A few days more ; and at eventide , the children look out of the window , and dimly perceive the flaunting of a snowy mantle in the air . It is stern Winter 's vesture . They crowd around the hearth , and cling to their mother 's gown , or press between their father 's knees , affrighted by the hollow roaring voice , that bellows a-down the wide flue of the chimney . It is the voice of Winter ; and when parents and children bear it , they shudder and exclaim , `` Winter is come ! Cold Winter has begun his reign already ! '' Now , throughout New England , each hearth becomes an altar , sending up the smoke of a continued sacrifice to the immitigable deity who tyrannizes over forest , country side , and town . Wrapped in his white mantle , his staff a huge icicle , his beard and hair a wind-tossed snow-drift , he travels over the land , in the midst of the northern blast ; and woe to the homeless wanderer whom he finds upon his path ! There he lies stark and stiff , a human shape of ice , on the spot where Winter overtook him . On strides the tyrant over the rushing rivers and broad lakes , which turn to rock beneath his footsteps . His dreary empire is established ; all around stretches the desolation of the Pole . Yet not ungrateful be his New England children , -- for Winter is our sire , though a stern and rough one , -- not ungrateful even for the severities , which have nourished our unyielding strength of character . And let us thank him , too , for the sleigh-rides , cheered by the music of merry bells ; for the crackling and rustling hearth , when the ruddy firelight gleams on hardy Manhood and the blooming cheek of Woman ; for all the home enjoyments , and the kindred virtues , which flourish in a frozen soil . Not that we grieve , when , after some seven months of storm and bitter frost , Spring , in the guise of a flower-crowned virgin , is seen driving away the hoary despot , pelting him with violets by the handful , and strewing green grass on the path behind him . Often , ere he will give up his empire , old Winter rushes fiercely back , and hurls a snow-drift at the shrinking form of Spring ; yet , step by step , he is compelled to retreat northward , and spends the summer months within the Arctic circle . Such fantasies , intermixed among graver toils of mind , have made the winter 's day pass pleasantly . Meanwhile , the storm has raged without abatement , and now , as the brief afternoon declines , is tossing denser volumes to and fro about the atmosphere . On the window-sill , there is a layer of snow , reaching half-way up the lowest pane of glass . The garden is one unbroken bed . Along the street are two or three spots of uncovered earth , where the gust has whirled away the snow , heaping it elsewhere to the fence-tops , or piling huge banks against the doors of houses . A solitary passenger is seen , now striding mid-leg deep across a drift , now scudding over the bare ground , while his cloak is swollen with the wind .
And now the jingling of bells , a sluggish sound , responsive XXXXX the horse 's toilsome progress through the unbroken drifts , announces the passage of a sleigh , with a boy clinging behind , and ducking his head to escape detection by the driver .
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