200 OUT OF DOORS. 



quenched by the rains of autumn and the snows of 

 winter. 



Our hedges are bare and scanty, with the bright 

 light shining through their denuded gaplets that so 

 recently were veiled with rich verdure and blossoming 

 flowers ; our path is hard, sharp, and treacherous, and 

 our feet likely to slip from the frozen pebbles and 

 deposit us in the ditch, lately so full of flowers, but 

 now containing a mixture of snow, water, dead thorn- 

 branches at the bottom, and a few thistle-stems and 

 nettle-leaves on the sides, that render such a locality a 

 singularly unpleasant sojourn. Even our dear little 

 pond is covered with ice, except where a few persevering 

 ducks have swum so continually round a tiny circle that 

 the water still bubbles through the icy covering, and 

 where the cattle have still managed to break away the 

 frozen surface in order to drink, thereby kneading the 

 water into a kind of muddy paste, and covering the 

 neighbouring ice with most unsightly brown splashes. 

 Our little streamlet is dry, and the many creatures 

 that disport themselves in its rippling waves have dis- 

 appeared. 



Gone are the insect tribes, whose busy bum gave 

 such life to the scene ; not even a beetle is to be seen 

 taking a short stroll from one tree-root to another; 

 hardly a bird has enough spirit to utter its lively 

 chirrup, and the very robin himself, with his brown 

 coat and red waistcoat, has gone off to the farmyards 

 and houses, trusting to his insinuating ways, his sly 



