The Rambles of an Idler 



with the body and which gave it that blessed 

 charm which enraptures the lover of the out- 

 door world? Perhaps it counts for less than 

 bone or muscle ; but let it remain an open ques- 

 tion that he who loves the living creature may 

 have some ground for being its champion. 



An Alpine morning. The microscope may 

 trace no movement in these omnipresent crys- 

 tals now, but they glow with color, are flushed 

 with warmth. The sunbeams make merry with 

 their many faces. The fields are not suffused 

 with light, but rainbow dust. It is a fairy 

 world into which I have rudely thrust my awk- 

 ward self. But living crystals alone may not 

 suffice. We who crave companionship on so 

 mighty a scale call for nearer kin, and not in 

 vain. I would that the mystery of a bird might 

 be forever solved. No one, I dare aver, has 

 seen until today, in these fields, those living 

 buntings of the north, the white and mottled 

 "Snow Flakes" of New England. 



It would be comforting to have someone tell 

 us how these birds of another zoologic zone 

 knew that conditions to their tastes here 

 awaited them. The explanations, to date, do 

 not explain. They fill the void with words in- 



44 



