94 SIGNS AND SEASONS 



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 

 conflagration of wind and snow; the world was 

 wrapt in frost flame; it enveloped one, and pene- 

 trated his lungs and caught away his breath like a 

 blast from a burning city. How it whipped around 

 and under every cover and searched out every crack 

 and crevice, sifting under the shingles in the attic, 

 darting its white tongue under the kitchen door, 

 puffing its breath down the chimney, roaring through 

 the woods, stalking like a sheeted ghost across the 

 hills, bending in white and ever- changing forms 

 above the fences, sweeping across the plains, whirl- 

 ing in eddies behind the buildings, or leaping spite- 

 fully 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 

 consumed; 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 protec- 

 tion are concerned, there is a good deal of the 

 virtue of wool in such a snow-fall. How it pro- 

 tects the grass, the plants, the roots of the trees, 

 and the worms, insects, and smaller animals in the 

 ground! It is a veritable fleece, beneath which the 



