DEAD WILLOW BEND. 125 



a hundred cosey nooks, flooded with, sunshine and cheery 

 with the promised warmth of spring, exultant frogs had 

 for days been rejoicing over the lessening gripe of win- 

 ter. It was a clear, full-voiced expression of mingled 

 joy and content, and in nowise, as it is often called, a 

 croak, or melancholy plaint. Still, when a sudden blast 

 from the north blows the brown rushes, above the roar 

 of its fell swoop can be heard an unmistakable tone of 

 sadness, a cry translatable, " "We weep ! we weep !" In- 

 deed they have cause to do so. I too turned for shelter 

 to an oak near by, but before I could reach the hollow 

 in its trunk the meadows were again at rest, and over 

 the out-stretched acres of the marsh came again the 

 hopeful voices of that faithful legion, the burden of 

 whose song was " Keep up, keep up, keep !" 



And so passed another day, without any green thing ; 

 but the meadows were fruitful of promises, and putting 

 faith in the birds and frogs, I was persuaded to go again 

 and again, and promised to keep up. Twice it rained. 

 Once it was a conscious shower, that, knowing it was 

 unwelcome, was very gentle while it stayed, and hurried 

 off as soon as practicable. The next was an ill-tempered 

 dash, that allowed no drop to fall quietly to the earth, 

 but forced it rudely into every nook, and made discon- 

 solate all unsheltered creatures. 



It is a matter of surprise that our rains of a year have 

 not been captured by the professional essayist and made 

 the matter of a thoughtful book. They are readily 

 classified, for each has features peculiarly its own. Let 

 some lover of out-of-doors con this matter over, and give 

 these fogs, sprinkles, showers, gusts, nor'-easters, equinoc- 



