284 EARLY SPRING IN MASSACHUSETTS. 
times feel that I need to sit in a far-away cave 
through a three weeks’ storm, cold and wet, to 
give a tone to my system. The spring has its 
windy March to usher it in, with many soaking 
rains reaching into April. 
Methinks I would share every creature’s suf¬ 
fering for the sake of its experience and joy. 
The song-sparrow and the transient fox-colored 
sparrow, have they brought me no message this 
year ? Is not the coming of the fox-colored 
sparrow something more earnest and significant 
than I have dreamed of? Have I heard what 
this tiny passenger has to say while it flits thus 
from tree to tree ? Can I forgive myself if I let 
it go to Rupert’s Land before I have appreciated 
it ? God did not make this world in jest, no, 
nor in indifference. These migratory sparrows 
all bear messages that concern my life. I do 
not pluck the fruits in their season. I love the 
birds and beasts because they are mythologi¬ 
cally in earnest. I see that the sparrow cheeps , 
and flits, and sings adequately to the great de¬ 
sign of the universe, that man does not com¬ 
municate with it, understand its language, be¬ 
cause he is not at one with nature. I reproach 
myself because I have regarded with indiffer¬ 
ence the passage of the birds, I have thought 
them no better than I. 
What philosopher can estimate the different 
values of a waking thought and a dream ? 
