Winter Morn and Moon 277 



the forest are against the sky, and how strongly 

 the gray rocks, with their garb of lichens and poly 

 pody ferns, accentuate themselves in the midst of 

 the aggressive snow ! How sturdy the savin with 

 its creeping boughs, and how the fall memories 

 shiver in the blanched leaves of the beech ! How, 

 projected upon this steel-gray sky, the ancient oak 

 extends its gnarled arms, 



&quot; Spiry and stern, inveterately old.&quot; 



Then comes the day of heavy skies, when the 

 storm is gathering ; the sun is gone, the wind 

 moans, and there is a suppressed weariness of 

 waiting in the very aspect of the earth. The 

 clouds thicken and crowd downward, and all the 

 horizon at sunset is bordered with a dull, oppres 

 sive, darkening mass that crushes the day from 

 the earth and forbids the morrow. This in its 

 way is a most magical and attractive phase of win 

 ter nature, though devoid of beauty and sweet 

 ness. But those mild and gracious qualities are 

 not lacking. Passing the beauty of a bright and 

 genial winter day, which everyone acknowledges, 

 from the school-boy to the most serious of silken 

 dowagers or stock speculators so irresistible is 

 our winter at its best, contemplate the wonder 

 ful loveliness of such nights as the moon now in 

 our sky bestows upon us. 



