APRIL 105 
come forth and bask in the sun. There is nothing 
so small, nothing so great, that it does not respond 
to these celestial spring days, and give the pendu- 
lum of life a fresh start. 
April is also the month of the new furrow. As 
soon as the frost is gone and the ground settled, the 
plow is started upon the hill, and at each bout I see 
its brightened mould-board flash in the sun. Where 
the last remnants of the snowdrift lingered yester- 
day the plow breaks the sod to-day. Where the 
drift was deepest the grass is pressed flat, and there 
is a deposit of sand and earth blown from the fields 
to windward. Line upon line the turf is reversed, 
until there stands out of the neutral landscape a 
ruddy square visible for miles, or until the breasts 
of the broad hills glow like the breasts of the robins. 
Then who would not have a garden in April? to 
rake together the rubbish and burn it up, to turn 
over the renewed soil, to scatter the rich compost, 
to plant the first seed, or bury the first tuber! It 
is not the seed that is planted, any more than it is 
I that is planted; it is not the dry stalks and weeds 
that are burned up, any more than it is my gloom 
and regrets that are consumed. An April smoke 
makes a clean harvest. 
I think April is the best month to be born in. 
One is just in time, so to speak, to catch the first 
train, which is made up in this month. My April 
chickens always turn out best. They get an early 
start; they have rugged constitutions. Late chick- 
ens cannot stand the heavy dews, or withstand the 
