^^ mmter aar^en 



potato-patch, and some pigs in a pen. We 

 have a neighbor who congratulates him- 

 self as a man of substance, having a wife 

 and eleven children, the eldest not yet 

 eighteen. His estate consists of a little 

 sandy plat of ten acres, with a cabin in the 

 middle. He has six large pecan-trees, 

 three fig-trees, a scuppernong- vine, a dozen 

 pear-trees, an acre of cabbages, potatoes, 

 and carrots, a horse, two cows, and six 

 pigs. Ah, but he rubs his hands together to 

 relieve his oppressive sense of prosperity ! 

 After a few spiteful flurries, winter in 

 our low country lays aside all make-be- 

 lieve of frost and bleakness. The weather- 

 god puffs his sunburnt jowls and blows a 

 flute of spring. All around in haw and 

 yaupon the mocking-birds begin to show 

 signs of vernal lustiness. Here and there 

 one tries a bar of his love-tune, which 

 sounds as if the notes, although as liquid 

 as water, clogged his syrinx. A sparkling 

 twitter soon follows, however, and then 

 the rapture of May fills the February 

 hedges and orchards. Thrush and blue- 

 bird join in, a vireo wanders by, the voices 

 24 



