THE CROSS-BILL AND THE LITTLE WARBLER. 63 
on its margin you would find patches of gi'een 
herbage, and myriads of bright and beautiful 
flowers. But this does not often happen ; and 
the forest stretches onward, and onward, and 
onward still, in unbroken solitude, and desti- 
tute alike of grass and flowers. 
The ground is strewed with decaying leaves, 
and dead branches that keep falling every day. 
And though the storm may rage and beat upon 
the tree tops, and in its fury rock them to and 
fro, they are so matted together, that it cannot 
penetrate beneath them. Near the ground, all 
is profoundly still ; and not a single breath of 
wind can enter, to stir the dead leaves that 
moulder to decay just where they have fallen. 
When winter comes, the trees shed their 
foliage, and stand bare and leafless; the birds 
of summer are gone, the squirrels retreat to 
their holes, and the wild beasts become torpid 
in their dens ; and the snow lies smooth and 
unruffled, except where, here and there, is seen 
the footprint of the elk or of the wolf 
Of these northern forests the oak woods are 
the least dark and gloomy ; for the trees stand 
far enough apart to allow a golden stream of 
light to play upon their pale green foliage ; and 
