EARLY SPRING IN MASSACHUSETTS. 315 
my night when I wander it is still steadfast as 
the star which the sailor steers by. Whoever 
has had one thought quite lonely and could con¬ 
tentedly digest that, knowing that none could 
accept it, may rise to the heights of humanity 
and overlook all living men as from a pinnacle. 
Speech never made man master of men, but the 
eloquently refraining from it. 
April 10, 1853.The saxifrage is be¬ 
ginning to be abundant, elevating its flowers 
somewhat, pure trustful white amid its pretty 
notched and reddish cup of leaves. The white 
saxifrage is a response from earth to the in¬ 
creased light of the year, the yellow crowfoot, 
to the increased heat of the sun. 
When the farmer cleans out his ditches, I 
mourn the loss of many a flower which he calls 
a weed. The main charm about the lower road, 
just beyond the bridge, to me has been in the 
little grove of locusts, sallows, birches, etc., 
which has sprung up on the bank as you rise the 
hill. Yesterday I saw a man who is building a 
house near by cutting them down. Finding he 
was going to cut them all, I said if I were in 
his place 1 would not have them cut for a hun¬ 
dred dollars. “ Why,” said he, “they are noth¬ 
ing but a parcel of prickly bushes and are not 
worth anything. I’m going to build a new 
wall here.” And so to ornament the approach 
