Page:Scenes in my Native Land.pdf/305

Rh Monday, October 23d.

Snow! Snow! Who could have expected such a guest, now in the very autumn prime? The sun was shining so gloriously too, at early morning. The trees stand utterly amazed, in their rich robes of crimson, and orange, and brown, like dowagers in their court-dresses, arrested on their way to the palace. Especially, are the flower-people incommoded and struck with consternation. The roses, with their bosoms full of snow, look indignant, and redden to a wrath-glow, while the meek verbenas and violets at their feet partake less of the chilling shower, for dwelling so humbly sub-rosa. The buxom marigold lifts her hardy cheek with a smile, as if to say "I'll make the best of it," while the aristocratic dahlias curb their chins in displeasure. Well, this is a republican clime, my ladies. It respecteth not your high-sounding titles of countesses and queens. Crowns and coronets are at a discount in this pilgrim-planted land, and the snow settleth as saucily upon them, as upon the unbonnetted cottager.

Yonder, ensconced in a snug recess, are two Hydrangeas, with their broad purple and pink faces bending towards each other, like a pair of rustic lovers in a tête-a-tête. How aghast they look when the snow discovers and parts them. That tiny lakelet at their side, which shone like a mirror in the morning ray, how it swallows the chill morsels with a dim and sullen face. Up come the gold and silver fishes, their