With the Winter Birds. 247 



places. To-day, while, all unmindful of the cold, I 

 stood listening to the wren and tit, the white-throated 

 sparrows came by, and a huge flock of tree-sparrows, 

 and the chickadees, and nuthatches. Now a dozen 

 or more birds were in sight, and almost in reach. 

 They had had no food for a day at least, yet were 

 not downhearted, judging by their merry twitterings. 

 That great snow-storms are destructive to our larger 

 birds, as the crows, and even to robins and black- 

 birds, is known, and how it happens that they do 

 not at such times fly beyond the storm's area is not 

 readily explained ; but the small seed-eating birds 

 fare pretty well, judging from appearances. Ther«„ 

 was a lively little kinglet to-day, the only one I saw, 

 that peeped into eveiy uncovered cranny of the 

 bark of an old oak, and once, I know, pulled some- 

 thing out which it swallowed. The tall weeds that 

 now were bent with snow would soon stand upright 

 again, and then the seeds that still were held intact 

 would be found by the busy sparrows. As to the 

 white-throats, or Peabody-birds, they always seemed 

 too lazy to eat. 



There is a bit of comedy at the conclusion of a 

 snow-storm that had best be witnessed from a safe 

 distance. This is the slipping of the heaps that have 

 been lodging on the branches. They drove me into 

 the open meadow. Snow-flakes are trifles, even 

 when very abundant, but snow-masses have to be 

 seriously considered. A blinding avalanche that 

 carries away your hat and fills your eyes and ears 

 makes others laugh, but you fail to appreciate the 



