VII 



When Snows Are Deep 



MID-WINTER has its high 

 Olympian hours no less re- 

 nowned than summer's halcyon days 

 if you only think so. Content or 

 discontent, happiness or unhappiness, 

 joy or sorrow, at all seasons, are at 

 bottom merely a state of mind super- 

 induced largely by a state of the body. 

 A jolly snowstorm that sets red- 

 cheeked school children wild with 

 joy, excites little enthusiasm in an 

 asylum for the blind. The world is a 

 delirious dream of pure delight to 

 those in health and who, at the mo- 

 ment, are having all their fondest 

 wishes gratified. How can anyone 

 ever be weary of it? 



