SPRING JOTTINGS 165 



and the efifect of the wall of white mountains rising 

 up all around from the checkered landscape, and 

 holding up the blue dome of the sky, is strange in- 

 deed. 



April 14. A delicious day, warm as May. This 

 to me is the most bewitching part of the whole year. 

 One's relish is so keen, and the morsels are so few 

 and so tender. How the fields of winter rye stand 

 out ! They call up visions of England. A perfect 

 day in April far excels a perfect day in June, be- 

 cause it provokes and stimulates while the latter 

 sates and cloys. Such days have all the peace and 

 geniality of summer without any of its satiety or 

 enervating heat. 



April 15. Not much cloud this morning, but 

 much vapor in the air. A cool south wind with 

 streaks of a pungent vegetable odor, probably from 

 the willows. When I make too dead* a set at it I 

 miss it; but when I let my nose have its own way, 

 and take in the air slowly, I get it, an odor as of a 

 myriad swelling buds. The long-drawn call of the 

 high-hole comes up from the fields, then the tender 

 rapid trill of the bush or russet sparrow, then the 

 piercing note of the meadowlark, a flying shaft of 

 sound. 



April 21. The enchanting days continue without 

 a break. One's senses are not large enough to take 

 them all in. Maple buds just bursting, apple-trees 

 full of infantile leaves. How the poplars and wil- 

 lows stand out ! A moist, warm, brooding haze over 

 all the earth. All day my little russet sparrow sings 



