CHAPTER VHI 



SNOW, AND THE QUALITY OF 

 WHITENESS 



IN August, the April of the Argentine poets, we 

 had some piercingly cold weather, followed by 

 a fall of snow. Heaven be praised for it! for 

 never again, perhaps, shall I see earth transfig- 

 ured by the breath of antarctic winter. I had 

 spent the night in the village, and it was a strange 

 and weirdly beautiful sight, when, on rising next 

 morning, I beheld roads, housetops, trees, and the 

 adjacent hills, white with a surpassing unfamiliar 

 whiteness. The morning was mild, with a dull 

 leaden sky ; and suddenly, as I stood in the street, 

 the snow began to fall again, and continued for 

 about an hour. Most of that time I spent standing 

 motionless, gazing up into the air, peopled with 

 innumerable large slow-descending flakes : only 

 those of my English readers who, like Kingsley, 

 have longed for a sight of tropical vegetation and 

 scenery, and have at last had their longing grati- 

 fied, can appreciate my sensations on first behold- 

 ing snow. 



My visit to Patagonia so far had been rich in 

 experiences. One of the first, just before touch- 



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