t imperceptible, but there
is a fresh, earthy smell in the air, as if something had stirred here
under the leaves. The crows caw above the wood, or walk about the
brown fields. I look at the gray silent trees long and long, but they
show no sign. The catkins of some alders by a little pool have just
swelled perceptibly; and, brushing away the dry leaves and debris on a
sunny slope, I discover the liverwort just pushing up a fuzzy, tender
sprout. But the waters have brought forth. The little frogs are
musical. From every marsh and pool goes up their shrill but pleasing
chorus. Peering into one of their haunts, a little body of
semi-stagnant water, I discover masses of frogs' spawn covering the
bottom. I take up great chunks of the cold, quivering jelly in my
hands. In some places there are gallons of it. A youth who accompanies
me wonders if it would not be good cooked, or if it could not be used
as a substitute for eggs. It is a perfect jelly, of a slightly milky
tinge, thickly imbedded with black spots about the size of a small
bird's eye. When just deposited it is perfectly transparent. These
hatch in eight or ten days, gradually absorb their gelatinous
surroundings, and the tiny tadpoles issue forth.

In the city, even before the shop-windows have caught the inspiration,
spring is heralded by the silver poplars which line all the streets
and avenues. After a few mild, sunshiny March days, you suddenly
perceive a change has come over the trees. Their tops have a less
naked look. If the weather continues warm, a single day will work
wonders. Presently each tree will be one vast plume of gray, downy
tassels, while not the least speck of green foliage is visible. The
first week of April these long mimic caterpillars lie all about the
streets and fill the gutters.

The approach of spring is also indicated by the crows and buzzards,
which rapidly multiply in the environs of the city, and grow bold and
demonstrative. The crows are abundant here all winter, but are not
very noticeable except as they pass high in air to and from their
winter quarters in the Virginia woods. Early in the morning, as soon
as it is light enough to discern them, there they are, streaming
eastward across the sky, now in loose, scattered flocks, now in thick
dense masses, then singly and in pairs or triplets, but all setting in
one direction, probably to the waters of eastern Maryland. Toward
night they begin to return, flying in the same manner,