A MARCH CHRONICLE. 



wait for the shovel to release them ; but the spirited 

 horse leaps and flounders, and is determined not to 

 give up. In the woods the snow is melted around the 

 trees, and the burs and pieces of bark have absorbed 

 the heat till they have sunk half-way through to the 

 ground. The snow is melting on the under side \ the 

 frost is going out of the ground : now comes the trial 

 of your foundations. 



About the farm-buildings there awakens the old fa- 

 miliar chorus, the bleating of calves and lambs, and the 

 answering bass of their distressed mothers ; while the 

 hens are cackling in the hay-loft, and the geese are 

 noisy in the spring run. But the most delightful of 

 all farm-work or of all rural occupations, is at hand, 

 namely, sugar-making. In New York and northern 

 New England the beginning of this season varies from 

 the first to the middle of March, sometimes even hold- 

 ing of! till April. The moment the contest between 

 the sun and frost fairly begins, sugar weather begins ; 

 and the more even the contest, the more the sweet. I 

 do not know what the philosophy of it is, but it seems 

 a kind of see-saw, as if the sun drew the sap up, and 

 the frost drew it down ; and an excess of either stops 

 the flow. Before the sun has got power to unlock the 

 frost, there is no sap ; and after the frost has lost its 

 power to lock up again the work of the sun, there is 

 no sap. But when it freezes soundly at night, with a 

 bright, warm sun next day, wind in the west, and no 

 signs of a storm, the veins of the maples fairly thrill. 



