EARLY SPRING IN MASSACHUSETTS. 283 
Perchance, as \ve grow old, we cease to spring 
with the spring, we are indifferent to the suc¬ 
cession of years, and they go by without epoch 
as months. Woe be to us when we cease to 
form new resolutions on the opening of a new 
year. 
It would be worth while to tell why a swamp 
pleases us, why a certain kind of weather pleases 
us, etc., analyze our impressions. Why does the 
moaning of the storm give me pleasure ? Me- 
thinks because it puts to rout the trivialness 
of our fair-weather life, and gives it, at least, a 
tragic interest. The sound has the effect of a 
pleasing challenge to call forth our energy to 
resist the invaders of our life’s territory. It is 
musical and thrilling as the sound of an ene¬ 
my’s bugle. Our spirits revive like lichens in a 
storm. There is something worth living for 
when we are resisted, threatened. As at the 
last day we might be thrilled with the prospect 
of the grandeur of our destiny, so in these first 
days, our destiny appears grander. What would 
the days, what would our life, be worth, if some 
nights were not dark as pitch, of darkness tangi¬ 
ble, that you can cut with a knife ! How else 
could the light in the mind shine ! How should 
we be conscious of the light of reason ? If it 
were not for physical cold how should we have 
discovered the warmth of the affections. I some- 
