A MARCH CHRONICLE 93 



thin-skinned trees start up with great spirit, indeed, 

 fairly on a run; but they do not hold out, and their 

 blood is very diluted. Cattle are very fond of sap; 

 so are sheep, and will drink enough to kill them. 

 The honey-bees get here their first sweet, and the 

 earliest bug takes up his permanent abode on the 

 "spile." The squirrels also come timidly down 

 the trees, and sip the sweet flow; and occasionally 

 an ugly lizard, just out of its winter quarters and in 

 quest of novelties, creeps up into the pan or bucket. 

 Soft maple makes a very fine white sugar, superior 

 in quality, but far less in quantity. 



I think any person who has tried it will agree 

 with me about the charm of sugar-making, though 

 he have no tooth for the sweet itself. It is enough 

 that it is the first spring work, and takes one to the 

 woods. The robins are just arriving, and their 

 merry calls ring through the glades. The squirrels 

 are now venturing out, and the woodpeckers and 

 nuthatches run briskly up the trees. The crow 

 begins to caw, with his accustomed heartiness and 

 assurance; and one sees the white rump and golden 

 shafts of the high-hole as he flits about the open 

 woods. Next week, or the week after, it may be 

 time to begin plowing, and other sober work about 

 the farm; but this week we will picnic among the 

 maples, and our camp-fire shall be an incense to 

 spring. Ah, I am there now! I see the woods 

 flooded with sunlight; I smell the dry leaves, and 

 the mould under them just quickened by the warmth ; 

 the long-trunked maples in their gray, rough liveries 



