e　cracking。　　If　the　sugar…maple　is　hacked；　it　will　bleed；the　pure　white　blood　of　Nature。
  At　the　close　of　a　sunny　day　the　western　sky　has　a　softened　aspect：　its　color；　we　say；　has　warmth　in　it　On　such　a　day　you　may　meet　a　caterpillar　on　the　footpath；　and　turn　out　for　him。　　The　house…fly　thaws　out；　a　company　of　cheerful　wasps　take　possession　of　a　chamber…　window。　　It　is　oppressive　indoors　at　night；　and　the　window　is　raised。　A　flock　of　millers；　born　out　of　time；　flutter　in。　　It　is　most　unusual　weather　for　the　season：　it　is　so　every　year。　　The　delusion　is　complete；　when；　on　a　mild　evening；　the　tree…toads　open　their　brittle…　brattle　chorus　on　the　edge　of　the　pond。　　The　citizen　asks　his　neighbor；　〃Did　you　hear　the　frogs　last　night？〃　　That　seems　to　open　the　new　world。　　One　thinks　of　his　childhood　and　its　innocence；　and　of　his　first　loves。　　It　fills　one　with　sentiment　and　a　tender　longing；　this　voice　of　the　tree…toad。　　Man　is　a　strange　being。　　Deaf　to　the　prayers　of　friends；　to　the　sermons　and　warnings　of　the　church；　to　the　calls　of　duty；　to　the　pleadings　of　his　better　nature；　he　is　touched　by　the　tree…toad。　　The　signs　of　the　spring　multiply。　　The　passer　in　the　street　in　the　evening　sees　the　maid…servant　leaning　on　the　area…　gate　in　sweet　converse　with　some　one　leaning　on　the　other　side；　or　in　the　park；　which　is　still　too　damp　for　anything　but　true　affection；　he　sees　her　seated　by　the　side　of　one　who　is　able　to　protect　her　from　the　policeman；　and　hears　her　sigh；　〃How　sweet　it　is　to　be　with　those　we　love　to　be　with！〃
  All　this　is　very　well；　but　next　morning　the　newspaper　nips　these　early　buds　of　sentiment。　　The　telegraph　announces；　〃Twenty　feet　of　snow　at　Ogden；　on　the　Pacific　Road；　winds　blowing　a　gale　at　Omaha；　and　snow　still　falling；　mercury　frozen　at　Duluth；　storm…signals　at　Port　Huron。〃
  Where　now　are　your　tree…toads；　your　young　love；　your　early　season？　Before　noon　it　rains；　by　three　o'clock　it　hails；　before　night　the　bleak　storm…cloud　of　the　northwest　envelops　the　sky；　a　gale　is　raging；　whirling　about　a　tempest　of　snow。　　By　morning　the　snow　is　drifted　in　banks；　and　two　feet　deep　on　a　level。　　Early　in　the　seventeenth　century；　Drebbel　of　Holland　invented　the　weather…glass。　Before　that；　men　had　suffered　without　knowing　the　degree　of　their　suffering。　　A　century　later；　Romer　hit　upon　the　idea　of　using　mercury　in　a　thermometer；　and　Fahrenheit　constructed　the　instrument　which　adds　a　new　because　distinct　terror　to　the　weather。　　Science　names　and　registers　the　ills　of　life；　and　yet　it　is　a　gain　to　know　the　names　and　habits　of　our　enemies。　　It　is　with　some　satisfaction　in　our　knowledge　that　we　say　the　thermometer　marks　zero。
  In　fact；　the　wild　beast　called　Winter；　untamed；　has　returned；　and　taken　possession　of　New　England。　Nature；　giving　up　her　melting　mood；　has　retired　into　dumbness　and　white　stagnation。　　But　we　are　wise。　　We　say　it　is　better　to　have　it　now　than　later。　　We　have　a　conceit　of　understanding　things。
