t among the firs. It has a dark outer bark, and a
soft inner skin; both of which are stripped away by the tree in growing,
and the trunk and branches are left bare and flesh-colored. It has
glossy evergreen leaves, and bright red berries, that look very cheerful
in contrast with the snow.

APRIL 6, 1866.

The frogs have begun to sing in the marsh, and the Indians in their
camps. How well their voices chime together! All the bright autumn days,
we used to listen to the Indians at sunset; but after that, we heard no
sound of them for several months. They sympathize too much with Nature
to sing in the winter. Now the warm, soft air inspires them anew. All
through the cold and rainy months, as I looked out from my window, there
was always the little black figure in the canoe, as free and as
unembarrassed by any superfluities as the birds that circled around it.
It seemed a mistake, when the most severe weather came, for them to have
made no preparation whatever to meet it. It drove the women into our
houses, with their little bundles of "fire-sticks" (pitch-wood) to sell.
I offered one of them a pair of shoes; but she pointed to the snow, and
said it was "hot," and that it would make her feet too cold to wear
shoes.

We were told, before we came here, that this climate was like that of
Asia; and now an Asian flower has come to confirm it. The marshes are
all gay with it: it is the golden club. The botany calls it the
Orontium, because it grows on the banks of the Orontes; and it is very
Asian-looking. It has a great wrapper, like the rich yellow silk in
which the Japanese brought their presents to President Lincoln. It is a
relation to the calla-lily, but is larger.

The very last day of winter, as if they could not possibly wait a day
longer, great flocks of meadow-larks came, and settled down on the field
next to us. They are about as large as robins, and have a braided work
of black-and-gold to trim off their wings, and a broad black collar on
their orange breasts. They appear to have a very agreeable consciousness
of being in the finest possible condition. The dear old robins look
rather faded beside them. With them came the crimson-headed linnets. In
trying to identify these little birds from our books, I found that great
confusion had prevailed in regard to them, because their nuptial plumage
differs so much from their ordinary dress. These darlings blushed all
over with life and joy, which told me their secre