Where Town and Country Meet 



be smitten by returning cold erelong, and 

 stretched withering on the frost-hardened 

 soil. 



Were it not for the absence of the wiser 

 birds, and the unnatural silence of the sunny 

 air, one might readily mistake this brief In- 

 dian spring for the first week in April ; but, 

 except for the short, sharp cries or chirps 

 of the few birds that winter with us, the 

 feathered world is unresponsive to all this 

 unseasonable warmth and balminess. There 

 is no sudden northward migration, no sound 

 by night from the pilgrims of the air. This 

 is the surest sign to the rambler that spring 

 is still a long way off, and he need cherish 

 no romantic hopes of a season two months 

 in advance of the calendar. Nevertheless, 

 no true lover of nature can remain indoors 

 during Indian spring. He has an irresist- 

 ible longing to go forth and get, at least, 

 a foretaste, a suggestion, of the April that 

 is to be. There is actually a spicy pleasure 

 in cheating himself by appearances, while 

 all the time shrewdly reserving the knowl- 

 edge that the semblance is not real. It is 

 much the same kind of pleasure that a 

 dreamer might have in his dream, were his 

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