196 IN SUMMER. 



unnatural. Thank the stars ! critics are dumb, 

 whatever the garb Nature sees fit to put on. 



Is it winter ? In a broad sense the world is 

 now at rest, but one need not sit down and 

 mope because of it. It is a happy lot to be able 

 to lead a contemplative life ; the better if it alter- 

 nates with periods of activity. And never a 

 winter so dead as to be unsuggestive, not even 

 though the rigor of an arctic one be upon us. 

 If the familiar river no longer flows by, brim- 

 ming, blue, and sparkling, flecked with the white 

 sails of busy craft or fretted with the tireless 

 splash of hissing steamers, what of the rugged 

 highway it becomes for the wild life that braves 

 the north wind and its attendant storms ? 

 Whoso studies the flocks of dainty sparrows 

 that throng the wide, wind-swept wastes in 

 winter should have courage enough to face 

 the world at all seasons. What a pulpit be- 

 comes a cake of ice whereon a tree-sparrow is 

 singing ! and I have heard hundreds of warbling 

 sparrows when the day was cold and dreary be- 

 yond description. 



" How cheerless are the leafless oaks ! " 

 these the strange words of a storm-bound vis- 

 itor. Cheerless? just now, perhaps; but wait, 

 and what a network of ruggedness will bar the 

 deep blue sky, and let in the welcome sunshine 

 where the gnarly roots afford a tempting seat ! 



