TREETOPS IN WINTER 121 



words we need are those of Robert Brown- 

 ing in "Paracelsus," where Festus says : 



"Best ope the casement: see, 

 The night, late strewn with clouds and flying 



stars, 

 Is blank and motionless: how peaceful sleep 

 The treetops altogether!" 



Our last scene is in that paradise of 

 trees, "Drew Forest." The entire picture 

 is beyond my courage; but here is a frag- 

 ment : A group of white birches, and snow- 

 besprinkled spruces standing over against 

 the eastern sky. It is a December morn- 

 ing, perhaps ten minutes before sunrise. 

 From where I stand, I now and then 

 catch, through the treetops to the north- 

 east, kindling patches on the distant, low- 

 lying hills. Squarely in the east are long, 

 streaming pennants of color — none regu- 

 lar, none gorgeous — just dull reds alter- 

 nating with blues so dark that they barely 

 escape being somber. The tops of the 

 birches are the first to respond to the 

 dawn, and very soon their plumes, droop- 



