THE WATER-OUZEL 279 



can be more violent than those of the waterfalls 

 in the midst of which he delights to dwell. How 

 ever dark and boisterous the weather, snowing, 

 blowing, or cloudy, all the same he sings, and with 

 never a note of sadness. No need of spring sun 

 shine to thaw his song, for it never freezes. Never 

 shall you hear anything wintry from Ms warm 

 breast ; no pinched cheeping, no wavering notes be 

 tween sorrow and joy; his mellow, fluty voice is 

 ever tuned to downright gladness, as free from 

 dejection as cock-crowing. 



It is pitiful to see wee frost-pinched sparrows 

 on cold mornings in the mountain groves shaking 

 the snow from their feathers, and hopping about 

 as if anxious to be cheery, then hastening back to 

 their hidings out of the wind, puffing out their 

 breast-feathers over their toes, and subsiding 

 among the leaves, cold and breakfastless, while the 

 snow continues to fall, and there is no sign of 

 clearing. But the Ouzel never calls forth a single 

 touch of pity ; not because he is strong to endure, 

 but rather because he seems to live a charmed life 

 beyond the reach of every influence that makes en 

 durance necessary. 



One wild winter morning, when Yosemite Valley 

 was swept its length from west to east by a cordial 

 snow-storm, I sallied forth to see what I might learn 

 and enjoy. A sort of gray, gloaming-like darkness 

 filled the valley, the huge walls were out of sight, 

 all ordinary sounds were smothered, and even the 

 loudest booming of the falls was at times buried 

 beneath the roar of the heavy-laden blast. The 

 loose snow was already over flve feet deep on 



