BIRDS IN WINTER. 



When the summer departs, and the 

 birds all troop southward, and the frost 

 settles upon the ground, some people 

 think the season of birds is over, and 

 that winter brings no birds. Let such a 

 one take his glasses and wander into a 

 secluded spot, half bushes, half forest, 

 and wait. 



The first thing he hears is the ^'Zit, 

 zit," of the j uncos as they hurry past in 

 small flocks, or the chickadees as they 

 swing from some dead leaf or broken 

 branch. A faint "Wank, wank, wank," 

 tells him that somewhere in the wood a 

 red-breasted nuthatch is busily engaged 

 at his breakfast. 



Let us follow him up. Push aside the 

 briars, and as with stealthy tread you 

 move along you startle the j uncos and 

 goldfinches. Off toward the west is the 

 bird you are looking for. Now he is on 

 the other side of the tree. Take two 

 or three steps — there he is again, and 

 when he disappears take a few more steps 

 toward him. Thus you may follow up 

 almost any bird ; only be quiet and swift. 



'"'Speek, speek" — there is a downy 

 woodpecker merrily rappmg on that dead 

 oak, and a faint "Peelt, peelt," of his 



cousin, the hairy, is faintly borne on 

 the wind. The white-throated sparrows 

 are in every bush, goldfinches fly over 

 with a 'Te te te' u," and away in the 

 distance another downy is drumming. 



There on the other side of the wood 

 is a cedar tree in which some golden- 

 crowned kinglets are busily at work. A 

 brown creeper winds around a sassafras 

 tree trying to find grubs enough to 

 satisfy his appetite, which is keen and 

 sharp in such weather. 



A harsh scream startles you as a 

 blue jay lights in a nearby tree, but you 

 have had enough of him and turn back 

 to the kinglets — they are gone. In their 

 place sits a gray and black bird, the 

 shrike, and you wonder if he has a king- 

 let butchered and hung on a thorn. 



A faint "Zeet, te^ te, te, zeet" an- 

 nounces the arrival of some tree spar- 

 rows, and here they are, dodging the 

 branches and tumbling into the bushes 

 in a manner comical to fbehold. 



At la?t your toes begin to get cold and 

 you pocket your glasses and slump home- 

 ward through the snow well satisfied with 

 what }^ou have seen. 



Leon Hausmann. 



THE STARS. 



Far thy lights are shining through the night — 

 Gleaming with a luster pure and white; 

 Myriad stars of love-lit sympathy — 

 Glowing with thy heart-truth — spirit-free. 



Shine forever! satellites of grace; 

 Travel with the pride of nature's pace. 

 Onward ! ever onward ! worlds of light, 

 Through the endless blessing of thy right. 



— William Reid. 



