n skies, and it is
she who remembers me and my row of pie-plant; and still another,
who knows better than cat-birds when currants are ripe. Above all,
there is a preacher, who thinks my sins are as scarlet so long as
my strawberries are, and plants himself in my bed at that time to
reason with me of judgment to come; and a doctor, who gets despondent
about my constitution in pear-time--after which my health seems to
return, but never my pears.

So that, on the whole, from May till October I am the bright side
of the moon, and the telescopes of the town are busy observing
my phenomena; after which it is as though I had rolled over on my
dark side, there to lie forgotten till once more the sun entered
the proper side of the zodiac. But let me except always the few
steadily luminous spirits I know, with whom is no variableness,
neither shadow of turning. If any one wishes to become famous in
a community, let him buy a small farm on the edge of it and cultivate
fruits, berries, and flowers, which he freely gives away or lets
be freely taken.

All this has taken freely of my swift April days. Besides, I have
made me a new side-porch, made it myself, for I like to hammer and
drive things home, and because the rose on the old one had rotted
it from post to shingle. And then, when I had tacked the rose in
place again, the little old window opening above it made that side
of my house look like a boy in his Saturday hat and Sunday breeches.
So in went a large new window; and now these changes have mysteriously
offended Mrs. Walter, who says the town is laughing at me for
trying to outdo the Cobbs. The highest animal is the only one who
is divinely gifted with such noble discernment. But I am not sorry
to have my place look its best. When they see it, they will perhaps
understand why I was not to be driven out by a golden cracker on
their family whip. They could not have bought my little woodland
pasture, where for a generation has been picnic and muster and
Fourth-of-July ground, and where the brave fellows met to volunteer
for the Mexican war. They could not have bought even the heap of
brush back of my wood-pile, where the brown thrashers build.

V

In May I am of the earth earthy. The soul loses its wild white
pinions; the heart puts forth its short, powerful wings, heavy with
heat and color, that flutter, but do not lift it off the ground.
The month comes and goes, and not once do I think of lifting my