106 A MARCH CHRONICLE. 



the west, and no signs of a storm, the veins of the 

 maples fairly thrill. Pierce the bark anywhere, and 

 out gushes the clear, sweet liquid. But let the wind 

 change to the south, and blow moist and warm, des- 

 troying that crispness of the air, and the flow slackens 

 at once, unless there be a deep snow in the woods to 

 counteract or neutralize the warmth, in which case 

 the run may continue till the rain sets in. The 

 rough-coated old trees, one would not think they 

 could scent a change so quickly through that wrapper 

 of dead, dry bark an inch or more thick. I have to 

 wait till I put my head out of doors, and feel the air 

 on my bare cheek, and sniff it with my nose ; but 

 their nerves of taste and smell are no doubt under 

 ground, imbedded in the moisture, and if there is any- 

 thing that responds quickly to atmospheric changes it 

 is water. Do not the fish, think you, down deep in 

 the streams, feel every wind that blows, whether it be 

 hot or cold ? Do not the frogs and newts and turtles 

 under the mud feel the warmth, though the water 

 still seems like ice ? As the springs begin to rise in 

 advance of the rain, so the intelligence of every 

 change seems to travel ahead under ground, and 

 forewarn things. 



A " sap-run " seldom lasts more than two or three 

 days. By that time there is a change in the weather, 

 perhaps a rain-storm, which takes the frost nearly all 

 out of the ground. Then before there can be another 

 run, the trees must be wound up again, the storm 

 must have a white tail, and " come off " cold. Pres- 



