Literary Cadet, And Saturday Evening Bulletin

A WINTER SKETCH
And Tom bears logs into the hall,
And Dick the shepherd blows his nails.—Shaks.

Now we are buried in the very bowels of winter. Every thing is frozen.—The soul of benevolence itself expands not without an effort; cramped are the very fingers of charity; patriotism sparkles as a dying ember; waning are the fires of religion; Hymen's torch sheddeth more light than heat, and Cupid hath need of a blanket. All faiths and all virtues are shrivelled into the smallest possible dimensions. Closed are the avenues through which man sympathizes with his fellow. Frigid vapours and dismal blasts compress into selfishness and ice, all open hearts, and all still waters. Vegetation hath long ceased, and speculation droops, and one vast frost seems to circumvest the universe, and the banks refuse to discount.

Now falleth the feathery snow and the grey sleet slantwise, sometimes disturbed by intruding gusts of hail, roughly rattling against the bedroom's eastern-most casement. Elderly matrons and impatient convalescents look despondingly along the deserted streets, and symptoms of shuddering crawl over the flannelled epidermis, and master Dicky in his ball dress, exclaims "dear me, I'm all goose-flesh."

Now the hearth is thickly peopled, and the dry sticks snap spitefully in the blaze, while the green log splutters sulkily below. Now through narrow chinks insinuates the fretful breeze; and aunt Grizzle, with a ghastly pucker, snudges cosily against the other jamb. Now long icicles decline from projecting eaves and overhanging spouts, and the iron pump-brake cleaveth to the round and rosy hand of Miss Jemima essaying to fill the tea-kettle. Now camblets thickly lined, and tartans with exaggerated capes, and drab duffles and dreadnoughts and devonshires, and coating-cloaks for the softer sex, are exteriorly displayed. Now do we appropinque to the times of sleighing and sliding—afar off there is a tinkling of little bells mingling with the hollow winds; and tough younkers tell of congealed ponds, shrilling thither with a viaticum of skates and gingerbread, to enact feats vertiginous and ruminant.

All neighborhood hath departed, save at city firesides, where silent whist bears sovereign rule or clattering dice break dolefully upon the social loneliness. In towns unpopulous, each rustic house-holder now summons his whole circle, from jocund Johnny on the three legged stool within the chimney's precincts, up to bouncing Betty that wears around her ample waist two yards of yellow pearl-edged satin ribbon. And as the four-foot faggots flame and brighten, around doth pass the foaming flagon, replete with cider new and saccharine; and nuts laid up in upper stories, and merry jokes likewise, are forthwith brought for cracking and ingurgitation. Now sylvan lads turn out and tackle restive ponies into weatherbeaten sleighs; willing that divers damsels, moping all alone, shall face the surly storm, and visit Squire Muddleton's hotel in yonder village, whereat to sip a cheering glass, and chat of courtship timidly the while. Wheels creak along the indurated roads, and wagons bound to market move with sad reluctance, urged on by drowsy drivers, with scarlet gills, and noses tipped out with blue.