oung
day does the avenue resound with the merriment of the people's winter
carnival.

On the railroad streets the storekeeper is still battling "between
calls" with the last of the day's fall, fervently wishing it may be
the last of the season's, when whir! comes the big sweeper along the
track, raising a whirlwind of snow and dirt that bespatters him and
his newly cleaned flags with stray clods from its brooms, until, out
of patience, and seized at last, in spite of himself, by the spirit of
the thing, he drops broom and shovel and joins the children in pelting
the sweeper in turn. The motorman ducks his head, humps his shoulders,
and grins. The whirlwind sweeps on, followed by a shower of snowballs,
and vanishes in the dim distance.

One of the most impressive sights of winter in New York has gone with
so much else that was picturesque, in this age of results, and will
never be seen in our streets again. The old horse-plough that used to
come with rattle and bang and clangor of bells, drawn by five spans of
big horses, the pick of the stables, wrapped in a cloud of steam, and
that never failed to draw a crowd where it went, is no more. The rush
and the swing of the long line, the crack of the driver's mighty whip
and his warning shouts to "Jack" or "Pete" to pull and keep step, the
steady chop-chop thud of the sand-shaker, will be seen and heard no
more. In the place of the horse-plough has come the electric sweeper,
a less showy but a good deal more effective device.

The plough itself is gone. It has been retired by the railroads as
useless in practice except to remove great masses of snow, which are
not allowed to accumulate nowadays, if it can be helped. The share
could be lowered only to within four or five inches of the ground,
while the wheel-brooms of the sweeper "sweep between every stone,"
making a clean job of it. Lacking the life of the horse-plough, it is
suggestive of concentrated force far beyond anything in the elaborate
show of its predecessor.

The change suggests, not inaptly, the evolution of the old ship of the
line under full canvas into the modern man-of-war, sailless and grim,
and the conceit is strengthened by the warlike build of the electric
sweeper. It is easy to imagine the iron flanges that sweep the snow
from the track to be rammers for a combat at close quarters, and the
canvas hangers that shield the brushes, torpedo-nets for defence
against a hidden enemy. The motorman on the wor