28 
NATURE NOTES 
and bow to his every whim. He breathes a wish, and the snow- 
flakes fall lightly and daintily, to cover, transform and beautify 
this grim old world with Nature’s soft ermine. The large 
feathery flakes drape the nude branches with loving tenderness, 
leaving the dark boles to stand out in relief against a pure 
white landscape: Sometimes, indeed, when Winter is in one 
of his gentler moods, the flakes of silently falling snow become 
tears before reaching the ground ; but his temper is capricious, 
and may be, ere the tear has had time to fall, he signals to the 
bitter spirit of the north wind, and in an instant the snowy 
tear is whirled away madly, and, transformed into powdered 
ice, hurls stings and lances at all it meets. The very clouds 
hurry and scurry along before the cruel breath of the keen 
north wind, leaving behind some shreds of themselves, to 
remain as final transparent veils, or to be whisked away and 
lost. 
In his crisp moods Winter is charming. The moon rises, 
and glides along the sky in solitary grandeur, fringing the 
edges of dense snowpacks with silver, and transforming the 
small white scattered clouds into diaphanous drapery. The 
stars are dimmed at the approach of the Night Queen ; but, out 
of the range of her light, they sparkle and glow in unveiled glory, 
and peep down on the earth with eyes like burnished steel. 
In Winter’s crisp moods the giant Frost displays his unique 
j)owers as an artist and a poet. Over the window-panes he 
pencils delicate landscapes, traces forest scenery, and writes 
wordless poems on every available space. He fixes the stream- 
lets of the hillside by his icy breath, and, chained in his fetters, 
these lace the slopes with silvery threads. Sometimes, while 
the moon is still shining, but palely, sunrise peeps timidly 
above the horizon, anxious to catch the first glimpse of the 
world in its new adornings, and then blushes a rosj’ crimson 
at its own audacity. On the roadway, and on the ivy of the 
wall, the frosty sjiangles catch the rosy tint, and a filigree of 
fern and lacework shows u]i in each corner and crevice, while 
iridescent aglets droop from every eave. 
S})ring, we are all agreed, is a coy damsel, seldom knowing 
her own mind for any length of time, but Winter does not always 
show us the sturdy stability for which he is credited. In his 
own land he is ever the fierce, cruel, unrelenting des])ot ; but 
in our softer clime he can be odious in his sleet and fogs and 
cutting winds. Further south, where the sun holds sway, he 
loses his arrogance and cruelty, and his fierce grip becomes 
soft and pleasant. 
Yet we prefer him in his brusque moods, when he makes the 
blood course through our veins, and brings the tint of health 
to our cheeks, as witli lightsome heart and swinging step we tread 
the hardened roadwavs, cris]) with snow, or skate over the 
j)ond whose surface is under his thrnidom. 
