A WINTER RAMBLE. 



To become familiar with nature we 

 must go to her at all seasons, and ob- 

 serve the varying changes from day to 

 day and month to month. There are 

 many interesting things to see and learn 

 during the winter season. Thus it was 

 that Thoreau, the poet-naturalist, oc- 

 cupied his little hut in the woods by 

 Walden Pond, through the long, cold 

 days and nights while the snow fell 

 three feet deep on the level, and the 

 waters of the pond were congealed into 

 a solid floor of ice. He was there to 

 learn the secrets of Nature, and many 

 of her secrets could be learned only in 

 this way. 



Choose a mild winter day, and call 

 upon your old friends of the summer- 

 time, the trees, hills, and the valleys' of 

 the wood. You will find no wild flower 

 in bloom, for even the witch hazel has 

 succumbed to the cold ; no robins sing- 

 ing in the leafless trees. The snow lies 

 cold and white where the arbutus grew, 

 and the mountain stream is silent. Yet 

 there is much to observe, and many 

 specimens to carry home if you will. 



We see how Nature has formed the 

 leaf-buds for next year, and protected 

 them from the frost. We see into the 

 depths of sylvan glens and woody re- 

 treats with unwonted distinctness, as 

 though admitted for the first time into 

 unfamiliar places. The leafy shadows 

 are gone, and the sunrays penetrate 

 where they never entered while the 

 woods were green. 



We fail to recognize our old friends 

 in their winter nudity, the bare trees 

 and shrubs so well known to us when 

 clothed in their summer foliage. 



You will perhaps be surprised to find 

 a great variety of color in the winter 

 landscape. At first glance, it appears to 

 be all white snow and green pines. But 

 look closer, and see the gray and brown 

 of the tree-trunks, the warm red 



branches of the cornel, the golden yel- 

 low of the willow twigs, the scarlet 

 sumac, the rich russet of the oak-leaves, 

 and numerous other objects blightly col- 

 ored, such as the fung', lichens, berries 

 and decaying stumps. 



Never before has the velvety moss on 

 the rocky ledges seemed so beautiful. 

 And how silvery white the paper-birches 

 look against the dark background of 

 spruce and hemlocks ! 



Up among the twisted branches of 

 an old tree, there is a monstrous wasp's 

 nest. The wasp is the original inventor 

 of paper made from wood pulp. 



Across the path in front of us scur- 

 ries a fat, little meadow-mole, disap- 

 pearing into a tiny cavern under the 

 snow, where his warm nest of soft 

 grasses is hidden. 



The larger tracks of a rabbit indi- 

 cates where one of these shy creatures 

 hopped along earlier in the day. We see 

 by the position of the tracks that he 

 proceeded leisurely for several yards, 

 then came dangerously near to slipping 

 over the icy ledge. Having scrambled 

 to a place of safety, the little fellow 

 jumped along for a while in the same 

 direction, pausing now and then to 

 nibble at the tender bark of a shrub. 



Then alarmed by something seen or 

 heard, he gave a sudden backward leap 

 and bounded away to his burrow. In a 

 moment, the cause of his hasty retreat is 

 apparent, for in the soft snow are the 

 deep tracks of a dog. Let us hope that 

 the fleet legs of the little wild creature 

 carried him to a place of safety. 



Looking up the steep hill, where the 

 rocky shelves are hung with polypodi- 

 ums and Christmas ferns, a merry twit- 

 tering attracts our eyes to a flock of 

 lively snow-birds feeding among the 

 evergreens. And yonder is a funny 

 little bird chasing up and down a dead 

 hemlock, head down most of the time, 



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