gain. The sudden view of
the sea from the messy, pine-covered height directly above it where we
picnic; the wonderful stretch of lonely shore with the forest to the
water's edge; the coloured sails in the blue distance; the freshness,
the brightness, the vastness--all is lost upon the picnickers, and made
worse than indifferent to them, by the perpetual necessity they are
under of fighting these horrid creatures. It is nice being the only
person who ever goes there or shows it to anybody, but if more people
went, perhaps the mosquitoes would be less lean, and hungry, and pleased
to see us. It has, however, the advantage of being a suitable place to
which to take refractory visitors when they have stayed too long, or
left my books out in the garden all night, or otherwise made their
presence a burden too grievous to be borne; then one fine hot morning
when they are all looking limp, I suddenly propose a picnic on the
Baltic. I have never known this proposal fail to be greeted with
exclamations of surprise and delight.

"The Baltic! You never told us you were within driving distance? How
heavenly to get a breath of sea air on a day like this! The very thought
puts new life into one! And how delightful to see the Baltic! Oh, please
take us!" And then I take them.

But on a brilliant winter's day my conscience is as clear as the frosty
air itself, and yesterday morning we started off in the gayest of
spirits, even Minora being disposed to laugh immoderately on the least
provocation. Only our eyes were allowed to peep out from the fur and
woollen wrappings necessary to our heads if we would come back with our
ears and noses in the same places they were in when we started, and for
the first two miles the mirth created by each other's strange appearance
was uproarious,--a fact I mention merely to show what an effect dry,
bright, intense cold produces on healthy bodies, and how much better
it is to go out in it and enjoy it than to stay indoors and sulk. As
we passed through the neighbouring village with cracking of whip and
jingling of bells, heads popped up at the windows to stare, and the
only living thing in the silent, sunny street was a melancholy fowl with
ruffled feathers, which looked at us reproachfully, as we dashed with so
much energy over the crackling snow.

"Oh, foolish bird!" Irais called out as we passed; "you'll be indeed a
cold fowl if you stand there motionless, and every one prefers them hot
in weather l