184 Ways of Wood Folk. 



and so form an idea of what the pine-grosbeak's 

 song is like. 



But sometimes he forgets himself in his winter 

 visit, and sings as other birds do, just because his 

 world is bright ; and then, once in a lifetime, a New 

 England bird lover hears him, and remembers ; and 

 regrets for the rest of his life that the grosbeak's 

 northern country life has made him so shy a visitor. 



One Christmas morning, a few years ago, the new- 

 fallen snow lay white and pure over all the woods and 

 fields. It was soft and clinging as it fell on Christ- 

 mas eve. Now every old wall and fence was a carved 

 bench of gleaming white ; every post and stub had a 

 soft white robe and a tall white hat; and every little 

 bush and thicket was a perfect fairyland of white 

 arches and glistening columns, and dark grottoes 

 walled about with delicate frostwork of silver and 

 jewels. And then the glory, dazzling beyond all words, 

 when the sun rose and shone upon it ! 



Before sunrise I was out. Soon the jumping flight 

 and cheery good-morning of a downy woodpecker led 

 me to an old field with scattered evergreen clumps. 

 There is no better time for a cjuiet peep at the birds 

 than the morning after a snow-storm, and no better 

 place than the evergreens. If you can find them at 

 all (which is not certain, for they have mysterious 



