The Rambles of an Idler 



to them and, we may, all of us, be bitterly dis- 

 appointed. Spring commenced at 8:16 A. M., 

 March 21st, it is true, but -winter does not al- 

 ways die nor even abdicate on this same day. 

 It is not succession : Winter is dead 1 Long live 

 the Spring 1 but a struggle for place and power 

 with the immediate outcome exasperatingly in 

 doubt at times, however certain the ultimate re- 

 sult. Less than a century ago we had ice every 

 month in the year. 



Doubt is not altogether an unknown quantity 

 in animal mind, but it centres on objects rather 

 than generalities. Snakes are always chary 

 about haste in this matter of sunshine usurping 

 the time-honored seat of frost. Perhaps some 

 unexpected turn of affairs resulted in the pre- 

 maturely turning out of the big, sleepy water 

 snake before me. On a mat of dry dead grass, 

 sheltered from the wind and in unobstructed 

 sunshine, it is the picture of comfort. It is 

 true that, of all our serpents, this is the earliest 

 species astir, and ready, I am told, to dine 

 off a sucker when the latter lumpish fish crowd 

 the tide-full ditches at this time of year. The 

 particular snake before me is so tightly coiled 

 that it covers scarcely more space than grand- 



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