THE WOODS IN WINTER. 2 $ 



it in my hand until rested, I endeavored to induce 

 it to squeak, for it is one of a very few that has 

 a voice ; but it was not to be coaxed. It suf- 

 fered many indignities in silence, and so shamed 

 me by its patience that I gently placed it in the 

 brook. Soon, black, shining whirligigs the gy- 

 rinus suddenly appeared, and a turtle, as if 

 wondering what might be the cause of the com- 

 motion, thrust its head in the air, stared angrily 

 at me, and returned to its hidden home. There 

 was no dearth of life in the brook, yet this is a 

 winter day. The ground is frozen, and the rat- 

 tle of wagons upon the highway penetrates even 

 to this remote recess in the deep woods. 



As a child soon tires of one toy, so I longed, 

 after an hour's play, for a new field and other 

 forms of life, and so much for serious study as 

 that I might vary my amusement ; but let not 

 this apparent aimlessness be held unworthy of 

 the rambler, Call it play, if you choose, but 

 the incidents of such a day come back in bold 

 relief when, with or without an effort, they are 

 recalled. I have found it most fortunate that 

 unconscious cerebation is so active when I wan- 

 der about, toying, as here by the forest brook, 

 with many forms of life. More than half the 

 acts of every creature I meet are apparently 

 meaningless at the moment of their occurrence, 

 but their full significance is evident when in 