  The　sun　is　in　alliance　with　the　earth。　　Between　the　two　the　snow　is　uncomfortable。　　Compelled　to　go；　it　decides　to　go　suddenly。　　The　first　day　there　is　slush　with　rain；　the　second　day；　mud　with　hail；　the　third　day　a　flood　with　sunshine。　　The　thermometer　declares　that　the　temperature　is　delightful。　　Man　shivers　and　sneezes。　　His　neighbor　dies　of　some　disease　newly　named　by　science；　but　he　dies　all　the　same　as　if　it　hadn't　been　newly　named。　　Science　has　not　discovered　any　name　that　is　not　fatal。
  This　is　called　the　breaking…up　of　winter。
  Nature　seems　for　some　days　to　be　in　doubt；　not　exactly　able　to　stand　still；　not　daring　to　put　forth　anything　tender。　　Man　says　that　the　worst　is　over。　　If　he　should　live　a　thousand　years；　he　would　be　deceived　every　year。　　And　this　is　called　an　age　of　skepticism。　　Man　never　believed　in　so　many　things　as　now：　he　never　believed　so　much　in　himself。　　As　to　Nature；　he　knows　her　secrets：　he　can　predict　what　she　will　do。　　He　communicates　with　the　next　world　by　means　of　an　alphabet　which　he　has　invented。　　He　talks　with　souls　at　the　other　end　of　the　spirit…wire。　　To　be　sure；　neither　of　them　says　anything；　but　they　talk。　　Is　not　that　something？　　He　suspends　the　law　of　gravitation　as　to　his　own　bodyhe　has　learned　how　to　evade　itas　tyrants　suspend　the　legal　writs　of　habeas　corpus。　　When　Gravitation　asks　for　his　body；　she　cannot　have　it。　　He　says　of　himself；　〃I　am　infallible；　I　am　sublime。〃　　He　believes　all　these　things。　　He　is　master　of　the　elements。　　Shakespeare　sends　him　a　poem　just　made；　and　as　good　a　poem　as　the　man　could　write　himself。　　And　yet　this　manhe　goes　out　of　doors　without　his　overcoat；　catches　cold；　and　is　buried　in　three　days。　　〃On　the　21st　of　January；〃　exclaimed　Mercier；　〃all　kings　felt　for　the　backs　of　their　necks。〃　　This　might　be　said　of　all　men　in　New　England　in　the　spring。　　This　is　the　season　that　all　the　poets　celebrate。　　Let　us　suppose　that　once；　in　Thessaly；　there　was　a　genial　spring；　and　there　was　a　poet　who　sang　of　it。　　All　later　poets　have　sung　the　same　song。　　〃Voila　tout！〃　　That　is　the　root　of　poetry。
  Another　delusion。　　We　hear　toward　evening；　high　in　air；　the　〃conk〃　of　the　wild…geese。　　Looking　up；　you　see　the　black　specks　of　that　adventurous　triangle；　winging　along　in　rapid　flight　northward。　Perhaps　it　takes　a　wide　returning　sweep；　in　doubt；　but　it　disappears　in　the　north。　　There　is　no　mistaking　that　sign。　　This　unmusical　〃conk〃　is　sweeter　than　the　〃kerchunk〃　of　the　bull…frog。　　Probably　these　birds　are　not　idiots；　and　probably　they　turned　back　south　again　after　spying　out　the　nakedness　of　the　land；　but　they　have　made　their　sign。　　Next　day　there　is　a　rumor　that　somebody　has　seen　a　bluebird。　This　rumor；　unhappily　for　the　bird　（which　will　freeze　to　death）；　is　confirmed。　　In　less　than　three　days　everybody　has　seen　a　bluebird；　and　favored　people　have　heard　a　robin　or　rather　the　yellow…breasted　thrush；　misnamed　a　robin　in　America。　　This　is　no　doubt　true：　for　angle…worms　have　been　seen　on　the　surface　of　the　ground；　and；　wherever　there　is　anything　to　eat；　the　robin　is　promptly　on　hand。　About　this　time　you　notice；　in　protected；　sunny　spots；　that　the　grass　has　a　little　color。　　But　you　say　that　it　is　the　grass　of　last　fall。　