SIGNS OF SPRING 



THEY are not imaginary, but visible and 

 tangible. I have brought them home from 

 the woods in my hands, and here they lie 

 before me. I call them my books of the 

 Minor Prophets. 



This one is an alder branch. Along its 

 whole length, spirally disposed at intervals 

 of an inch or two, are fat, purplish leaf- 

 buds, each on its stalk. As I look at them 

 I can see, only four months away, the tender, 

 richly green, newly unfolded, partly grown 

 leaves. How daintily they are crinkled! 

 And how prettily the edges are cut ! It is 

 like the work of fairy fingers. And what 

 perfection of veining and texture ! I have 

 never heard any one praise them ; but half 

 the things that bring a price in florists' 

 shops are many degrees less beautiful. 



Still more to the purpose, perhaps, more 

 conspicuous, at all events, as well as nearer 



