This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1866 Excerpt: ...singing at the windows, roaring over the chimney-tops, and harping through the forests. The gray clouds look angry and sullen. The great, heavy drops come driving against the window-panes; the cattle stand in the fields, with the wind astern; the sheep gather under the lee of the barn. They 'banked up' the house, ...
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This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1866 Excerpt: ...singing at the windows, roaring over the chimney-tops, and harping through the forests. The gray clouds look angry and sullen. The great, heavy drops come driving against the window-panes; the cattle stand in the fields, with the wind astern; the sheep gather under the lee of the barn. They 'banked up' the house, yesterday; put the cabbages in the cellar, the day before; will cover the potatoes to-morrow. Mack and Port call for their mittens the blue and white mittens--the immemorial mittens tethered with a string. The black-birds, a rabble rout, hold high council of flight, on a dry elm in the meadow; there is a twitter, and a flutter, and a great acclamation. Up go the swallows in a cloud'; away ride the sparrows on the billowy air. The robin and his wife hear the sound of wings in the thicket, and go too. The owl looks out from his hollow tree, and gathers still closer, his russet muffler about his ears. The ridged and tawny fields look like corduroy; their rustling and golden glories have departed. The corn stands shivering in long lines, wrapped in rusty overalls, like a regiment of 'Old Continentals in their ragged regimentals;' The pumpkins lie in great heaps, here and there, liko cannon-shot. Little ' flurries' of snow whirl doubtfully through the cloudy air, and sift over the dark, old fallow. The sun goes down with a bounce; it is dark before night. The asparagus is bundled out of the fire-place, the old andirons are wheeled into line, the hearth is a blaze, the windows are curtained, the old circle is narrowed around the old-fashioned fire. Just the season for Saturday nights! What blessed things they are, and what would the world do without them? Those breathing moments in the tramping march of life; those little twilights in the broad and garis...
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