A WINTRY VALE 



I WAS walking to-day through a 

 vale where the bones of last sum- 

 mer's beauty were scattered on either 

 hillside. It was a cheerless prospect. 

 Fallen tree trunk, and brush, and 

 dead grass without a hint of color 

 were scattered all about, while up 

 through this stood the gaunt, bare 

 trees, silent, mournful. It was like a 

 walk through a field of graves. A 

 stillness like the tomb was in the vale. 

 The wind sighing across the valley 

 would have been a relief but even 

 wind was dead. 



Had this prospect of death been 

 extensive, there would have been for 



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