Winter Bells. 41 



ready its repressing influence is felt. The bells 

 are ringing in a more deliberate way. One by 

 one the sparrows fly farther and farther afield, 

 seeking new regions where the sun still brightly 

 shines ; the chickadees have wandered to the 

 woods again, where now the sunlight falls in- 

 vitingly. The change here, where I have been 

 these hours, is felt rather than seen, and my 

 curiosity is piqued. I tarry yet longer, until 

 silence reigns supreme. Not a bell but now is 

 stilled and hints no more of music than the 

 solemn birch-trees that tower far above them. 



I have not proved as fitful as the birds ; I 

 have been more faithful than the wandering 

 sun ; but now the cords are snapped that bound 

 me ; the spirit of restlessness is strong again. I 

 too hie me away to lovelier scenes, if happily I 

 may find them ; but what, I am asked on turn- 

 ing away, of these winter bells ? True, I had 

 almost forgotten. The icicles had ceased to 

 drip, the sparkling water no longer fell, drop by 

 drop, upon the ice below. These tiny spheres 

 of music were now no longer free ; no longer 

 rang these charming winter bells. 



