WHEN THE DAYS BEGIN TO LENGTHEN 



" To-day will be a day of days in the grove," 

 I said to myself. " The perfection of a mid-win- 

 ter walk will be ours." 



When I again inspected the landscape daylight 

 had come, and the work of clearing away the 

 snow had already begun ; but instead of the feath- 

 ery mounds which path-breakers so lightly heaped 

 up yesterday, clear, firm squares were being 

 marked out by strong shovels, while a dazzling 

 breastwork of solid white blocks rose between the 

 road and the sidewalk. 



The way to the grove is open to us now, and I 

 ask you to accompany me through it on a walk 

 brisk enough to circumvent Jack Frost's deepest 

 designs. 



Think of the " treasures of the snow " repre- 

 sented in even a tiny fragment of one of these 

 compressed blocks; and what hosts and hosts of 

 exquisite snow-flowers we crush at every step. I 

 caught a few of the falling crystals yesterday in 

 the hope of being able to trace the wonderful law 

 of sizes as exemplified in each of the tiny forms, 

 whether star, prism, pyramid, wheel, or any other 

 of the fanciful shapes they assume we are told 

 that nearly a thousand varieties have been noted 



