In Defence of Desolation. 



" HOW desolate !" Such is the common re- 

 mark when in late autumn or winter we look 

 out of the window on a dull, cloudy, or possibly 

 rainy day. Is the asserted desolation real or 

 apparent? To test the merits of a locality, 

 choose the most hopelessly commonplace cor- 

 ner, some unreclaimed swampy bit that has de- 

 fied the farmer, and, if it proves too full of 

 interest to be exhausted in one day's study, 

 where is the asserted desolation ? The fault is 

 with ourselves, not with irreclaimable Nature. 

 We have persistently turned our backs upon 

 her, and so devoutly worshipped the artificial 

 that much of what is thoroughly good and 

 wholesome is looked upon with dread or indif- 

 ference. The pleasure asserted of the pathless 

 woods is also in the trackless swamps, and lurks 

 in the weedy corners of badly cultivated fields. 

 To the untrained eye a clump of bushes may 

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