212 5 EARLY SPRING IN MASSACHUSETTS. 
molded to express the shades of meaning, when 
sesquipedalian words, long since cut and appar¬ 
ently dried and drawn to mill, not yet to the 
dictionary lumber-yard, put forth a fringe of 
green sprouts here and there along in the angles 
of their sugared bark, their very bulk insuring 
some sap remaining; some florid suckers they 
sustain at least. These words, split into shin¬ 
gles and laths, will supply poets for ages to 
come. A man can’t ask properly for a piece 
of bread and butter without some animal spir¬ 
its. A child can’t cry without them. 
p. M. To Heywood’s Meadow. The tele¬ 
graph harp sounds more commonly now that 
westerly winds prevail. The winds of winter 
are too boisterous, too violent or rude, and do 
not strike it at. the right angle when I walk, so 
that it becomes one of the spring sounds. The 
ice went out of Walden this forenoon; of Flint’s 
Pond day before yesterday, I have no doubt. 
The buds of the shad-blossom look green. 
The crimson-starred flowers of the hazel begin 
to peep out, though the catkins have not opened. 
The alders are almost generally in full bloom, 
and a very handsome and interesting show they 
make with their graceful tawny pendants in¬ 
clining to yellow. They shake like ear-drops 
in the wind, almost the first completed orna¬ 
ments with which the new year decks herself. 
