The republic. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1849-1853, 1849-12-21
The first Snow.

We crossed from Brooklyn on one OF the new
ferry boats on Monday evening just as the snow
storm was commencing. child, about two years
and half old perhaps, was on the boat in company
with his mother, elegantly dressed, with small
beaver hat turned up with feather, and withal as
beautiful boy one may expect to meet in many
day His conversation attracted the attention Of
several ofthe passengers, who admired his exquisite
beauty, and one, old gentleman, leaned over TO
him and spoke kindly. The little fellow with ready
confidence listened and the gentleman said to him,
you'll get your hat wet, my boy-it SHOWS"
"Snows,' said the child with inquring air
"What's thatS' The old man raised himself up
with look of pleasure, half lost in sigh, and
turned to the person who stood near him, exclaim-
ing, Gle never snow, or, If he has ever il,
he is too young to remember it.
Whereupon, selling with willingness the oppor
tunity, we, we well known 10 be inclined to
do moralized For to the old man, over whose soul
there have been more winters and summers than in
the external world, even though they had been Of
four-score years, it pleasant well wonder
ful TO child whose young existence had known
no winter-whose heart had been always warm
To him the prophetic power of existence gave a
vision Of the future and the mother of the boy drew
him close to her side, If she too foresaw the chill
which life would bring to his young heart, the
storms which would follow in rapid succession over
his peaceful life, the blights which must come
upon the fair flowers in those glad fields within his
soul.
Il is blessed thing to have known none of these
blights-more blessed To be always young and
looks with loving eyes childhood for human
sympathy is strong between the two extremes OF
life; and could fancy that the old man, he
walked homeward in the storm, remembered a
thousand SHOWS, and perhaps many graves on
which the white flakes were falling. And perhaps
too he offered involuntary prayer for that fair
boy that there might be few frosts in the garden
of his heart, to kill his cherished flowers
II was the first snow of winter, and with il came
many memories, which that event always brings.
First of cheerful fresides and of gaieties Of
oden times; but then the dark night and the slow
sombre falling of the flakes, drove all recollection
of sleighng and winter parties quite away, and af
ter them came thoughts of the companions of those
oden times, and then of friends more lately gone,
and then of small grave which, in the solemn
night the first white fallingl IL is hard
TO tell whether that thought Of the first snow the
grave is pleasant otherwise; but by longer dwell
ing on il, we begin to feel somewhat more distinct
ly and wildly than before, the peacefulness and
quiet calm of that rest which is shut out from the
storm, and then the snow becomes rather mantle
of purity, cast over the rcpose of death. Winter
brings with IL always a more decided conviction Of
the losses we may have had in summer time. So
long as the air was warm and the fields and gar
dens fresh and beautiful, and we could be abroad
under the clear sky could not realize that those
we loved had gone away from all this, and we were
unconsciously thinking that we should again "meet
as heretofore, some summer morning." But the
| first the first barrier placed between US
| and the grave. II useless any longer TO go
there. There were no flowers, nor green grass, nor
indeed could we any more distinguish the mound.
The very grave itself seemed to be beyond our
reach and care and body and soul alike in the
hands of God-N. y. Jour Com
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