In New England Fields and Woods
the fields, bleak with sodden furrows of last year's ploughing, or pallidly tawny with bleached grass, and unti
airy loops of flight upon the flies that buzz across this begrimed remnant of winter's ermine, and of squirrelcups flaunting bloom and fragrance in the face o
ar the half querulous, half chuckling whistle of the one, the full-mo
grating of the blackbirds, the robin's joyous song with its frequent breaks, as if the thronging notes outran utterance, the too brief sweetness of the meadowlark's whistle, th
f insect life, the spasmodic hum of flies, the droning monotone of bees busy among the catkins and squirrelcups, and you may see a butterfly
oached, in merrier mood than the hare, who limps over the matted leaves in th
wigs with which the last surface of the snow was obtrusively littered lie now unnoticed on the flat-pressed leaves, an umber carpet dotted here with flecks of moss, there sprigged with fronds of evergreen fern, purple leaves of squirrelcups, with their downy buds and first blossoms. Between banks so clad the brook babbles a
, and never in all the round of the year is there a better time to see them than wh
ou discover the ruffed grouse strutting upon his favorite log, and undiscovered by him can watch his proud perfor
of the goose, the sibilant beat of the wild ducks' wings, the bleat of the snipe and the plover's cry, each making his way to northern breeding grounds. Are you not glad they are going as
ng the voice of nature with the discordant uproar of your gun, and ma
nd go mate-seeking and food-gathering in sunshine and starlight, undimmed by roof of ice. As you see them cutting the smooth surface with long, swift, arrowy wakes, coasting the low shore
ve at your approach; the thronging blackbirds shower liquid melody and hail of discord from the purple-budded maples above you. All around, f
hollow clang of his setting pole dropping athwart the gunwales of his cra
ery side, the sounds of spring; and yet you listen for fuller confirmation of its pr