54 THE SNOW-WALKEBS. 



return of Nature, after such a career of splendor and 

 prodigality, to habits so simple and austere, is not 

 lost either upon the head or the heart. It is the 

 philosopher coming back from the banquet and the 

 wine to a cup of water and a crust of bread. 



And then this beautiful masquerade of the ele- 

 ments, the novel disguises our nearest friends put 

 on ! Here is another rain and another dew, water 

 that will not flow, nor spill, nor receive the taint of 

 an unclean vessel. And if we see truly, the same old 

 beneficence and willingness to serve lurk beneath all. 



Look up at the miracle of the falling snow, the 

 dizzy maze of whirling, eddying flakes, noise- 

 ly transforming the world, the exquisite crystals 

 Iropping in ditch and gutter, and disguising in the 

 same suit of spotless livery all objects upon which 

 they fall. IVHow novel and fine the first drifts ! The 

 old, dilapidated fence is suddenly set off with the 

 most fantastic ruffles, scalloped and fluted after an 

 unheard-of fashion ! Looking down a long line of 

 decrepit stone-wall, in the trimming of which the 

 wind had fairly run riot, I saw, as for the first time, 

 what a severe yet master artist old Winter is. \ Ah, 

 a severe artist ! J How stern the woods look, dark 

 and cold and as rigid against the horizon as iron ! 

 J^All life and action upon the snow have an added 

 emphasis and significance. Every expression is un- 

 derscored. ^Summer has few finer pictures than this 

 winter one of the farmer foddering his cattle from a 

 tack upon the clean snow, the movement, the 



