go The Witchery of Winter 



about me? Tame as he is, he never de- 

 stroys the bridges behind him. I cannot 

 quite gain his confidence. I fancy if some 

 of us could see ourselves as birds see us, 

 with what a sense of degradation would we 

 be overwhelmed ! Seldom is it that we are 

 not greeted, by every bird we meet, as a 

 red-handed murderer. An exception to- 

 day, however, for this jolly tit was socially 

 inclined. He peeped over his shoulder as I 

 drew near ; called out to me as I was about 

 to pass by, and so we exchanged "good- 

 mornings" as friend to friend. It is difficult 

 to decide whether man or bird was really 

 the leader, we kept so near together as we 

 passed to the end of our woodland journey. 



It needs but some such incident as this to 

 give us insight as to winter's real character. 

 There can come no impression of death or 

 desolation when, as we pass, we have birds 

 hailing us from every tree-top, and is it not 

 significant that our smallest bird, save one, 

 braves our severest weather ? Yet we muffle 

 ourselves in endless wraps and rush frantically 

 from shelter to shelter when the mercury 

 ranges low, as if the frost of a midwinter 

 day was as fatal as some devouring flame. 



