regard to the designation you would derive from a locality. If, for instance, you lived at Spuyten Devil, you would be called a Spuyten-Deviller!"

Mrs. Sparrowgrass said nothing would tempt her to live at Spuyten Devil.

"Then," I continued, "there is Tillietudlem— you'd be a Tillietudlemer."

Mrs. Sparrowgrass said, that, in her present frame of mind, she didn't think she would submit to it.

"At Sing Sing, you would be a Sing-Singer; at Sleepy Hollow, a Sleepy Hollower.".

Mrs. Sparrowgrass said this was worse than any of the others.

"At Nyack, a Nyackian; at Dobb's Ferry, a Dobb's Ferryer."

Mrs. Sparrowgrass said that any person who would call her a "Dobb's Ferryer," was destitute of a proper sense of respect.

"You might be a Weehawkite, a Carmansvillan, a Tubby Hooker.”.

Mrs. Sparrowgrass, quite warm and indignant, denied it.

"A Tarrytownian-a Riverdalean."

Mrs. Sparrowgrass said she thought a village on

A QUESTION FOR SAVANS.

29

the tip-top of a hill could not be called River-dale with any show of reason.

"A Simpson's Pointer-a Fordhammer."

"A what?"

"A Fordhammer."

Mrs. Sparrowgrass said she thought, at first, I was getting profane. "But," she added, "you do not answer my question. I live at Yonkers, and what am I?"

"That," said I, "Mrs. Sparrowgrass, is a question I cannot answer, but I will make it a public matter through these pages."

"What is the proper, local, or geographical appellation by which an inhabitant of Yonkers should be known?"

CHAPTER III.

The Clouds in the Country-A Thunder-Shower-Mr. Sparrowgrass buys a Bugle-Ineffectual Music-A Serenade and an Interruption-First Fruits-A Surprise, and the Entire Loss of our Cherry Crop.

MRS. SPARROWGRASS says that summer sketches should not come out in the winter. She thinks what was written in June is not fit to be read in December, and a paper made in July is out of season in January. "The one you are putting in your overcoat pocket, now," she says, "was written last August, and I know it." At first, I was as much confused as if I had been caught in some flagrant act of impropriety, but I rallied a little, for a lucky thought struck me. "Mrs. Sparrowgrass," said I, "I will put the August paper in print, now; but, at the same time, request them not to read it until warm weather." This admirable and original piece of finesse pleased my wife highly. "That will do," she said, "but do not forget to tell them not to read it until then."

So

CLOUDS IN THE COUNTRY.

31

now, good reader, when you have reached this point, fold up the leaf, and do not open it until Sirius is in the noon-day sky.

We begin to enjoy the clouds since we have moved out of town. The city sky is all strips and patches; but the sky of the country forms a very comfortable whole. Then, you have the horizon, of which you get but an imperfect idea if you live in a crooked street; and besides, you can see distant rain storms passing over far-off landscapes, and as the light-winged breeze comes sweeping up and you feel the approaching dampness, there is a freshness and fragrance in it which is not at all like the miasmatic exhalations of a great city. Then, when the rain does come it is not simply an inconvenience, as it always is in town, but a real blessing, which even the stupid old cabbages know enough to enjoy. I think our musk-melons feel better now, as they lie there in sandy beds sucking the delicious fluid through their long vinous tubes. I think our Shaker corn, as he gives himself a rousing shake, and flings the big drops around him, does so with a species of boisterous joy, as if he could not have too much of it; and Monsieur Tomate, who is capering like Humpty Dumpty on

the wall, is evidently in high feather, which is not the case with our forlorn rooster, who is but poorly protected under the old basket, yonder. The rain came from the southwest. We saw the clouds rolling up over the Palisades in round masses, with a movement like puffs of smoke rolling up from the guns of a frigate. It was a dead calm; not a pensile leaf twinkled; the flat expanse of the river was without a ripple. We saw the conglomerated volumes of snow-white vapor ascending to the zenith, and below lay the Hudson, roughening in the now audibly approaching breeze. Meanwhile the sky grew ashy pale in the southwest, and the big clouds overhead were sometimes veined with lightning, which was reflected momently by the darkening water. Just below us we heard the quick rattle of the rings, as the wood sloops dropped and reefed their broad sails in anticipation of the squall. Everything, around us reposed in a sort of supernatural twilight, the grass turned grey and old, the tree trunks changed to iron, the air seemed denser, sullener, sultrier. Then a little breeze prattled through the chestnuts, and whitened the poplars. Then it subsided. Then the white cloud above appeared a tangle of dazzling light,