24 



WINTER SUNSHINE. 



with their slender beaks and microscopic eyes, last of 

 all. 1 



Now and then, among the gray-and-brown tints, 

 there was a dash of scarlet — the cardinal-grosbeak, 

 whose presence was sufficient to enliven any scene. In 

 the leafless trees, as a ray of sunshine fell upon him, 

 he was visible a long way off, glowing like a crimson 

 spar — the only bit of color in the whole landscape. 



Maryland is here rather a level, unpicturesque coun- 

 try — the gaze of the traveller bounded, at no great 

 distance, by oak woods, with here and there a dark 

 line of pine. We saw few travellers, passed a ragged 

 squad or two of colored boys and girls, and met some 

 colored women on their way to or from church, per- 

 haps. Never ask a colored person — at least the 

 crude, rustic specimens — any question that involves 

 a memory of names, or any arbitrary signs ; you will 

 rarely get a satisfactory answer. If you could speak 

 to them in their own dialect, or touch the right spring 

 in their minds, you would, no doubt, get the desired 

 information. They are as local in their notions and 

 habits as the animals, and go on much the same prin- 

 ciples, as, no doubt, we all do, more or less. I saw a 

 colored boy come into a public office, one day, and 

 ask to see a man with red hair; the name was utterly 

 gone from him. The man had red whiskers, which 

 was as near as he had come to the mark. Ask your 



1 It seems to me this is a borrowed observation, but I do not 

 know whom to credit it to. 



