122 A NOVEMBER CHRONICLE. 



flurry after dark, as the grass showed white 

 in favorable spots early the next morning. 

 Making allowance for the shortness of the 

 days, I doubt whether there has been a 

 month during the past year in which a man 

 could comfortably spend more of his time 

 in out-of-door exercise. 



The trees were mostly bare before the 

 end of October, but the apple and cherry 

 trees still kept their branches green (they 

 are foreigners, and perhaps have been used 

 to a longer season), and the younger growth 

 of gray birches lighted up the woodlands 

 with pale yellow. Of course the oak-leaves 

 were still hanging, also ; and for that mat- 

 ter they are hanging yet, and will be for 

 months to come, let the north wind blow 

 as it may. I wonder whether their winter 

 rustling sounds as cold in other ears as in 

 mine. My own feeling is most likely the 

 result of boyish associations. How often I 

 waded painfully through the forest paths, 

 my feet and hands half frozen, while these 

 ghosts of summer shivered sympathetically 

 on every side as they saw me pass ! I won- 

 der, too, what can be the explanation of this 

 unnatural oak-tree habit. The leaves are 



