CHAPTER III. 

 OPEN WINTER. 



THE frost and snow of early winter have softened, ere the 

 middle of the season, into such mild days, fields so green 

 and skies so tender, that one almost imagines himself in 

 some southern clime. Rain falls as easily as in April, and 

 the air is laden with a genial vapor, which almost threatens 

 to bring out the buds. 



What happy moments were those this morning, as I sat in 

 my study, by the large window facing the east, and watched 

 the coming of the morning! It was announced by a delicate, 

 rosy tint, stretching like a band along the horizon — a 

 fringe, where the deep blue touched the darkened landscape. 

 Anon, the lambent flame pervades the whole chamber of the 

 east, transfiguring space itself, and strikingly in contrast 

 with the clouds in the foreground — still sable under the 

 shadows of retreating night. Now these dark clouds them- 

 selves have caught the glow, and are soon turned into 

 amber and gold. The rosy flames rise higher and higher, 

 till they touch the zenith; and now a broad band of rich, 

 transparent green unrolls along the horizon, and the whole 

 heaven is aglow with the glory of the coming day. 



THE QUAIL. 



I must out, and away to the woods! Passing through a 

 large peach-orchard, just before entering a beautiful, park- 



