A MARCH CHRONICLE. 



but they do not hold out, and their blood is very di- 

 luted. Cattle are very fond of sap ; so are sheep, and 

 will drink enough to kill them. The honey-bees get 

 here their first sweet, and the earliest bug takes up his 

 permanent abode on the "spile." The squirrels also 

 come timidly down the trees, and sip the sweet flow; 

 and occasionally an ugly lizard, just out of its winter 

 quarters, and in quest of novelties, creeps up into the 

 pan or bucket. Soft maple makes a very fine white 

 sugar, superior in quality, but far less in quantity. 



I think any person who has tried it will agree with 

 me about the charm of sugar-making, though he have 

 no tooth for the sweet itself. It is enough that it is 

 the first spring work, and takes one to the woods. The 

 robins are just arriving, and their merry calls ring 

 through the glades. The squirrels are now venturing 

 out, and the woodpeckers and nuthatches run briskly 

 up the trees. The crow begins to caw, with his accus- 

 tomed heartiness and assurance ; and one sees the 

 white rump and golden shafts of the high-hole as he 

 flits about the open woods. Next week, or the week 

 after, it may be time to begin ploughing, and other 

 sober work about the farm ; but this week we will pic- 

 nic among the maples, and our camp-fire shall be an 

 incense to spring. Ah, I am there now ! I see the 

 woods flooded with sun-light ; I smell the dry leaves, 

 and the mould under them just quickened by the 

 warmth ; the long-trunked maples in their gray rough 

 liveries stand thickly about ; I see the brimming pans 



