IN WINTER WOODS 



THE prevailing tints of white and 

 black in the January woods give 

 an erroneous idea of solemnity to 

 one who views them at a distance. The 

 bleakness, the isolation, and the staring colors 

 which lend such sharp contrasts emphasize 

 this feeling. To those who are strangers to 

 the delights of a tramp through snowy for- 

 ests, the wintry wastes hold no mysteries of 

 sound and silence, no revelations or sugges- 

 tions. But to those who have for many a 

 long year followed the gun, the woods in 

 winter are especially significant of life and 

 wonder, of beauty and of music. 



To begin with, there are everywhere the 

 microscopic effects of the season. Each tree, 

 stripped of its foliage, stands nakedly in the 

 crisp and clear atmosphere as a mast with all 

 sails furled stands out at sea. Here and there 

 perhaps a brown leaf clings to a branch of 

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