A YEAR IN THE FIELDS 



bird. He dug into the swamps, he peered 

 into the water, he felt with benumbed hands 

 for the radical leaves of the plants under the 

 snow; he inspected the buds on the wil- 

 lows, the catkins on the alders ; he went out 

 before daylight of a March morning and 

 remained out after dark; he watched the 

 lichens and mosses on the rocks ; he listened 

 for the birds ; he was on the alert for the 

 first frog (" Can you be absolutely sure," he 

 says, "that you have heard the first frog 

 that croaked in the township ? ") ; he stuck 

 a pin here and he stuck a pin there, and 

 there, and still he could not satisfy himself. 

 Nor can any one. Life appears to start in 

 several things simultaneously. Of a warm 

 thawy day in February the snow is suddenly 

 covered with myriads of snow fleas looking 

 like black, new powder just spilled there. 

 Or you may see a winged insect in the air. 

 On the selfsame day the grass in the spring 

 run and the catkins on the alders will have 

 started a little; and if you look sharply, 

 while passing along some sheltered nook or 

 grassy slope where the sunshine lies warm 

 on the bare ground, you will probably see a 

 grasshopper or two. The grass hatches out 

 under the snow, and why should not the 

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