A MARCH CHRONICLE. 105 



the highway, to become soft, letting the teams in up 

 to their bellies. The oxen labor and grunt, or pa- 

 tiently wait for the shovel to release them : but the 

 spirited horse leaps and flounders, and is determined 

 not to give up. In the woods the snow is melted 

 around the trees, and the burs and pieces of bark 

 have absorbed the heat till they have sunk half-way 

 through to the ground. The snow is melting on the 

 under side ; the frost is going out of the ground : 

 now comes the trial of your foundations. 



About the farm-buildings there awakens the old 

 familiar chorus, the bleating of calves and lambs, and 

 the answering bass of their distressed mothers ; while 

 the hens are cackling in the hay -loft, and the geese are 

 noisy in the spring run. But the most delightful of 

 all farm-work or of all rural occupations, is at hand, 

 namely, sugar-making. In New York and northern 

 New England the beginning of this season varies 

 from the first to the middle of March, sometimes even 

 holding off till April. The moment the contest be- 

 tween the sun and frost fairly begins, sugar weather 

 begins ; and the more even the contest, the more the 

 sweet. I do not know what the philosophy of it is, 

 but it seems a kind of see-saw, as if the sun drew the 

 sap up, and the frost drew it down ; and an excess of 

 either stops the flow. Before the sun has got power 

 to unlock the frost, there is no sap ; and after the 

 frost has lost its power to lock up again the work of 

 the sun, there is no sap. But when it freezes soundly 

 at night, with a bright, warm sun next day, wind in 



