THE GREAT SNOW STORM. 233

CHAPTER XVII.

The great Snow-storm-A quotation from Samuel-Recollections of Town-What we then thought-A Song-Scraps in a Commonplace-book-An old epistleAnd anticipations.

Since we

THIS has been a great snow-storm. have lived in the country we have had two great snow-storms. A snow-storm in the city, with its motley panorama, is a curious spectacle, but a snowstorm in the country is sublime. The harmony of a winter landscape always inspires me with a sweet and melancholy gravity, exceeding, in its profound tranquillity, any emotion derived from a mere transitory flush of joy. The soul rests amid the hush and calm. Nature itself, restless, industrious nature-at last reposes, in a sort of frozen rapture.

One does not wish to hear, at all hours, the pleasant jargon of sleigh-bells, let them ring never so melodiously it is good, sometimes, to shut out the noisy carnival, to enjoy the broader winter of the country, with feelings akin to those the hardy navi

gator experiences amid the strange solitudes of the Arctic. Look at the crags opposite, muffled breast high in snow, and the broad river with its myriad iceislands. Look at the leagues of coldness, stretching northward until the vision rests upon the crescent line of hills glowing like sunset-clouds upon the borders of the Tappan-Zee. Look up at the bright sun of winter in his cerulean dome above, and at the fair country around us, within the horizon's blue ring, and say, if it be not a good thing to have a snow-storm in Westchester County. Thou ancient Dorp of Yonkers! I love thee with a love passing the love of women.

The ambiguity of this last expression gave rise to a novel train of ideas in the mind of Mrs. Sparrowgrass, upon which I immediately turned to the twenty-sixth verse of the first chapter of Samuel II., and read therefrom the exquisite lines I had so happily quoted.

"It is a good thing to live in the country," said I; "this is something different from what we had surmised in the little back parlor in Avenue G, Mrs. Sparrowgrass. Do you not remember how we used to anticipate rural felicity?" Mrs. Sparrowgrass replied, she remembered it very well. "It is

RECOLLECTIONS OF TOWN.

235

not precisely what we had pictured to ourselves,

is it?

"When a little farm we keep,

And have little girls and boys,

With little pigs and sheep,

To make a little noise,

Oh what happy, happy days we'll see,

With the children sitting, sitting on our knee."

"Not precisely," echoed Mrs. S., "but still I like it as it is. To think of going back to the city now, is to think of moving into a prison. Yet there was something cheerful in the little house in town, too. There was a gas-lamp in front of the door, that even in stormy weather threw out its friendly ray, and I used to think it good company to have it always burning before the window, and shining up through the blinds. Then your library was quite a jewel in its way, with the brilliant jet of light over the table-and the rows of gilt booksand the pictures on the walls-and the brackets, niches, and busts, and statuettes, and pieces of armor, and bows, and spears, and stag-horns, all looking so bright and pleasant. I do not think this one lights up so well as that did." "Not with two

candles and a wood fire?" said I.

"No," replied

Mrs. S., "it is not so bright as that little town library." "Then," said I, "permit me to substitute, my dear, the word 'cosy,' as suggestive of the impression one has in entering this bookery." "That will do very well," replied Mrs. S., "I am not making comparisons, but you must remember we were very happy in that little house in town. We had a great many friends there." "So we had." "A great many friends, and a great many pleasant days, and pleasant evenings, especially in winter, when we had little pop visits from our neighbors." "Yes, Mrs. S.," remarked I, "but if I remember truly, there was one winter which of all others seems to me the brightest and the cheerfullest." "Which one was that?" said Mrs. S. "The last one we passed in town," I replied, with great impressiveness of manner, "the winter of anticipations-when we were laying out our plans for living in the country."

To this Mrs. Sparrowgrass answered by smoothing her hair with her thimble, and putting on an expression of wonderful contentment. "I wish," said she, after a pause, "I could remember all we talked about in those days, and all we had pictured to ourselves about it. I know that when anybody came in it was the constant topic of conversation,

MY COUNTRY SONG.

237

and I know when we were alone, how much you were engaged with your plans for the new house. And then, too, whenever you wrote a letter, there was always something to say about leaving town, and whenever you received a letter, there was always a great deal of congratulation, and a great deal of advice, and a great many inquiries as to whether there was any fever and ague in the district. Then, too, you had a little song which you sang once or twice to the children, which I have never heard you sing since, and which I have forgotten, and which I would not have remembered but for your speaking of our little house in town, where we were certainly very, very happy." "What," said I, "forgotten my song, Mrs. Sparrowgrass? Forgotten my song? Then I mean to sing So after a few preli

it if I have any voice left."

minary attempts I commenced it. But, alas! my memory gave out with the first two lines, so I had to take down my old commonplace book where I found these reminiscent lines.