Song Birds and Water Fowl 
comes to his true self, when one can see how 
he cuts the sky with his exhaustive catalogue 
of belligerent angles. It is only in winter that 
we get down to a tree’s inner nature. And 
how beautifully the lace-like tracery of the 
white birch then reposes on the sky-blue back- 
ground ; and what an undertone of strength is 
evident in the stately elm, which is almost lost 
sight of beneath its pliant, engaging manners 
during the leafy season. It is only the ever- 
greens that are exasperatingly self-contained, im- 
mobile, in winter and summer alike, either from 
absolute stagnation of soul, or from the perfect 
self-restraint of an iron will, that would die 
rather than show itself impressionable; almost 
oblivious of the very winds, that mourn, in- 
deed, most dolefully among their branches, 
while the trees themselves are stolidly imper- 
vious to smiles or tears. 
The most significant view of the lower forms 
of creation is thatin which we see the adumbra- 
tion of the higher. Mrs. Browning has said, 
“* A tree’s mere firewood unless humanized ;”’ 
and the adjectives so often applied to many of the 
objects of Nature—humble violet, lordly pine, 
angry sea, etc.—striking deeper than their own 
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