THE RETREAT OF LIFE 



THE trees are very beautiful this 

 morning, as they stand sheeted with 

 ice in the sunlight. This is winter's 

 final victory. Months ago the first 

 frost touched the verdure and with- 

 ered it. The leaves clung a few 

 weeks longer to the branches, then, 

 hopelessly, let go their grasp and 

 fluttered to the earth, there to be 

 chased by the winds. The trees stood 

 bare awhile. Sometimes, in the win- 

 ter gale, they seemed to be protesting 

 loudly at their rough treatment; 

 anon, they stood still and waited. I 

 wonder if they were quiet so that 

 they might be fettered thus. Any- 

 how, this morning they are impris- 

 oned by the grim ice king, as though, 

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