XIII. 



COLOUR. 



ERY beautiful are the 

 tints of sylvan Win- 

 ter. Those who say 

 the season is * dead ' 

 have no eyes for its 

 colour, life, move- 

 ment, and force. 

 'Where is its co- 

 lour ? ' we fancy 

 some reader may 



exclaim. There is green, he will admit. How 

 many are the shades of green? There is the 

 dark, glistening verdancy of the Holly, and the 

 rich depth of the Ivy. Look at Ivy glistening even 

 from the gloom of a fog ! Is it one monotonous 

 shade of colour? No, indeed. The dark, deep 

 glossiness of the leafy epidermis is contrasted by 



