442 
BIRD-LIFE o 
the Frigate-bird and the Razorbill, the Guillemot, the 
Eider Duck, and the Cormorant, one and all engross 
our attention. 
Richly endowed as the bird is with its various gifts, 
there is none which wins the love and friendship of man— 
his whole heart—more than does the power of song. The 
singing bird plays at the same time the part of poet; for, 
in our imagination we attach words to tune. The song of 
the bird stands higher than all other music, because it is 
adapted to the passing humour, accords with every feel¬ 
ing, and, like a perfect musical composition, awakens 
varied sentiments. A spring evening in the woods weaves 
bright, lovely dreams around the human heart: this is, 
however, entirely due to the birds, who enliven the scene 
with their living song. “ The dusky greenwood,” says 
Rossmassler, “would only seem sad and dreary, were it 
not for the voices of the birds. The weird primaeval 
forest, without the chorus of a thousand feather-throats, 
would be but the silent garden of a magician.” The fir 
forest is no less beautiful in winter than in summer; for 
when the weather is bitter cold it dons its holiday dress. 
The white coverlet, which in winter extends over field 
and meadow, looks in some measure barren and formal; 
whereas in the pine forest it produces a wonderful variation 
in colour and form : the boughs bend picturesquely under 
their burden of snow, each one gaining thereby in indivi¬ 
duality of expression; some are fringed with long, delicate 
crystal icicles, while others, as well as the stems, are 
encased in a glittering armour of ice. Some of the rocks 
and boulders are quite free from snow, and show the 
summer green net-work of moss, with which they are 
covered. Outside, everything has blossomed, faded, and 
departed; while, in the forest, the mosses bloom, and the 
