By words, nor by the pencil's silent skill;
But is the property of him alone
Who hath beheld it, noted it with care,
And in his mind recorded it with love."_

Leave the prairie and enter the forest which crowns the neighboring
ridge. Here are more of those blue shadows on the snow. The delicate
blue sky is faintly reflected on the snow in the full sunlight, but it
is more obvious in the shadow; in some places its hue is almost
indigo. This sky reflection is one of the most beautiful of Nature's
winter exhibitions. Towards sundown the snow-capped ridges will
sometimes be tinged with pink. And in a red sunset the winter trees
will sometimes throw shadows of green, the complementary color, on the
snow.

* * * * *

You are early in the woods. Nature's children are not yet astir. The
silence is profound; but it is a fruitful, uplifting silence. There
are no sounds to strike the most delicate strings in that wondrous
harp of your inner ear. But if your spiritual ear is attentive you
should catch those forest voices that fall softer than silence and
speak of peace and purity, truth and beauty.

Soon the silence is broken. Curiously, the first sound you hear comes
from advanced civilization, the rumble of a train fifteen miles away.
On a still morning like this one can hardly stand five full minutes on
any spot in the whole state of Iowa without hearing the sound of a
train. There are no more trackless prairies, no more terrors of
blizzards. Pioneer days have passed away. The railroads have brought