In Defence of Desolation. 185 



I grant that deserted Nature may be desolate. 

 An arid desert, with no life upon it except 

 scorpions and spiders, may be the climax of 

 desolation ; but no such conditions obtain here. 

 Even if the storms, with all possible accessories 

 of discomfort, beat upon us, there is a resisting 

 energy in the wild life that has wisely chosen 

 these marshes as its home. Discomfort for the 

 day is far removed from desolation ; and if you 

 persist in calling it such, then let me argue in 

 its defence. Dark, dismal days, such as this, 

 are really pleasing by way of variety. Already 

 I have seen many birds, when the outlook from 

 the hill-top was anything but assuring ; but then 

 there was the goldfinch almost at my door, and 

 the crested tit announcing "All's right!" be- 

 fore I had gone a dozen rods. Through the 

 window, desolate, perhaps ; but what of a closer 

 inspection ? It is ever so. 



There is yet an hour before sunset, but no 

 ruddy light will illuminate the wide-reaching 

 marsh. Night will quickly come, but here is 

 the winding creek, forsaken now by trapper and 

 fisherman. The wind foretells the rain in no 

 uncertain terms, and even these hardy men 



