THE COUNTRY IN WINTER 



stillness the rain of the night has frozen in drops on each 

 horizontal spray. One fears to move lest the illusion 

 vanish. The ground undulates beneath the mystic 

 trees, seeming to rise imperceptibly almost as the forest 

 deepens. Faint purples and brownish pinks are in the 

 depths all lightly touched with silver. Here is another 

 unexpected picture. Did someone say that the winter 

 landscape was monotonous ? Did I hear that the winter 

 sights were always about the same? So I supposed in 

 my ignorance, and this joy of discovery fills me with new 

 appreciation. I must get nearer, I must go out into that 

 mysterious woodland and look up through those shining 

 branches and feel the crusted tree trunks and hear the 

 birds a-calling. 



In every country house there should be at least one 

 bedroom with a fireplace; if a big one, so much the bet 

 ter. There is so much companionship, so much room 

 for the imagination, so much soothing diversion in 

 watching a wood fire. Each log has its individuality, 

 its responsibility, each one can so plainly help or hinder 

 the good work. We have even evolved a new way to 



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