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One winter’s evening, towards the close of the year 1800, or within a year or two of that time, a young medical practitioner, recently established in business, was seated by a cheerful fire in his little parlour, listening to the wind which was beating the rain in pattering drops against the window, or rumbling dismally in the chimney.
To study the flower of the nation at close range is no longer an edifying occupation. It is rotten, as rotten, I tell you, as last winter’s apples. There is consequently no greater pleasure than to make such a young chap dance. You play, he dances; you whistle, he retrieves. It is a real treat!” He laughed hysterically, and then had a coughing spell.
I have always enjoyed the sunshine, and have sat alone hundreds of snug hours before my winter’s companion, a small iron stove. During the last three nights I have repeatedly read through your article on Celsus, published in the Deutsche Rundschau, by a tallow-candle.
Instead of trying to edify us by supercilious allusions to the “brutes” and the “stalls,” he interests us in that tragedy of the hen-roost when the thief has wrenched the door, “Where Chanticleer amidst his harem sleeps In unsuspecting pomp;” in the patient cattle, that on the winter’s morning
‘I daresay it is most refreshing then,’ said I; ‘but I have heard people say that they most enjoy it on a cold winter’s night, when the kettle is hissing on the fire, and their children playing on the hearth.’ Belle sighed. ‘Where does tea come from?’ she presently demanded. ‘From China,’ said I; ‘I just now mentioned it, and the mention of it put me in mind of tea.’
Faithful creature! Know you not that summer’s gentle gale and winter’s howling storm have swept over the grave of him whom you so piteously bemoan. Fanny stopped her ears to shut out the bitter cry, but if Kate heard it, she heeded it not, and bounded on over the graveled walk toward her mother, who was eagerly waiting for her. In an instant parent and child were weeping in each other’s arms.
Here at its southern extremity let us select a shady corner, for the sun beats down fiercely upon the bare ruins at every season of the year, and even on a winter’s afternoon the air often shimmers with the heat haze, so that in no place on earth is the use of an umbrella so necessary or desirable as at Pompeii. What an ideal spot for the founding of a city!
The crowded city held out desperately while the summer passed and autumn moved on to winter’s verge, and then, with famine stalking through their streets and invading their homes, but one resource remained to the citizens,—surrender. Ferdinand did not wish to distress too deeply the unhappy people. To obtain possession of the city on any terms was the one thought then in his mind.
The sound increased in volume until it reverberated among the crags like the voice of a winter’s storm, and then it gradually died away.
The sun beat hotly, but as he leaned forth into the street he shivered as on a winter’s morn. In blank wretchedness he watched the throng beneath the window, pannier-laden asses, venders of hot sausage with their charcoal stoves and trays, youths going to and from the gymnasium, slaves returning from market. How long he stood thus, wretched, helpless, he did not know. At last he stirred himself.
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