It　is　very　difficult　to　tell　when　the　grass　of　last　fall　became　the　grass　of　this　spring。　　It　looks　〃warmed　over。〃　　The　green　is　rusty。　The　lilac…buds　have　certainly　swollen　a　little；　and　so　have　those　of　the　soft　maple。　　In　the　rain　the　grass　does　not　brighten　as　you　think　it　ought　to；　and　it　is　only　when　the　rain　turns　to　snow　that　you　see　any　decided　green　color　by　contrast　with　the　white。　　The　snow　gradually　covers　everything　very　quietly；　however。　　Winter　comes　back　without　the　least　noise　or　bustle；　tireless；　malicious；　implacable。　Neither　party　in　the　fight　now　makes　much　fuss　over　it；　and　you　might　think　that　Nature　had　surrendered　altogether；　if　you　did　not　find　about　this　time；　in　the　Woods；　on　the　edge　of　a　snow…bank；　the　modest　blossoms　of　the　trailing　arbutus；　shedding　their　delicious　perfume。　The　bravest　are　always　the　tenderest；　says　the　poet。　　The　season；　in　its　blind　way；　is　trying　to　express　itself。
  And　it　is　assisted。　　There　is　a　cheerful　chatter　in　the　trees。　　The　blackbirds　have　come；　and　in　numbers；　households　of　them；　villages　of　them；communes；　rather。　　They　do　not　believe　in　God；　these　black…　birds。　　They　think　they　can　take　care　of　themselves。　　We　shall　see。　But　they　are　well　informed。　　They　arrived　just　as　the　last　snow…bank　melted。　　One　cannot　say　now　that　there　is　not　greenness　in　the　grass；　not　in　the　wide　fields；　to　be　sure；　but　on　lawns　and　banks　sloping　south。　　The　dark…spotted　leaves　of　the　dog…tooth　violet　begin　to　show。　　Even　Fahrenheit's　contrivance　joins　in　the　upward　movement：　the　mercury　has　suddenly　gone　up　from　thirty　degrees　to　sixty…five　degrees。　　It　is　time　for　the　ice…man。　　Ice　has　no　sooner　disappeared　than　we　desire　it。
  There　is　a　smile；　if　one　may　say　so；　in　the　blue　sky；　and　there　is。　softness　in　the　south　wind。　　The　song…sparrow　is　singing　in　the　apple…tree。　　Another　bird…note　is　heard；two　long；　musical　whistles；　liquid　but　metallic。　　A　brown　bird　this　one；　darker　than　the　song…　sparrow；　and　without　the　latter's　light　stripes；　and　smaller；　yet　bigger　than　the　queer　little　chipping…bird。　　He　wants　a　familiar　name；　this　sweet　singer；　who　appears　to　be　a　sort　of　sparrow。　　He　is　such　a　contrast　to　the　blue…jays；　who　have　arrived　in　a　passion；　as　usual；　screaming　and　scolding；　the　elegant；　spoiled　beauties！　　They　wrangle　from　morning　till　night；　these　beautiful；　high…tempered　aristocrats。
  Encouraged　by　the　birds；　by　the　bursting　of　the　lilac…buds；　by　the　peeping…up　of　the　crocuses；　by　tradition；　by　the　sweet　flutterings　of　a　double　hope；　another　sign　appears。　　This　is　the　Easter　bonnets；　most　delightful　flowers　of　the　year；　emblems　of　innocence；　hope；　devotion。　　Alas　that　they　have　to　be　worn　under　umbrellas；　so　much　thought；　freshness；　feeling；　tenderness　have　gone　into　them！　　And　a　northeast　storm　of　rain；　accompanied　with　hail；　comes　to　crown　all　these　virtues　with　that　of　self…sacrifice。　　The　frail　hat　is　offered　up　to　the　implacable　season。　　In　fact；　Nature　is　not　to　be　forestalled　nor　hurried　in　this　way。　　Things　cannot　be　pushed。　Nature　hesitates。　　The　woman　who　does　not　hesitate　in　April　is　lost。　The　appear