DECEMBER 
mee TTA TEVER the calendar may say 
about winter coming in on the first 
i of this month (or, with more scien- 
mf24) tific accuracy, on the 21st), our fe/- 
ings do not cross the winter-line until the first 
snow-storm. Be it never so cold, the autumn 
mood will linger on, until a few fairy flakes 
silently but suddenly dispel the illusion, and 
inaugurate the new régime, as the song spar- 
row’s earliest March melody magically opens 
the gate of spring. 
Winter is like the old Norse poetry, ragged, 
and jagged, and barbarously grand. There isa 
certain fascination in the unique and austere 
realities of this bleak and inhospitable season. 
Until one stands in the depths of the woods in 
mid-winter he does not appreciate how rare 
and peculiarly impressive is the sense of abso- 
lute silence—the soundless, deathly quiet in 
earth and air, against which even his own light 
breathing harshly grates, while his ear seems 
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