A MIDWINTER WALK. 213 



even in the stormiest weather. How they love to 

 wade in the snow ! As before, I could trace their 

 tracks among the weeds and briers, the prints of 

 their tiny feet looking as dainty as the footprints 

 of fairies. 



A bird lover may be a kind of monomaniac, 

 and may see beauty where others see only the 

 most commonplace occurrences ; many persons 

 may even laugh condescendingly at some of his 

 raptures ; but however that may be, I stood in 

 spell-bound admiration looking down at that intri- 

 cate network of tiny tracks in the snow. So do 

 our life-paths wind and intertwine. Are they so 

 beautiful ? I wonder. 



At one place I traced a number of converging 

 pathways to a little nook on the ground arched 

 over with snow and a small, brambly bush, and 

 having a floor of brown leaves. It was a snug 

 little snow-house, and had the appearance of hav- 

 ing been occupied by my feathered Esquimaux. 

 At the other side of the woods, in a marshy in- 

 closure, I found the delicate tracery of the snow- 

 birds on the ermine-covered ground. I was par- 

 ticularly impressed with one of these delicate 

 trails, which extended out from a brush-heap for 

 perhaps a rod or more, and then circled back, 



