140 BOULDER REVERIES. 



XXXII. 



Dec. 25, '04- Christmas day once more ! A 

 day which in the past ten years seems to recur 

 as often as the Sabbaths of a score of years ago. 

 The mantle of white which a week ago covered 

 the bosom of earth is gone, and in its stead the 

 dull, yellowish brown of half -frozen blue-grass, 

 with here and there a spear of vivid green, 

 which tells that life and immortality still lurk 

 beneath the sod. Everything is soft and moist 

 and the earth odor of decaying leaves rises to 

 greet my nostrils. The air, however, is dense 

 and damp, while gray, misty clouds hide every 

 part of the overhanging dome. After a day of 

 close confinement in the old farm house I start 

 at 4 P. M. for a saunter through the woods- 

 pasture, which I have not visited since Septem- 

 ber, to see what of life it still holds what of 

 sounds to greet my ear. 



A faint scolding Jcah-kah, then a fainter 

 contented pt-pt-pt, denotes the presence of 

 some feathered friend, and glancing up I see a 

 "devil-down-head" or white-bellied nuthatch, 

 moving swiftly over a limb of an old maple, and 



