"snow in the air," is marvellously fructify- 

 ing. So light, so white, the thistle-down of 

 winter, it comes bearing gifts that shall 

 make all the world glad. 



Promise of full harvest is in it. Full 

 streams, too ; also the early and the latter 

 rains. Give thanks for all, and venture forth 

 spite of this nipping air. All paths lie un- 

 broken. To walk through this twelve-inch 

 fall sets blood atingle to your finger-tips. 



The game is worth the candle. Even if you 

 saw no more than the white, fine curves of 

 mounded drift and hillock. Low and soft 

 are they warm beds for Earth's tiny chil- 

 dren, not cruel grave-mounds over her dead. 

 The snow did its spiriting gently indeed. 

 It fell almost without wind. Here, in the 

 orchard, branch, bough, twig lie heaped with 

 glistening white, and bent all to earth with 

 the clouds' fair gift of pearls. Part the 

 boughs over the pathway with gentlest touch, 

 yet tiny avalanches shower upon you. All 

 the grieving grave-yard cedars are tall, ghost- 

 ly cones even the brier-clumps turned to 

 ivory -carvings, more exquisitely patterned 

 than ever came from mortal hand. 



Something rifts a cedar's southernmost 

 side something more than dazzling against 

 this world of white. Ah ha ! Master Red- 



