150 SPRING AT THE CAPITAL. 



pause he repeats his summons. What can be more 

 welcome to the ear than these early first sounds 

 They have such a margin of silence ! 



One need but pass the boundary of Washington 

 city to be fairly in the country, and ten minutes' 

 walk in the country brings one to real primitive 

 woods. The 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 al- 

 most 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 per- 

 ceptibly ; and brushing away the dry leaves and de- 

 bris 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 chorus. 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 

 borne places there are gallons of it. A youth who 

 accompanies me wonders if it would not be good 

 ooked, or if it could not be used as a substitute foi 



