VACANT AND CEREMONIOUS ZEAL




MRS. JOHNSON


It was on a morning of the lovely New England May that we left the horse-
car, and, spreading our umbrellas, walked down the street to our new home
in Charlesbridge, through a storm of snow and rain so finely blent by the
influences of this fortunate climate, that no flake knew itself from its
sister drop, or could be better identified by the people against whom they
beat in unison. A vernal gale from the east fanned our cheeks and pierced
our marrow and chilled our blood, while the raw, cold green of the
adventurous grass on the borders of the sopping sidewalks gave, as it
peered through its veil of melting snow and freezing rain, a peculiar
cheerfulness to the landscape. Here and there in the vacant lots abandoned
hoop-skirts defied decay; and near the half-finished wooden houses, empty
mortar-beds, and bits of lath and slate strewn over the scarred and
mutilated ground, added their interest to the scene. A shaggy drift hung
upon the trees before our own house (which had been built some years
earlier), while its swollen eaves wept silently and incessantly upon the
embankments lifting its base several feet above the common level.

This heavenly weather, which the Pilgrim Fathers, with the idea of turning
their thoughts effectually from earthly pleasures, came so far to
discover, continued with slight amelioration throughout the month of May
and far into June; and it was a matter of constant amazement with one who
had known less austere climates, to behold how vegetable life struggled