90 SIGNS AND SEASONS 



those which bring rain. In fact, everything is 

 prophetic of the gentle and noiseless meteor that is 

 approaching, and of the stillness that is to succeed 

 it, when "all the batteries of sound are spiked," as 

 Lowell says, and "we see the movements of life 

 as a deaf man sees it, a mere wraith of the clamor- 

 ous existence that inflicts itself on our ears when 

 the ground is bare." After the storm is fairly 

 launched, the winds not infrequently awake, and, 

 seeing their opportunity, pipe the flakes a lively 

 dance. I am speaking now of the typical, full- 

 born midwinter storm that comes to us from the 

 North or N. N. E., and that piles the landscape 

 knee-deep with snow. Such a storm once came to 

 us the last day of January, the master-storm of 

 the winter. Previous to that date, we had had 

 but light snow. The spruces had been able to 

 catch it all upon their arms, and keep a circle of 

 bare ground beneath them where the birds scratched. 

 But the day following this fall, they stood with 

 their lower branches completely buried. If the 

 Old Man of the North had but sent us his couriers 

 and errand-boys before, the old graybeard appeared 

 himself at our doors on this occasion, and we were 

 all his subjects. His flag was upon every tree and 

 roof, his seal upon every door and window, and his 

 embargo upon every path and highway. He slipped 

 down upon us, too, under the cover of such a 

 bright, seraphic day, a day that disarmed suspi- 

 cion with all but the wise ones, a day without a 

 cloud or a film, a gentle breeze from the west, a 



