pon but one of the four sides would prudence grant me what I wanted.Now, which side?
To the east, that long camp of the Hearth Stone Hills, fading far awaytowards Quito; and every fall, a small white flake of something peeringsuddenly, of a coolish morning, from the topmost cliff--the season'snew-dropped lamb, its earliest fleece; and then the Christmas dawn,draping those dim highlands with red-barred plaids and tartans--goodlysight from your piazza, that. Goodly sight; but, to the north isCharlemagne--can't have the Hearth Stone Hills with Charlemagne.
Well, the south side. Apple-trees are there. Pleasant, of a balmymorning, in the month of May, to sit and see that orchard, white-budded,as for a bridal; and, in October, one green arsenal yard; such piles ofruddy shot. Very fine, I grant; but, to the north is Charlemagne.
The west side, look. An upland pasture, alleying away into a maple woodat top. Sweet, in opening spring, to trace upon the hill-side, otherwisegray and bare--to trace, I say, the oldest paths by their streaks ofearliest green. Sweet, indeed, I can't deny; but, to the north isCharlemagne.
So Charlemagne, he carried it. It was not long after 1848; and, somehow,about that time, all round the world, these kings, they had the castingvote, and voted for themselves.
No sooner was ground broken, than all the neighborhood, neighbor Dives,in particular, broke, too--into a laugh. Piazza to the north! Winterpiazza! Wants, of winter midnights, to watch the Aurora Borealis, Isuppose; hope he's laid in good store of Polar muffs and mittens.
That was in the lion month of March. Not forgotten are the blue noses ofthe carpenters, and how they scouted at the greenness of the cit, whowould build his sole piazza to the north. But March don't last forever;patience, and August comes. And then, in the cool elysium of my northernbower, I, Lazarus in Abraham's bosom, cast down the hill a pityingglance on poor old Dives, tormented in the purgatory of his piazza tothe south.
