6o IN WINTER. 



Qt J3as~0ibe (Outing. 



A COOL, gray mist overspread the wide 

 reach of meadows, and shut from view the still 

 wider reach of water beyond. The clouds were 

 sullen, and with each gusty sweep of sharp east 

 wind were dashes of chilling rain. The outlook 

 was dismal ; the more so that my companions 

 and myself had journeyed scores of miles to 

 reach the Pleasantville meadows. Perhaps the 

 village itself was pleasant, but now its suburbs 

 were forbidding. Let me misquote Euripides : 



What the morning is to be 

 Human wisdom never learns. 



So it proved ; the east wind was soon tempered 

 to three shorn lambs, the sun peeped out upon 

 us from time to time, and long before noon Na- 

 ture was smiling and contentment reigned. 



That which most impressed me as I neared 

 the water was the painful silence that prevailed 

 over all the scene. Not a sound save that of 

 one's own footsteps was to be heard. The im- 

 pression of an absolutely deserted country, of a 

 region that had been swept by a pestilence fatal 

 even to insect life, took strong hold of me ; but 

 only for a moment. Presently, up from the tufts 

 of tall grass rose, on every side, whistling meadow- 



