THE THRUSH. 19 



pelting rains come down upon the leafless trees ; 

 but let one gleam of sunsliine illumine a December 

 or Jaimary morning, and wc find many beauties 

 there. Half hidden by the dry brown leaves, the 

 foliage of the primrose is pe4jping forth, and the 

 duckweed has a tiny white flower, which Ave 

 mark now when flowers are few. lied berries 

 gather on the glossy holly bough; large wi'eaths 

 of the snowy seeds of the traveller's-joy hang on 

 the branches of wild rose bushes ; the cornel and 

 the bramble liavc yet a reddish-brown leaf, the 

 old oak, a coronal of yellow, and the privet a spray 

 of green leaves, to tell of the beauty which is past 

 and the beauty which is coming. The winds 

 which but a few days since swept through the wood, 

 IxMiding the strong boughs and snapping some of 

 I the weaker ones, are to-day only powerful enough 



I to awaken a melody a.s they come in fitful gusts, 



or slowly relapse into more lengthened cadences. 

 They do not whisper like the lute, but neither do 

 they remind us of the full sound of the or^^'-an. 

 They have melodies of their own, sweeter tiiaii 

 those of any instrument which the skilful hand 

 ot man has accommrjdated to the yearnin^'- for 

 sweet sounds which tlie Great Creator has im- 



