THE PASTURE IN NOVEMBER 261 



cent, and the stars fade, yet show dimly through 

 like the moon, proving that these are but disem- 

 bodied monsters. Sometimes they wait till dawn 

 bids them dematerialize before it. More often 

 winter, which is most apt to steal in upon us late 

 at night in November, breaks their backs with 

 the weight of his cold and spreads them as hoar 

 frost upon all things below, showing us how thin 

 and of little substance they really are. Some- 

 times this breakage comes with the first gleams 

 of morning light and I feel the chill of their 

 passing as they sink slowly to the grass. 

 They are beautiful in their eerie suggestions as 

 they flout my three o'clock in the morning cour- 

 age, but lovelier far when they sparkle on the 

 grass and shrubs under the sudden flare of the 

 rising sun. I fancy that with clearer light all 

 our- gorgons and chimeras dire will become but 

 sparkling fairies, for these certainly do. Twig 

 and leaf and grass spear bend with the clusters 

 of them. I see the fluff of their ermine gar- 

 ments, their tossing white plumes, and get the 

 glint of their jewels, breaking up the white light 

 into multiple rainbows that flash all the pasture 

 world with a dainty glamour of romance. Just 

 as the touch of winter, slipping down from the 



