102 



A MARCH CHRONICLE. 



the old tree in the woods, no doubt awoke to new life ; 

 and the hibernating animals, the bears and woodchucks, 

 rolled up in their subterranean dens, — I imagine the 

 warmth reached even them, and quickened their slug- 

 gish circulation. 



Then in the afternoon there was the smell of smoke, 

 — the first spring fires in the open air. The Virginia 

 farmer is raking together the rubbish in his garden, or 

 in the field he is preparing for the plough, and burning 

 it up. In imagination I am there to help him. I see 

 the children playing about, delighted with the sport 

 and the resumption of work • the smoke goes up 

 through the shining haze ; the farm-house door stands 

 open, and lets in the afternoon sun ; the cow lows for 

 her calf, or hides it in the woods ; and in the morning, 

 the geese, sporting in the spring sun, answer the call of 

 the wild flock steering northward above them. 



As I stroll through the market I see the signs here. 

 That old colored woman has brought spring in her 

 basket in those great green flakes of moss, with arbutus 

 snowing the pink ; and her old man is just in good 

 time with his fruit-trees and gooseberry-bushes. Va- 

 rious bulbs and roots are also being brought out and 

 offered, and the onions are sprouting on the stands. I 

 see bunches of robins and cedar-birds also — so much 

 melody and beauty cut off from the supply going north. 

 The fish market is beginning to be bright with perch 

 and bass, and with shad from the southern rivers, and 

 wild ducks are taking the place of prairie-hens and 

 quails. 



