nd clear against the sky. The plain is silent, and nothing that
can be seen moves upon its surface.

On the verge of the wood which occupies the sloping ground there stands
a great oak tree, and down one side of its trunk is a narrow white
streak of snow. Leaning against the oak and looking upwards, every
branch and twig is visible, lit up by the moon. Overhead the stars are
dimmed, but they shine more brightly yonder above the hills. Such leaves
as have not yet fallen hang motionless: those that are lying on the
ground are covered by the snow, and thus held fast from rustling even
were the wind to blow. But there is not the least breath--a great frost
is always quiet, profoundly quiet--and the silence is undisturbed even
by the fall of a leaf. The frost that kills them holds the leaves till
it melts, and then they drop.

The tall ash poles behind in the wood stand stark and straight, pointing
upwards, and it is possible to see for some distance between them. No
lesser bats flit to and fro outside the fence under the branches; no
larger ones pass above the tops _of_ the trees. There seems, indeed, a
total absence of life. The pheasants are at roost in the warmer covers;
and the woodpigeons are also perched--some in the detached oaks of the
hedgerows, particularly those that are thickly grown with ivy about the
upper branches. Up in the great beeches the rooks are still and silent;
sometimes the boughs are encrusted with rime about their very claws.

Leaving the oak now and skirting the wood, after a while the meadows on
the lower ground are reached; and here perhaps the slight scampering
sound of a rabbit may be heard. But as they can see and hear you so far
in the bright light and silence, they will most likely be gone before
you can get near. They are restless--very restless; first because of the
snow, and next because of the moonlight. The hares, unable to find
anything on the hills or the level white plain above, have come down
here and search along the sheltered hedgerows for leaf and blade.
To-night the rabbits will run almost like the hares, to and fro, hither
and thither.

In the thickest hawthorns the blackbirds and lesser feathered creatures
are roosting, preferring the hedgerow to the more open wood. Some of the
lesser birds have crept into the ivy around the elms, and which crowns
the tops of the withy pollards. Wrens and sparrows have gone to the
hayricks, roosting in little holes in the sides under the