Idaho semi-weekly world. [volume] (Idaho City, Idaho Territory) 1875-1908, 1879-10-21
TmEsEAsoNs WHEN MEN WRITE.
Fraser's Magazine.

season OF the year Tor composing
There are come men and women who
/ work best in the summer, whose ideas
bnhfold with the leaves and ripen with
the Strawberries. Their imaginations
are nipped by the frost; whereas
when the thermometer is at 10 deg in
the shade, when the July breeze signs
softly through the hali-closed Vene
titan blind, and the simmer Of the sea
through the open window is as al
glimpse OF Paradise, they shake off
the intellectual torpor OF the dark
months, and grow busy as bees in the
sunshine Bat there are other wri-
tiers to whom the long winter evenings
are very precious. The keen north
|easter which heaps the snow around
the doorways and bushes the tnmult
Iof the streets, braces their minds as
lit braces their bodies, stimulating
their industry and sharpening their
wits. Such people, indeed, are good
for nathing in the way of intellectual
work after the middleo Of March. With
the first balmy breath Of spring they
throw aside their pens. The spirit OF
the gypsy takes possession OF them,
and thenceforth, till the days draw IN
and the leaves begin to yellow, they
lexpend d vast amount OF energy in
going to and fro Upon the earth. Some
thing, to be sure. can be urged on be-
half Of the literary vagabond Is il
not shameful to waste the priceless
summer days among musty booksf
Better than all treasures that in books
are fonnd' is the fresh morning air up
on the hillside or the pregnant silence
of evening among the woods. The
moods Of nature are incalculable; age
cannot wither her nor custom state
her infinite variety, and we shall have
to bid her a final adieu long before we
have exhausted her resources. This,
| suppose, is substantially what the
poet meant when he declared that ma
ture never did betray the heart that
loved her. But though the love Of ma
tme, when assiduously cultivated, is
the most enduring of passions, yet,
like other divinities, male and female,
sine resents divided alliance, and un-
less summer after summer we keep
our hand in (as they say at golf) she
is apt to discard us as we grow old.
50 that, for my part, | agree with
those who maintain that for a
steady spell Of literary work the dead
season OF the year, when the leaves
and the squirrels and the dormice are
asleep, and the spirit of lie has re-
treated to its mnermost sanctuary, is
unquestionably the best Whatever
is done in the dog days is light, fugi-
tive, ephemcral-pieces volautes, as
they say in France. once in this
magazine preferred a plea for winter
Winter in the Country-on which a
trenchant critic observed that winter
in the country was all very we'll when
ypu livel within hail Of the town, and
could see your friends daily to expiate
upon tie charms Of solitude. Cow
per in sly, humorous aside, had
long ago made similar reply:
Glow sweet how passing sweet is soli-
tude---
But grant me still friend in my retreat,
Whom may whisper solitude is SWEET
And it must be allowed that there is q
a certsin aptness in the retort The
same delightful poet, however, has
elsewhere indicated tho precise terms
on which the deep seclusion of the
country in winter may be truly and
thoroughly enjoyed:
'"'Tis pleasant through the leop-ho.es of