314 AUTUMN AND WINTER 



base of a hedge, very much like mice, quick, quiet and busy. 

 At every step or two of their running about they peck at 

 the branches or plants, finding food quite invisible to our 

 eyes. The little black eyes and the beautifully fine 

 beak, pointed as an etching pen, discover and seize what 

 no other bird cares about ; and this form of food exists 

 even in the hardest weather. If any twig is carefully 

 studied with a huge magnifying glass you can find pieces 

 of dead insects and animalculae, disjecta membra of incom- 

 parable minuteness, caught in the roughness, the crevasses 

 of the bark, or stuck in the oozy resin of the fir twigs. The 

 number of dead remnants of creatures is probably much 

 greater in any glass-house, and the fact will account for the 

 wren's noted preference for this winter feeding-ground. 

 And the wren is prettier than any of the greenhouse plants. 

 The delicate browns and greys of the bird outdo in comeli- 

 ness the flame of the climbing geranium, through which it 

 threads its dainty course. The black eye has a glint 

 beyond the eye of the flower ; and the sudden energy of its 

 bouts of song in wintry weather have the impetus of a 

 Shelley lyric 



Robins save themselves as sparrows do; but their case 

 is worse. Above all other birds they are flesh feeders. 

 Their courage and energy are the courage and energy that, 

 as some philosophers consider, are a consequence of a flesh 

 diet. Insects and grubs and worms are harder to come by 

 even than grain, when winter lies heavy on the land. So 

 it comes about that each robin absolutely demands an area 

 to himself. He will not permit any other robin, even his 

 own child or parent, within that area ; such is the stark law 

 of self-preservation. It is therefore quite difficult, however 

 thorough the supply of food, to attract to your window more 

 than a robin or two, while as many tits will come as you find 



