An Ice-Bound Brook. 27 



clined, and a bite by his jaws wounds no less 

 surely and severely than a nip from an otter or 

 a mink. Explain it all as we may, there is a 

 commotion under the ice through which we 

 look, and we forget the stagnation of the sur- 

 rounding meadows that lie all uncomfortably 

 cold in the clear but unreviving sunshine of 

 January. 



At this moment I hear the trill of song-spar- 

 rows at intervals, but here, to my fancy, is some- 

 thing even better, wild life seen without long 

 waiting between the acts. Only a few small 

 fishes, it is true, but where in any museum or 

 library shall we go to learn that which we would 

 like to know of these few fish ? The learned 

 ichthyologist is wholly concerned with the crea- 

 tures' bones and scales ; the angler passes them 

 by contemptuously ; the amateur naturalist fears 

 to draw too near lest he wets his feet, or must 

 come only on some sunny summer day. It is 

 a pity it is so. There is more to be seen in a 

 weedy, ice-bound brook in January than my 

 neighbor fancies. The little pike, sucker, sun- 

 fish, and many a so-called minnow is now neither 

 dead nor sleeping, but ready at a moment's no- 



