142 SPRING AT THE CAPITAL. 



town has not yet overflowed its limits like the great 

 Northern commercial capitals, and Nature, wild and 

 unkempt, comes up to its very threshold, and even in 

 many places crosses it. . 



The woods, which I soon reach, are stark and still. 

 The signs of returning life are so faint as to be almost 

 imperceptible, but there is a fresh, earthy smell in the 

 air, as if something had stirred here under the leaves. 

 The crows caw above the wood, or walk about the brown 

 fields. I look at the gray, silent trees long and long, 

 but they show no sign. The catkins of some alders 

 by a little pool have just swelled perceptibly ; and 

 brushing away the dry leaves and debris on a sunny 

 slope, I discover the liverwort just pushing up a 

 fuzzy, tender sprout. But the waters have brought 

 forth. The little frogs are musical. From every 

 marsh and pool goes up their shrill, but pleasing cho- 

 rus. Peering into one of their haunts, a little body of 

 semi-stagnant water, I discover masses of frogs' spawn 

 covering the bottom. I take up great chunks of the 

 cold, quivering jelly in my hands. In some places 

 there are gallons of it. It is a perfect jelly, of a 

 slightly milky tinge, thickly imbedded with black spots 

 about the size of a small bird's eye. When just 

 deposited, it is perfectly transparent. The vast jelly 

 part is contributed by the male, the dark germinal 

 specks by the female. These hatch in eight or ten 

 days, gradually absorb their gelatinous surroundings, 

 and the tiny tadpoles issue forth. 



