A WINTER SUNRISE. 3 



And if crows could be so enthusiastic over a 

 bright winter day, why not other birds ? What 

 of that host of arctic finches that tarry with us 

 until spring ? I listened in vain for the foxie 

 sparrow's warble, the call of the Peabody bird, 

 and whistling of the purple finch. These were 

 all here yesterday and making merry ; now 

 every one was mute. The ceaseless cawing of 

 the crows may have drowned their voices, but I 

 think not. However, in other ways and no less 

 cheerful ones, the vivifying effect of sunrise was 

 soon apparent everywhere about me. 



My friends, the meadow mice, were in their 

 glory. Their grass- walled runways were roofed 

 with ice, and not a breath of the chilly breeze 

 that fretted the outer world could reach them. 

 I quite forgot the increasing beauty of the east- 

 ern sky in my eagerness to watch the mice. I 

 could look down upon them, through the trans- 

 parent roofs of their crystal palaces, and wonder 

 what might be their errands. Every one was in 

 a hurry, and none stopped to nibble at a blade of 

 grass or tarried at a cluster of seed-pods. Was 

 it the mere pleasure of activity that prompted 

 them ? It was very warm beneath the ice and 

 far from cold above it. But all the while I might 

 be frightening the poor creatures, so I withdrew, 

 at the thought, to the cover of a clump of bushes. 

 Quiet then seemed partially restored, and soon 



