146 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 



The Frost King is abroad, and as by the magic touch 

 of an enchanter's wand has wrought a wondrous change 

 within the forest as well as on lake and stream. 



What has become of the unsightly heaps of brush- 

 wood, the debris of fallen rotting leaves, of stalks of 

 withered flowers and rank herbage, the blackened 

 stumps, the old prostrate wind-blown trees ? Where 

 are they now ? Here is purity without a sign of decay. 

 All that offended the sight in our forest walks has 

 vanished. 



A spotless robe of dazzling whiteness, soft and bright 

 as the swan's downy breast, is spread over all that was 

 unsightly. The new-fallen snow decks every fan-like 

 spray of hemlock, balsam, fir, and spruce, with mimic 

 wreaths of fairy flowers. The young saplings, weak 

 and slender, bend beneath their burden, lightly as it 

 seems to lie upon them, weighing them down until they 

 touch the ground, forming bowers and graceful arcades 

 of crystal brightness ; even the very stumps are dressed 

 with turbans whiter than the far-famed looms of Decca 

 could weave or art of fuller whiten. 



Looking upward we see a hazy veil above the dark 

 funereal pine tops, through which the silvery stars gleam 

 softly, while fantastic shadows checker the glittering 

 snow beneath our feet. All about us is a stillness so 

 profound that it would seem as if Nature herself lay 

 wrapped in sleep. 



The dull creaking of our footsteps on the closely 



