Winter Bells. 



iHE winter bells ring merrily to-day. In the 

 glittering sunshine the gathered tree-sparrows 

 chirped and twittered their childish hymn to 

 Peace. Bright and beautiful the day, without 

 a moment of depressing silence. Lisping chick- 

 adees came near to where I sat, not listening to 

 them, as perhaps they thought, but to the ring- 

 ing, clear and sharp, of the winter bells. They 

 were ringing out their delight, not " in the icy 

 air of night," but in the crystalline atmosphere 

 of a February noon. We are too apt, at such 

 a time, to spend our energy in searching out the 

 signs of Spring, and so remain unmindful of the 

 day's peculiar merits. Shrug your shoulders, 

 if you will, and turn contemptuously away, but 

 February has something to be said in its favor. 

 Here I am in a remote, weed-grown, long 

 neglected meadow ; home of more wildness and 

 strange fruits of Nature's fancy than any other 

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