50 DAYS OUT OP DOORS. 



Crankville, of course, has another name, or I should 

 never have dared to pen these opening sentences. 



After the middle of the month of February not a 

 Crankville frog dare croak nor wasp creep from the bam, 

 sheltered maple bud dare swell or dafEodil look upward, 

 but straightway the prophets are moved to look their 

 wisest and proclaim that winter is over, and point to the 

 poor animal or plant as their authority for the statement. 

 The gulled listeners, all hopeful that what they heard is 

 true, dutifully salaam the prophets, and Crankville is 

 happy. Biting frosts, deep snows, howling winter storms 

 follow within a week. The earlier proclamations of the 

 weather prophets are forgotten, and when the skies clear 

 and the warm sun cheers the impatient animals and plants 

 again, the same predictions are again made and trustfully 

 received, and so the farce continues until the spring really 

 comes. 



Turning our backs now on these innocent villagers, let 

 us take up the subject more soberly, and see if we can find 

 any flawless, quick-read sign of spring. 



Stay ! There is one sign of spring, not uncommon to 

 February, and very characteristic of March. I refer to the 

 public sales of those who — from necessity or choice — " are 

 about to relinquish farming," as the posters inform us. 

 April 1 being "moving day," during the previous six 

 weeks these vendues usually come off — vandoo sales, as my 

 neighbors call them ; and not a farmer but finds it con- 

 venient to attend, for he not only meets his friends but 

 secretly cherishes the hope that he may " pick up a bar- 

 gain." The queer folk of a neighborhood, too, that 

 never appear in public except upon such an occasion and 

 at funerals, are out in full force. A vendue, in fact, is as 

 attractive to cranks as is honey to a fly. Partly to study 

 these odd characters, and more that I might purchase 

 some old furniture, I have been attending sales. But aside 



