JANUARY 



17 



Going by the . . . oak at Clam-shell Hill bank, 

 I heard a faint rippling note, and looking up saw 

 about fifteen snow buntings sitting in the top 

 of the oak, all with their breasts toward me. Sit- 

 ting so still, and quite white seen against the white 

 cloudy sky, they did not look like birds, and their 

 boldness, allowing me to come quite near, enhanced 

 this impression. ... It was a very spectral sight, 

 and after I had watched them for several minutes 

 I can hardly say that I was prepared to see them 

 fly away like ordinary buntings when I advanced 

 further. 



THOKEAU : Early Spring in Massachusetts. 



18 



The snow was lighter than chaff. It had been 

 dried in the Arctic ovens to the last degree. The 

 foot sped through it without hindrance. I fancied 

 the grouse and quails quietly sitting down in the 

 open places, and letting it drift over them. With 

 head under wing, and wing snugly folded, they 

 would be softly and tenderly buried in a few mo- 

 ments. The mice and the squirrels were in their 

 dens, but I fancied the fox asleep upon some rock 

 or log, and allowing the flakes to cover him. The 

 hare in her form, too, was being warmly sepulchred 

 with the rest. I thought of the young cattle and 

 the sheep huddled together on the lee side of a 

 haystack in some remote field, all enveloped in 

 mantles of white. 



BURROUGHS: Signs and Seasons. 



