AN OPEN WINTER. 85 



not a flower in June can boast greater beauty 

 than the empty seed-pods of many a decaying 

 plant. Shudder, if you will, at the word " skele- 

 ton," but handle that of many a creature or plant, 

 and enthusiastic admiration is sure to follow. 

 In June, we glory in the deadly struggle for ex- 

 istence that everywhere is raging ; charmed by 

 the flaunting banners, the music, the " pomp and 

 circumstance of glorious war " ; why not then be 

 rational and cull beauty as well as profit from 

 the battle-field when the struggle is over ? If a 

 shrub is beautiful clad in motley garb, should 

 not its filmy ghost in silvery gray merit a passing 

 glance ? 



So ran my thoughts as I crossed my neigh- 

 bor's field, seeking new traces of frost's handi- 

 work, but here I failed. The general aspect was 

 wintry, but definite results of wintry weather 

 could not be found. Even on cold clay soil 

 dandelions bloomed, and tissue-ice in the wagon 

 ruts had no discouragement for the grass that 

 bordered it. To sum up the result, rambling in 

 January during such winter as this is not attract- 

 ive, unless one is carried away by the novelty 

 of plants blooming out of season, or hearing 

 sounds when he expected silence. And a word 

 here of winter sounds. Except immediately be- 

 fore a snow-storm, the country is never silent. 

 Here and there, the fields may be deserted, but 



