WINTER SUNSHINE. 15 



farm scene* the winter barn-yards littered with 

 husks and straw, the rough-coated horses, the cattle 

 sunning themselves or walking down to the spring to 

 drink, the domestic fowls moving about there is a 

 touch of sweet homely life in these things that the 

 winter sun enhances and brings out. Every sign of 

 life is welcome at this season. I love to hear dogs 

 burk, hens cackle, and boys shout ; one has no pri- 

 vacy with Nature now, and does not wish to seek 

 her in nooks and hidden ways. She is not at home 

 if he goes there ; her house is shut up and her hearth 

 cold ; only the sun and sky, and perchance the waters, 

 wear the old look, and to-day we will make love 

 to them, and they shall abundantly return it. 



Even the crows and the buzzards draw the eye 

 fondly. The National Capital is a great place for 

 buzzards, and I make the remark in no double or 

 allegorical sense either, for the buzzards I mean are 

 black and harmless as doves, though perhaps hardly 

 dovelike in their tastes. My vulture is also a bird of 

 leisure, and sails through the ether on long flexible 

 pinions, as if that was the one delight of his life. 

 Some birds have wings others have " pinions." The 

 buzzard enjoys this latter distinction. There is some- 

 thing in the sound of the word that suggests that 

 easy, dignified, undulatory movement. He does not 

 oropel himself along by sheer force of muscle, after 

 vhe plebeian fashion of the crow for instance, but 

 progresses by a kind of royal indirection that puzzles 

 the eye. Even on a windy winter day he rides th 



