WINTER. 



I ever forget the fascinating excitement 

 which sped me on from snare to snare in 

 those tramps through the snowy woods, 

 the exhilarating buoyancy of that deli- 

 cious suspense, every nerve and every 

 muscle on the qtd vive in my eagerness 

 for the captured game ! Even the mem 

 ory of it acts like a tonic, and almost cre- 

 ates an appetite like that of old. 



And then the lovely woods. How 

 few there are who ever seek their 

 winter solitude ; and of these how fewer 

 still are they who find anything but 

 drear and cold monotony ! 



We read the literature of our ►■;• 

 time, and find it rich in story of the 

 home aspects of winter ; of Christ- 

 mas joys and festivals, of holiday 

 festivities, and all the various ;..- ^ 

 phases of cosy domestic life ; ^ ~ 



but not often are we - %/2$ 



tempted from the glow- , 

 ing hearth into the ' - ■--'->' ■'_^ i ; ''•;,;.;:'-: i 

 wilds of the bare ."*"''*—« 



and leafless forest. We - " -"-'""'" 

 read of the "drear and ^-^ 



lonely waste, the cheerless 

 desolation of the howling wilderness, 

 and we look out upon the naked, shiv- 

 ering trees and draw our cushioned rockers closer to the grateful fire. 



Not I ; bitter were the winds and high the piled-up drifts that shut me 

 in from out-of-doors in those glorious days ; and whether on my animated 

 trapping tours, or hunting on the crusted snow, with powder-horn and 

 game-bag swinging at my side, or perhaps pressing through the tangled 

 thickets in my impetuous search for those pendulous cocoons, now stop- 

 ping to tear away the loosening bark on moss-grown stump, now looking 

 beneath some prostrate board for the little " woolly bears " curled up in 

 their dormant sleep : no matter what my purpose, always I was sure to 



THE FIRST SNOW. 



