22 Walks in New England 



aments, this time they may come out and fear 

 naught. 



So irresistibly suggest the undertones of Na 

 ture, echoing the bluebird and the robin, and tell 

 ing of the song-sparrow that begins to sing on the 

 verge of the snowdrifts the song he will not cease 

 to sing until November closes tight the sheaths 

 of the buds that are to bloom another year. Of 

 course, one finds the bluejays in fine fettle with 

 their spring whistling to balance their shrill 

 screams ; of course the crows are plenty, for they 

 are with us all through the winter. Perhaps the 

 chickadee is never happier than now, as he begins 

 slowly to try his vernal phoebe note, while he ex 

 plores the trees and stumps for those insects 

 which are his food, a useful as well as a beauti 

 ful brave creature. He is life, life sentient and 

 conscious and at work in the realm for which it 

 has been fitted, life that goes on and can never 

 cease. This lovely creature, so small, so mod 

 est, but so unafraid ; with clear black poll above 

 that bright and trusting eye ; hopping almost at 

 your very feet, is he not the frankest of the bird 

 races ? He scarcely suspects a man who behaves 

 himself. 



But the crow that drops inadvertently into the 

 neighbourhood of one of us, how furtively and 

 silently he departs ! nor makes a note of criticism 



