40 IN BIRD LAND. 



III. 



WINTER FROLICS. 



HAD Mr. Lowell never written anything but 

 " A Good Word for Winter," he would still 

 have deserved a place in the front rank of American 

 writers. What a genuine appreciation of Nature, 

 even in her sterner and more unfriendly moods, 

 breathes in every line of his manfully written mono- 

 graph ! Blessed be the man whose love for Nature 

 is so leal and deeply rooted that he can say, " Even 

 though she slay me, yet will I trust in her ! " When 

 the storm howls dismally, and the icy gusts strike 

 you rudely in the face ; when the cold rain or sleet 

 pelts you spitefully ; when, in short. Nature seems 

 to frown and scold and bluster, — the loyal lover 

 of her feels no waning of affection, but knows that 

 beneath all her bluster and apparent harshness she 

 carries a tender, maternal heart in her bosom that 

 responds to his wooing. No, Thomson is in error 

 when he says that winter is the " inverted year." 

 Winter, as well as summer, is the year right end up, 

 standing squarely on its feet ; or, if it does some- ' 

 times turn a somersault, it quickly wheels about 

 again into an upright position. Nor is Cotton's 

 dictum correct that winter is " our mortal enemy." 



