THE WOODS IN WINTER 
67 
and there covered with flotsam and jetsam brought down by a 
heavy flush, and at the edge the gaunt brown stems of the once 
stately hemlock standing out in bold relief, bringing back 
memories of the past summer, while the distant cry of a solitary 
peewit added to the mournful scene ! But yet there was a 
strange and fascinating beauty about this marsh — a beauty which 
only those who know and love the fens can truly appreciate. 
There were no duck here to-day, and turning away, the antics of 
a number of dabchicks (or divers) attracted our attention, and we 
watched with some interest while these tiny creatures in a secluded 
spot by the further bank of the stream bobbed beneath the sur- 
face one after the other their fluffy heads, emerging after a few 
seconds only to disappear instantly ; and this, unconscious of 
our presence, they repeated time after time. 
The backwater now joining the river, the rest of our walk 
led along the tow path in a curve : as we neared home the 
short winter’s afternoon was drawing to a close : the wind 
having subsided, in the distance the trees were half obscured by 
a silvery mist; and the surrounding country bore a peaceful, 
restful aspect in the lingering rays of the sun which it was hard 
to leave, but which would live long in the memory, and serve 
to heighten the anticipation of many another ramble and many 
another attempt to see a little of the life and ways of Nature’s 
vast kingdom. 
C. M. H. 
THE WOODS IN WINTER; OR A HAPPY NEW 
YEAR TO THE SQUIRRELS, 
EVER till lately have I been able to visit the woods in 
winter, except once in my boyhood. I have often tried 
to picture to myself the condition of my little friends, 
the squirrels, during the winter months, half asleep in 
their nests or in sheltering holes, lying beside an ever-wasting 
hoard of nuts and acorns. As the roads were so rideable towards 
the end of December I decided to drag my cycle out of its winter 
quarters and try a ride in the early morning. My first venture 
was made before breakfast on Boxing Day ; and this was so 
enjoyable that three more were made in less than a week. On 
each occasion I had the pleasure of seeing how the sun rises in 
winter ; and let me at once confess that sunrise in December 
is not the glorious, exhilarating performance I so often see in 
July. During the short days the world itself seems shrunken, 
especially of a morning. The sun peeps shyly under a blind 
only half drawn up. An hour later he shines through the blind 
itself, with a sort of pearly lustre, as if his beams were struggling 
through water. 
While riding to Wickham my first surprise was the sight of 
