BIRDS AT YULE-TIDE. 

 I. 



SUNLIGHT. 



AT the northern end of the wren orchard there 

 is an angle in the stone wall where the autumn 

 winds pile dry leaves. The wall at this point is 

 five feet high and very thick, and no breeze 

 finds a way through it. Above and behind the 

 wall a dozen or more ancient white pines rise 

 high into the air, cutting off all view of the 

 northern sky ; but southward the orchard falls 

 away in grassy terraces, and through the vistas 

 between the old gray trunks and tangled branches 

 far glimpses of Cambridge and the Charles 

 River meadows greet the eye. Christmas, 1892, 

 had come and gone, but New Year's Day was 

 still in the future. There were snow banks in 

 the shadows, and back of the wall, under the 

 pines, the north wind bustled about on winter 

 errands. Weary with a long walk, I had sunk 

 deep into the dry leaves on the sunny side of the 

 wall, and had found them warm and comforting. 

 The sun's rays had brought heat, and the brown 

 leaves had taken it and kept it safely in their 

 dry depths. 



