112 



A MARCH CHRONICLE. 



thing, filling everything. The sky visibly came down. 

 You could see it among the trees and between the hills. 

 The sun poured himself into the earth as into a cup, 

 and the atmosphere fairly swam with warmth and light. 



In the afternoon I walked out over the country roads 

 north of the city. Innumerable columns of smoke 

 were going up all around the horizon from burning 

 brush and weeds, fields being purified by fire. The 

 farmers were hauling out manure ; and I am free to 

 confess, the odor of it, with its associations of the farm 

 and the stable, of cattle and horses, was good in my 

 nostrils. In the woods the liverleaf and arbutus had 

 just ppened doubtingly ; and in the little pools great 

 masses of frogs' spawn, with a milky tinge, were de- 

 posited. The youth who accompanied me brought 

 some of it home in his handkerchief, to see it hatch in 

 a goblet. 



The month came in like a lamb, and went out like a 

 lamb, setting at naught the old adage. The white 

 fleecy clouds lay here and there, as if at rest, on the 

 blue sky. The fields were a perfect emerald ; and 

 the lawns, with the new gold of the first dandelions 

 sprinkled about, were lush with grass. In the parks 

 and groves there was a faint mist of foliage, except 

 among the willows, where there was not only a mist, 

 but a perfect fountain-fall of green. In the distance 

 the river looked blue ; the spring freshets at last over ; 

 and the ground settled, and the jocund season steps 

 forth into April with a bright and confident look. 



