MY WOODLAND INTIMATES 



tive and patronizing. And although his motif 

 is somewhat monotonous and restricted, yet so 

 artistic is he in the matter of producing telling 

 crescendo and diminuendo, or presto and rallen- 

 tendo effects, that his renderings always appear to 

 have a certain fitness for any occasion he may be 

 celebrating. 



We hear the soft drip, drip, drip, on all sides 

 now. Delicate little perforations are appearing 

 in the snow so firm and glittering a short time 

 ago, so dull and soft already. Tiny rivulets are 

 beginning to run down the slopes where the sun's 

 rays fall most directly; little bubbles are oozing 

 up from the softened ground, and the dissolving 

 red shale will soon color even the purest of the 

 snow. 



Sometimes in the heart of a crowded city the 

 sight of a bit of this red dust adhering to my 

 garments will banish, for a moment, the recogni- 

 tion of the mad haste and rush and roar, and 

 will transport me in fancy to the quiet, familiar 

 home-scenes through which the picturesque red- 

 earth belt runs. 



The snow-buntings, as well as some other 

 lovers of far northern haunts, have left us, but 

 flickers and other woodpeckers still greet us, 



[120] 



