The St. Cloud journal. [volume] (St. Cloud, Minn.) 1866-1876, 1872-02-22
CHAPTER /.
WHAT THE AUTHOR SAYS.

WHAT THE AUTHOR sAYs.
Are you Of those who hate Winter,
or Of those who love him I Do you
shrink from his strong ice.clasp; or do
you hold out your right hand to him
heartily saying, "You are welcome p
Do you love the enjoyments that ire to
be fought for go to speak) BY effort
and exertion, with quick blood and
high pulses; or :kose tha. come lsz ~
aud warmly, withou. your seeking 7
To whichever class you belong, you
must come With. me into Winters IN.
nermoss stronghold. I bid you; and.
shiver aud shake ,s you my, you must
not say mo-" Forget Juoe-forget
its hot fsiut airs and througed red
roses remember only December, With
oil bis cold, white train. It u Christ
mas a season 1aisb, if one took oae's
ide. Of it from Dieiens books, would
seem to be . season Of universal jollity,
Of widely diffused sausages and mioce.
pies, Of great cracking fires aud hard.
bright frost; when every one is glad.
der than his wont; wheo each man
greeta his neighbor lovingly, and godly
charity and pious mirth shine out of
each happy eye; u season which, if one
judges by ones own experience, is for
the most part mildly drizzIiog "a sea-
son of bills and influenza triumphant;
when one reckons up the empty chai.s
BY the 6residc, and, counting over ones
losses in love and j,y, 6ods smiling
much more, broad laughter-blt diff.
cult. Into an English country-hou>e
you must come; till tomorrow you
must wait to see whether it is Gothic,
Tudor, Ionic, lingo, Jones.isb, OF
happy medley of these styles; for now
the black n,ght.winds are feeling blind.
ly round it, aud the harsh rains IRE
lashing ito front. It is dressiog-t,me,
but who can har to tear themselves
away from this hall.6re-hall that is
the livsablest room in the house, with
its floor spresd With warm beasts skins,
its low, vide hearth, its thiok:drsped
winlows, its round table groaoing IN.
der new novels-novels proper and nov.
els improper novels ritaalistic and
novels evangelical; novels that ore
milk for babes, and novels that ase .l
most too strong meat for men. There
are no gone faces to s.ddea this hearth ;
the only face that il gone would cause
considerable eoustsrsatioa were il 10
come back again. On the deep, WOOL
ly hearth.rug Je.ims is sitting, With q
book in her hand she II rssding .
pretty love story BY the freight. Up.
,posits her, in . low chair, ats (or rath-
or hes) her sister, Sylvia, tic widowed
house mistress. Her little chin is bur
led in her chest ; tho large jet-beetles
in her ears bob gently to and fro as she
rods, mods; on her lsr rests pup-dog
His face is blaoker ,h.n the ravea's
wing; his nose turo. nightly upward ;
his tail eurb tightly twice II tho lett ;
biz toes turn out and his soneu, pro.
trudes, like . pink roseleaf; if be
squipted he would be pert.es; but,
alas ! lite is made up OF "its." A. lit
tic farther of, two young people are
playing =. beziq~e-Lenore and Scrope.
Yes, though it is neither Brittany nor
June, Scrops is here. Twining round
his legs, ecaliog Jemima's back, play.
fully trying to poke their 6nges into
their mothers shut eyes, running heav.
lily on their heels, plugging, ~r.uglioe,
with all the innocent viv.ei.y Of child
hood, are two enfants te,ribles-terri.
bic - only the healthy male young OF
the human species cao be-li.tle red
faced soourges to society. If parents,
when :bey give their children smart
names, would but reflect on the num-
Der Of uely-named men whom they NAV
possibly, nay probably, espouse! Why
did not Sylvia's parents Sylvia Prod.
gers!
s'Is these children's bedtime never
coming?" cries Lenore, impatisntly, az
she begins fresh deal ut seems to
me that that blessed epoch moves. far.
ther and farther on every uight-Tom.
ny, dear are you aet sleepy I vi
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