the king had returned to his palace the night of the last decisive victory—after he had thrown aside his golden armor, though weary from the conflict, he paused not a moment to rest till he had summoned his young daughter to his presence, and thus made known to her his will.