J) 
WINTER FROLICS. 49 
“ Come see the north wind’s masonry. 
Out of an unseen quarry, evermore 
Furnished with tile, the fierce artificer 
Carves his white bastions with projected roof 
Round every windward stake, or tree, or door.” 
My winter saunterings have never been solitary, 
although often taken in haunts “far from human 
neighborhood.” The birds have afforded me all 
the companionship I have really craved. One is 
never lonely when one can see the flutter of a wing 
or hear the calls of the blithe commoners of the 
wildwood. When your soul is fretted by the daily 
round of strifes and jealousies in the human world, 
you can hie to the woods, and learn a lesson of con- 
ciliation from the example of the loving fellowship 
that exists in the bird community. I have often 
been shamed by this constant display of amity 
among many feathered folk, when I thought of the 
childish bickerings of men in church and state. 
But moralizing aside, I must describe the behavior 
of my little winter friends, the tree-sparrows. They 
are the hardiest birds that spend the winter in my 
neighborhood, disdaining to seek shelter in the 
thick woods during the most violent snow-storm. 
Even the snowbirds, whose very name is a synonym 
for toughness, are glad to seek a covert in some 
secluded forest nook; but the tree-sparrows choose 
the clearing at the border of the woodland, where 
the wind howls loudest and blows the snow in wild 
eddies. Here they revel in the storm, flitting from 
twig to twig, hopping on the snow-covered ground 
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