36 IN WINTER. 



are foxy-sparrows among the briers. So far as 

 weather is concerned, we can not build upon 

 our birds, and no one of our seasons lacks them. 

 It is the whim of closet ornithologists and petty 

 critics to assert that winter is comparatively 

 birdless, but even this is not true. There are 

 not so many species, but often quite as many 

 individuals, and oftener more. Birdless, indeed ! 

 Redbirds, meadow-larks, song-sparrows, and 

 blue jays at this moment are making merry in 

 my garden. Notwithstanding all this, there will 

 always be those who will strive to the end to de- 

 cipher the woodland almanac, and where is he 

 who claims not to have solved its meaning ? It 

 were well if every one spelled over a few pages 

 of it every day. It is healthy .exercise, fitting 

 one to duties of all kinds, and never tending to 

 sour the temper of a sane person if, at the close 

 of threescore years and ten, he finds that he is 

 sure of but the first lesson there are four sea- 

 sons. Weather wisdom, as we all know, meets 

 us at every turn, and while usually irritating, oc- 

 casionally proves a source of amusement. Some 

 such experience as the following, may have been 

 the fate of many more than I suppose. 



John Blank is one of those unfortunates who 

 desire to be thought a genius. To float with 

 the current is beneath his dignity. Uz Gaunt 

 described him well as one who persists in look- 



