naked branches, in the suburban ravines, over the 
frozen ground, and through the withered remains of 
the summer's vegetation is the busy energy of 
feathered visitors from the north* The hurried 
fluttering of their wings seems a faint protest against 
the impressive silence of the snow. In their cheerful 
disregard for the severity of the season, their bright 
communal fellowship, and spontaneous energy, there 
is compensation for the vanished romance of the 
spring and the domestic life of full, round summer* 
All birds break into melody in spring, when the very 
atmosphere is a song and all nature is pervaded with 
the spirit of new life. But the little visitors who can 
be bright, cheerful, and entirely alive through the 
bleak winter, as they gather the seeds of the withered 
Golden-rod and Sweet Clover, have a message for 
humanity distinctively their own* 
207 
