Now that winter is gone and the time for the singing of birds is near, the readers of The Chautauquan, especially those who have spent a summer at this place, will inquire: “How does Chautauqua appear in autumn, with flowers withered, trees naked, and not a robin or thrush to be seen or heard? What a contrast must be the sudden change from a summer world to the wild desolations of a semi-Arctic winter!” and perhaps it seems to them that the place was dead and buried beneath a monument of snow and ice. A feeling of chilliness comes over them, and possibly they half resolve never to visit these groves again. Pity, and possibly a prayer are indulged for the poor unfortunates resident here. Lonesome things, shut up in the woods, how can they stand it? With all respect and due thanks for good intentions, we will excuse the pity, that it may be bestowed where it is more needed, and will be better appreciated. If contentment, good cheer, and the elements of good society can be found anywhere, it is at Chautauqua.
Let man’s environments, duties and responsibilities be what they may, if his mind and heart are in harmony and sympathy with them, he is satisfied, and at rest.
If Chautauqua is stirring and rosy and beautiful in summer to all people, to a nature that can appreciate it it is gorgeous, savage, grand and thoughtful in winter. At the one season we float carelessly along in the midst of scenes of sunshine, loveliness and gaiety; at the other we are more, alone with God, we commune with the stars, and become familiar with the sterner aspects of life. The change from one season to another is simply turning over a leaf in the book of nature, and receiving additional instruction, but of equal value. To our astronomers, the heavens, whenever they could be seen, have presented an aspect of surpassing beauty. Just after sunset in the west, Venus, from beyond the sun has been seen climbing toward the zenith, and is now rapidly approaching the earth, dropping down between it and the sun; we have swept by fiery Mars, which has been nearly over our heads during the winter; further to the east, Jupiter and Saturn have held high court; over the southern heavens has swept Sirius, the brightest star to be seen; to the north and northwest, Vega, the largest of the stars yet measured, has been steadily looking down upon us, and to crown all, Orion, the most magnificent of the constellations has illumined the southern sky.
January was a month of storms, and often did we contrast its desolations with the excitement of a summer Assembly, but such was our satisfaction with the present that we were in no haste for a change. The wild, weird elements of the season interested us; the opportunity afforded for reading, rest and recuperation was what was needed, and we felt that these things could not be too long continued. What, have the beautiful lake ice-locked for months, and used as a public highway? Listen day and night to the moaning and howling of the winds as they swept through the branches of the naked trees, often threatening to tear them up by the roots? Live weeks together without sight of the sun by day, or of a star by night? Yes, for all these things accorded with each other, and with the general aspect of nature. The music was of a class, and each note was in harmony with the general movement of the grand anthem. When nature had savagely arrayed itself in frost and snow and cloud and tempest, hiding the earth and filling the heavens, had the sun put in an appearance what a ghastly display would it have made! But in the midst of this desolation the snow-birds appeared, and they were beautiful, for they were the flowers of the season. We realized that the power of harmony could be heard in a tempest as well as in a seraph’s song. It is the extreme of folly to waste a winter watching for the coming of spring. The soul that is free from shams and is a pure part of nature itself, is attuned to the real and the true, and accepts the nature that is as the best, and would resolutely resist a change.
Our snow storm continued about twenty-eight days, and its coming was heralded by the play of lightning and the music of thunder. It never ceased to be a pleasure to watch the falling of the snow; to see the curiously wrought crystals drift out of the sky down among the branches of the trees, filling the air till it seemed mantled in white—a new creation. As an aid to the expression of our feelings we read the poem of Emerson. We quote a few lines:
“Come see the north wind’s masonry,
Out of an unseen quarry evermore
Furnished with tile, the fierce artificer
Curves his white bastions with projected roof.