THE BIRCH AND THE ALDER. 149 



incomparable perfection. So viewing them, we 

 cannot but feel how great an auxiliary in the pro- 

 motion of human delight is this self-same winter, 

 which, by thus constraining the woods to disrobe 

 themselves, shows lines and attitudes of beauty 

 which in summer are totally lost in the maze of 

 foliage. Clothing, that makes so beautiful, how 

 often is it the veil of a beauty still more transcend- 

 ing ! 



Induitur, formosa est : exuitur, ipsa forma ! 



In the depth of winter, wherever birches have 

 been liberally mingled with other trees in hill-side 

 plantations, the effect from the valley below is often 

 unique. Far aloft, they lift up their white and 

 shining fabric, not so much like the bleached skele- 

 tons some have compared them to, as, after the 

 manner of the constellations, speaking not of death 

 but of life; not of darkness and desolation, but 

 of that welcome lull in the too-vivid brightness 

 which by day prevents the beholding, and gives 

 to night a greater glory than belongs even to bright 

 noon. Very beautiful, too, is the spectacle of the 

 birches when, by reason of advancing autumn, they 

 begin to reveal themselves in the recesses of the 

 glen. Let us look for them. The sun shines 

 bright and kindly, and glows in rich red-brown on 

 the bare pillars of the far-away Scotch firs. On 

 every hand linger pretty relics of the summer, waifs 

 of ivory meadow-sweet, overworn grasses, reluctant 



