52 IN BIRD LAND. 



socks — this is an honest confession — and a pair 

 of warm rubber boots. More than that, they thrust 

 their beaks into the snow and ate of it quite greedily. 

 What wonderful reserves of caloric must be wrapped 

 up in their small bodies to enable them to keep 

 themselves comfortable in winter with never a 

 mouthful of warm victuals or drink ! That the birds 

 should thrive and be happy in the spring and 

 summer is no matter of surprise ; but it remains for 

 the lover of out-door life in the winter to prove that 

 many of them are just as cheerful and content when 

 the mercury has taken a jaunt to some point far 

 below zero. 



The student of Nature cannot always be in the 

 same mood. Indeed, Nature herself is, at times, as 

 whimsical, apparently, as the human heart. There 

 are times when she seems quite stolid, keeping her 

 precious secrets all to herself, as if her lips had 

 been hermetically sealed. With all your coaxing and 

 hoaxing and flattery, you cannot win from her a re- 

 sponse. Emerson, in one of his poems, speaks about 

 the forms of Nature dulling the edge of the mind 

 with their monotony ; and this sometimes seems to 

 be the case. Yet I must protest at once that it is 

 not generally true. There are days when Nature 

 fairly bubbles over with good cheer, and grows talk- 

 ative and even confidential, responding to every 

 touch of the rambler as a well-strung harp responds 

 to the touch of a skilful player. It is difficult to 

 account for her changeable moods, but obviously 

 they are not always to be traced only to the mind 

 of the observer. 



