EARLY SPRING IN MASSACHUSETTS. 289 
I 
ours at last, for we remain and take possession 
of the field. In this climate in which we do 
not commonly bury our dead in the winter on 
account of the frozen ground, and find ourselves 
exposed on a hard, bleak crust, the coming out 
of the frost and the first turning up of the soil 
with a spade or plow, is an event of importance. 
P. M. To Hill. As I ascend the east side of 
the hill I hear the distant faint peep of the hy- 
lodes and the tut tut of the croaking frogs from 
the west. How gradually and imperceptibly the 
peep of the hylodes mingles with and swells the 
volume of sound which makes the voice of awak¬ 
ening nature ! If you do not listen carefully for 
its first note you probably will not hear it; and 
not having heard that, your ears become used 
to the sound, so that you will hardly notice it 
at last, however loud and universal. I hear it 
now faintly from through and over the bare 
gray twigs and the sheeny needles of an oak 
and pine wood, and from over the russet fields 
beyond. It is so intimately mingled with the 
murmur or roar of the wind as to be wellnigh 
inseparable from it. It leaves such a lasting 
trace on the ear’s memory that often I thinkT 
hear the peeping when I do not. It is a singu¬ 
larly emphatic and ear-piercing proclamation of 
animal life, when, with a very few and slight 
exceptions, vegetation is yet dormant. The dry 
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