104 A SNOW-STORM. 



and becomes wrinkled or convoluted like a fabric, or 

 like cotton sheeting. Attempt to row a boat through 

 it, and it seems indeed like cotton or wool, every 

 fibre of which resists your progress. 



As the sun went down and darkness fell, the storm 

 impulse reached its full. It became a wild conflagra- 

 tion of wind and snow ; the world was wrapt in frost 

 flame ; it enveloped one, and penetrated his lungs 

 and caught away his breath like a blast from a burn- 

 ing city. How it whipped around and under every 

 cover and searched out every crack and crevice, sift- 

 ing under the shingles in the attic, darting its white 

 tongue under the kitchen door, puffing its breath 

 down the chimney, roaring through the woods, stalk- 

 ing like a sheeted ghost across the hills, bending in 

 white and ever changing forms above the fences, 

 sweeping across the plains, whirling in eddies behind 

 the buildings, or leaping spitefully up their walls 

 in short, taking the world entirely to itself and giving 

 a loose rein to its desire. 



But in the morning, behold ! the world was not con- 

 sumed ; it was not the besom of destruction, after all, 

 but the gentle hand of mercy. How deeply and 

 warmly and spotlessly Earth's nakedness is clothed ! 

 the " wool " of the Psalmist nearly two feet deep. 

 And as far as warmth and protection are concerned, 

 there is a good deal of the virtue of wool in such a 

 snow-fall. How it protects the grass, the plants, the 

 roots of the trees, and the worms, insects, and smaller 

 animals in the ground ! It is a veritable fleece, 



