WINTER 53 



Thoreau; yet I protest I enjoyed it, and 

 likewise the silence of the banked-up houses 

 and blockaded streets for two days after. 

 As to the yard, I do go there on winter 

 evenings to see if any mistaken vegetable 

 has stirred in the day's sunshine, or if there 

 are any new McGonigle tracks in the snow. 

 If the yard were ten miles long I should not 

 try to go to the end of it, unless it were 

 moonlight. Walking in the small hours 

 over roads white with snow is one of the 

 most peaceful yet exhilarating of experi- 

 ences. As to cold, hunger, and tire, those 

 states are excellent tonics, but poor com- 

 pany. Of course it is civilization that has 

 made us cowardly, but there are few more 

 wretched men than those, too proud to 

 beg, who do not know at nightfall where 

 they shall sleep or whether they shall eat. 

 The life of a yard writes itself large in 

 new snow. It is occasionally clothes-line 

 thieves, but mostly cats, and they wander 

 about in our miniature wilderness, doubling 

 on their tracks like the Israelites, as if to 

 see how much ground to cover when there 

 is not much to be covered. Sparrows, too, 



