WINTER SUNSHINE. 



2 9 



the westward. When one comes out of his house and 

 asks himself " Which way shall I walk ? " and looks 

 up and down and around for a sign or a token, does 

 he not nine times out of ten turn to the west? He in- 

 clines this way as surely as the willow wand bends 

 toward the water. There is something more genial 

 and friendly in this direction. 



Occasionally in winter I experience a southern incli- 

 nation, and so cross Long Bridge and rendezvous for 

 the day in some old earth-work on the Virginia hills. 

 The roads are not so inviting in this direction, but the 

 line of old forts with rabbits burrowing in the bomb- 

 proofs, and a magazine, or officers' quarters turned into 

 a cow stable by colored squatters, form an interesting 

 feature. But whichever way I go I am glad I came. 

 All roads lead up to the Jerusalem the walker seeks. 

 There is everywhere the vigorous and masculine winter 

 air, and the impalpable sustenance the mind draws from 

 all natural forms. 



