Essex County herald. [volume] (Guildhall, Vt.) 1873-1964, 1874-02-14
Winter.

The North has broken loose. Down
come the fierce winds with frost-teeth,
and rush and riot around the house like
myriad wolves All, yes-beautiful
winter But what about poor drivers,
out sixteen hours day, on an omnibus
box, or crossing a wind-swept stage
routeP What about poor little errand
boys, half-clad, without mittens, and
holes in their shoes2 What does a
sewing-girl enjoy of the sublimities of
winter up in her garret, with the
thermometer at zero, and the coal all
out, and clothes thin, and work scant,
and friends far away, and half-fed
body too feeble to generate much heat
All, yes-splendid weather says the
engineer, snug in the machine-room,
warm and sheltered. Fine weather I
says the blacksmith, at his glowing
forge says the miner, as, like a mar
mot, he dives into the mine says the
rosy old fellow, made round and red
with beef and port wine says the
specialized matron, looking from her
wind-tight parlor.
But what do crying children, hungry
and half clad, think What do their
parents, made cross by too little meat
and too much whisky, think2 What do
you think, Robert, when you make a
little burst on the road against the
wind, it blowing two twenty and you
going two-seventeen What do we'll
intentioned folks think that arranged in
the mild afternoon to start before day
| light the next morning, and wake to find
the thermometer almost bottomless, but
the start to be made, nevertheless?
What do tender-eyed Leahs think of
the brilliant white snow, from every
crystal of which the sun shoots sharp
rays of light into her eyes, as if the
ground was an infinite paper of pins
and needles, and every breath of wind
bowman shooting them into her eyes {
What do school-boys think that sleep
in the attic, and bounce out of bed at
the breakfast call, to squeal in the pun
gent air, and rush into their clothes in
one-tenth the time required in summer
What do grooming hens and ostenta-
tious roosters think as they huddle on
the south h-side of sheltering hedges, or
barns, and stand hungry rather than be
blown about by the tail-disheveling
wind? And poor shivering horses,
half-fed and wholly uncombed? and
crumpled-up COWS, that hump their
backs and cover under any covert that
will break the sharp thrusts CT the des-
potic wind?
All, what splendid weather say the
sheep, cuddling together in welts of
fine wool. What glorious weather say
the gulls, sailing high up, and sporting
with the wind as if, like an old friend
from the far North, it had come to
make friendly call, and renew the ac-
quaintance of last summer. And II
Why, ] rejoice in winter because it
makes the thought of summer sweet it
coats my windows with etchings be-
yond any artists skill !; it gives to my
home, and hearth, and corner, sweet
security and joyous peace, which need
ed the cold outdoors as background
Nevertheless, letters have just come
in from Florida. They are picking
fowers-there is no csld in their sky
the gardens are all asplout, the air is
fragrant with bursting buds and new
leai es, birds shower the air with deli
cious notes Yes, I do love the winter
dearly, but had rather take it in Florida
Fl. W. BEEcHER.