Judy, October 4, 1882.
——:o:——
Poetry and snow do not blend well. Sleet extinguishes all feu sacré in the bard. Early one morning last week, when a few gentle flakes were falling, I thought of the song of my friend Amiens in “As you Like It,” and laughing at the elements, attempted a rough parody of the first verse. It was as follows:—
Blow, blow thou Winter wind;
Snow, too, if so inclined:
I cannot change your mood.
I’ll order Toddy hot
And drink of it a lot—
The strongest can be brewed.
Heigh ho! Sing heigh ho! Away with melancholy.