A. YEAR IN THE FIELDS 



bird. He dug into the swamps, he peered 

 into the water, he felt with benumbed hands 

 for the radical leaves of the plants under the 

 snow; he inspected the buds on the wil- 

 lows, the catkins on the alders ; he went out 

 before daylight of a March morning and 

 remained out after dark; he watched the 

 lichens and mosses on the rocks ; he listened 

 for the birds ; he was on the alert for the 

 first frog (" Can you be absolutely sure," he 

 says, "that you have heard the first frog 

 that croaked in the township ? ") ; he stuck 

 a pin here and he stuck a pin there, and 

 there, and still he could not satisfy himself. 

 Nor can any one. Life appears to start in 

 several things simultaneously. Of a. warm 

 thawy day in February the snow is suddenly 

 covered with myriads of snow fleas looking 

 like black, new powder just spilled there. 

 Or you may see a winged insect in the air. 

 On the selfsame day the grass in the spring 

 run and the catkins on the alders will have 

 started a little; and if you look sharply, 

 while passing along some sheltered nook or 

 grassy slope where the sunshine lies warm 

 on the bare ground, you will probably see a 

 grasshopper or two. The grass hatches out 

 under the snow, and why should not the 

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