180 LAND OF THE LINGERING SNOW. 



of January. Their backs were still bent. On 

 my right were the dark woods in which I had 

 found the most beautiful snow caverns, and near 

 by was the ground frequented during long cold 

 weeks by the flock of winter robins. The soft 

 May night, with its frog music, was unlike those 

 days of hyperborean delights. It was more com- 

 fortable and more commonplace. The next 

 stone wall was the one where snow fleas had 

 swarmed by millions. I recalled in one of its 

 angles the white snow bearing the footprints of 

 quail and field mice. So I went on, picking 

 my way cautiously over the dark ground until 

 I came out into Park Avenue, close by the 

 Heights. 



The view from the Heights at night is be- 

 witching. Myriads of stars people the blue 

 heavens, and myriads of baser stars people those 

 depths below. The stars above differ one from 

 another in glory ; the stars below differ one from 

 another in evil. Those above tell of eternity 

 and rest. Those below tell of toil, vanity, self- 

 indulgence, crime, sickness, the unrest of hu- 

 man life. Still, being a man, I looked down 

 into that sea of light, and seemed to find one star 

 gleaming in the distance which was a part of the 

 glory above, and related only by propinquity to 

 the evil of the city. Towards that light I took 

 my way, and finding it, put it out and went to 

 bed. 



