HOW many of you, I wonder, have a west window? Not one opening upon a blank wall, nor upon a vista of houses, but one from which you can see the sky. If your sky-view extends to the horizon, you are indeed blest; for then your window is no less than a frame for the most beautiful pictures—nature's own.

No landscape painter ever lived who could put upon canvas such beauty as you may see, on the majority of days, from your west window. It will only cost you a little time, and you will be richly repaid for time thus spent.

Of course finer views can be seen from a hilltop, or looking across an open plain. But one cannot often be in these places, while one might spare ten or fifteen minutes to stand by the window at sunset?

After a busy day, I know of nothing more composing to the spirit than the contemplation of some majestic form of beauty. And what could be more tranquillizing than the ever-changing beauty of a sunset?

Unless the day close enveloped in clouds, there will be some picture, well worth looking at, to be seen from your window. When a sunset is unusually gorgeous, we frequently exclaim, "That is the most beautiful one I ever saw!" But when we have watched them day after day, we will find comparisons impossible. Each one will have a special beauty of its own, quite beyond compare. Some will be more brilliant than others, but each one will be perfect in its way, and every one will have something new of beauty to reveal to us, if we look with seeing eyes.

I am particularly blessed with an open view to the west, just screened at its base by a delicate fringe of trees. The sunsets this winter have been a constant joy to me, and I long for others who love the beautiful to share this great pleasure with me.

The artistic nature, and love and appreciation of beauty, are well developed in many people whose lives are so hard and busy and full of care, that the delights of the world of art are out of their reach. It is to these particularly that I would commend the world of nature, which is more wonderful and far more beautiful than any art, and is a free gift to all.

It is an interesting study to note the different effect of the leafless trees against various backgrounds. I am one of the people who think trees are more lovely in winter than in summer. Nothing can be more exquisite, to my mind, than the tracery of bare branches and twigs against the sky.

What a study is offered by the varying lines of different trees—the limbs of some starting from the main stem in graceful curves, while others are twisted and bent at sharp angles.

During the cloudy days, I am apt to think a gray background the best that could be imagined. But next morning, perhaps, the clouds have melted away, and I find my trees wearing an entirely new expression, against the bright blue sky. Where they appeared just dark lines against the gray, they have brightened up, and taken on new and varied colors, seen against the blue; and I notice how much darker the trunks and lower limbs are, compared with the upper branches.

How different, again, they look with the sunset sky behind them! The whole western horizon, and upward for quite a space, is a blaze of orange flame! How black they look, silhouetted thus! Again, we have a pale, cold orange, or pink, fading into golden white! How clearly every twig is brought out!

How is it possible that we can pass such beauty by unnoticed, or be indifferent to it because it is common? It should be the cause of great rejoicing, that this miracle of beauty is an almost daily occurrence.

If the winter sunsets are less gorgeous than those of summer, they are full of refinement of detail. Theirs may be a cold beauty, but it is so clear cut and perfect.

Dear reader, if you possess the frame, don't let the pictures escape you. Remember that any day not absolutely cloudy and dull, will furnish you with a masterpiece. And even after the last bright rays of the dying sunlight have faded away, glance out of the window again, as you pass, for perhaps the calm beauty of the evening star has a message for you too.