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    Minstrel Weather
    Minstrel Weather
    Minstrel Weather
    Ebook112 pages1 hour

    Minstrel Weather

    By Clinton Balmer and Marian Storm

    ()

    Read preview
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherArchive Classics
    Release dateNov 25, 2013
    Minstrel Weather

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      Book preview

      Minstrel Weather - Clinton Balmer

      The Project Gutenberg EBook of Minstrel Weather, by Marian Storm

      This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with

      almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or

      re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included

      with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net

      Title: Minstrel Weather

      Author: Marian Storm

      Illustrator: Clinton Balmer

      Release Date: January 23, 2012 [EBook #38645]

      Language: English

      *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MINSTREL WEATHER ***

      Produced by Irma Spehar, Markus Brenner and the Online

      Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This

      file was produced from images generously made available

      by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)

      Minstrel Weather

      by

      Marian Storm

      Minstrel Weather

      BY

      MARIAN STORM

      With Illustrations and Decorations

      By Clinton Balmer

      Knowledge, we are not foes.

      Long hast thou toiled with me;

      But the world with a great wind blows,

      Crying, and not of thee!

      EURIPIDES

      HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS

      NEW YORK AND LONDON

      Minstrel Weather

      Copyright, 1920, by Harper & Brothers

      Printed in the United States of America

      Published November, 1920

      For

      AMY LOVEMAN

      The Minstrel Made His Tune

      of Hours and Seasons

      Dewfall, moonrise, high sweet clover,

      Chimney swifts at their twilight play;

      Quail call, owl hoot, moth a-hover,

      Midnight pale at the step of day.

      Star wane, cobweb, brown-plumed bracken;

      Morning laughs, with the frost in flower;

      Duck flight, hound cry; wild grapes blacken.

      Day leaps up at the amber hour.

      Sun dark, snowcloud, eaves ice cumbered,

      Gray sand piled on a carmine West;

      Faint wing, flake dance; winds unnumbered

      Swing the cradles where leaf-buds rest.

      Wide light, bough flush, gold-fringed meadows,

      Berries red in the rippled grass;

      Stream song, nest note, dream deep shadows

      Drawn back slowly for noon to pass.

      CONTENTS

      ILLUSTRATIONS

      MINSTREL WEATHER

      CHAPTER I.

      FACES OF JANUS

      hough January has days that dress in saffron for their going, and noons of yellow light, foretelling crocuses, the month is yet not altogether friendly. The year is moving now toward its most unpitying season. Nights that came on kindly may turn the meadows to iron, tear off the last faithful leaves from oaks, drive thick clouds across the moon, to end in a violent dawn. January holds gentle weather in one hand and blizzards in the other, and what a blizzard can be only dwellers on prairies or among the mountains know. Snow gone mad, its legions rushing across the land with daggers drawn, furious, bearing no malice, but certainly no compassion, and overwhelming all creatures abroad: bewildered flocks, birds half frozen on their twigs, cattle unwisely left on shelterless ranges, and people who lose the way long before animals give up. Snow hardly seems made of fairy stars and flowers when its full terror sweeps Northern valleys or the interminable solitudes of the plains. The gale so armed for attack owns something of the wicked intention which Conrad says that sailors often perceive in a storm at sea. The rider pursued by a blizzard may feel, like the tossed mariner, that these elemental forces are coming at him with a purpose, with an unbridled cruelty which means to sweep the whole precious world away by the simple and appalling act of taking his life. We do not smile at the pathetic fallacy when we are alone with cold. The overtaken mountaineer understands—it means to get him. These things happen in places where weather is not obedient to wraps and furnaces, but where it must be fought hand to hand and where the pretty snow tangles its victim’s feet and slowly puts him to sleep in a delicious dream of warmth. Tropical lightning has not the calm omnipotence of cold when it walks lonely ways.

      January knows days on which the haze of spring and the dim tenderness of the sunshine tempt the rabbit to try another nap al fresco, indiscreet though he knows it to be. Even the woodchuck must turn over and sniff in his sleep as the thaw creeps downward; and the muskrat takes his safe way by water once more, while the steel trap waits on the bank, to be sprung humanely by a falling cone. The lithe red fox glides across the upper pastures and weaves among the hardhack unchallenged, for this is not hunting weather. A fleeting respite comes to the tormented mink. Toward the last of the month, innocent of the February and March to come, pussy willows, ingenuously deceived by the brief mildness, come out inquisitively and stand in expectation beside the brook, convinced that this ice is only left over—what can have delayed the garnet-veined skunk’s cabbage, always

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