98 SYLVAN WINTER. 



the, rough pathway worn by visitors on the turf 

 which clothes Boxhill until we come . to a point 

 where the spreading Box-forest touches the path, 

 we may then turn round and enjoy a fine sight, 

 although the leaflessness of sylvan Winter is, 

 from this spot, almost everywhere apparent. 

 In the depths of the valley below, near the 

 railway station, are a few clustered houses, the 

 smoke from which, as we look down towards 

 them, is slowly rising into the air. Amidst the 

 stillness which prevails, the crow of a cock reaches 

 us, and furnishes an audible indication of village 

 life. Away beyond the houses, undulating country 

 stretches — hills, with their sombre garniture of 

 trees, rising to the right and to the left, whilst 

 away to the west the sun is descending to the 

 horizon formed by the crests of .distant elevations. 

 Away on, the opposite side the eye can follow, 

 in the depressions between the hills, the spreading 

 sylvan, wintry, landscape, which rolls away until 

 it melts into a thin haze of colour. The valley 

 between, rich with verdant beauty when held 

 under the sway of leafy summer, is still beauti- 

 ful, leafless though the trees are ; and the sounds 



