Earliest Signs of Spring 



days of March, between the vernal equinox and 

 April, seem hke spring's vestibule. During 

 this time one hardly heeds the unkempt look 

 of all natural scenery, in his eagerness to catch 

 the wakeful signals of the general reanimation. 

 No sound is more suggestive, in this season, 

 than that of the frogs, that are sounding the 

 long, monotonous pitch for Nature's tuning-up. 

 At a small pool, in one of my resorts, I first 

 heard a solitary one — an early riser — who was 

 probably calling to his hibernating brethren 

 still lingering beneath the water; and, at a 

 larger pond within the woods, a dozen fellows, 

 wide awake, were sprawling at the surface of the 

 water, protruding only their bright, staring eyes 

 and roomy mouths, while in an unrhythmical 

 medley they chanted a natural "ground bass" 

 to the shrill piping of their fair soprano sisters, 

 the tree-toads, that had climbed a few feet above 

 the water — and how hard it always is to find 

 them — invariably stopping in the midst of the 

 song when one approaches. The tree-toad's 

 note is one of the most stirring episodes of 

 March, so consonant with Nature's ringing call 

 to life, quite as cheery as the song-sparrow it- 

 self, and, as well, full of the memories of sum- 

 mer's eventide in quiet woods. 

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