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48 DAYS our OF DOORS. 



Just where they linger when the frost-king rages, I do 

 not know, but it can not be afar off. It is but a few 

 hours after the south wind comes again that they re- 

 appear, and 



" The meadows all bespattered with melody." 



The weather, as we have seen, has much to do with 

 both the frogs and blackbirds, and indeed with nearly all 

 of active life in February ; but the bleakness of January 

 does not hold everywhere, however arctic the world may 

 appear to the careless observer. Brushing aside the dead 

 leaves upon the hill-side, that dainty flower, the pale pink 

 spring beauty, proved to be in bloom. For long its hope- 

 ful buds had been waiting for yet a little warmer sun- 

 shine, and now, sheltered by the crisp oak leaves from 

 every chilling blast, while yet the ice arched the meadow 

 brooks and snow-drifts lingered in the upland fields, they 

 stealthily opened to the cheerful outlook, as though listen- 

 ing, as I was, to the songs of many birds. 



What then does it matter that the frogs fail us at 

 times, as they did in the memorable winter of '88 ? The 

 birds and blossoms did not, and before the February moon 

 had waxed and waned we had promise that the reign of 

 winter was well-nigh over — that the beginning of the end 

 was here. 



