ay so, in the blue sky, and there
is softness in the south wind. The song-sparrow is singing in the
apple-tree. Another bird-note is heard,--two long, musical whistles,
liquid but metallic. A brown bird this one, darker than the
song-sparrow, and without the latter's light stripes, and smaller, yet
bigger than the queer little chipping-bird. He wants a familiar name,
this sweet singer, who appears to be a sort of sparrow. He is such a
contrast to the blue-jays, who have arrived in a passion, as usual,
screaming and scolding, the elegant, spoiled beauties! They wrangle from
morning till night, these beautiful, high-tempered aristocrats.

Encouraged by the birds, by the bursting of the lilac-buds, by the
peeping-up of the crocuses, by tradition, by the sweet flutterings of
a double hope, another sign appears. This is the Easter bonnets, most
delightful flowers of the year, emblems of innocence, hope, devotion.
Alas that they have to be worn under umbrellas, so much thought,
freshness, feeling, tenderness have gone into them! And a northeast
storm of rain, accompanied with hail, comes to crown all these virtues
with that of self-sacrifice. The frail hat is offered up to the
implacable season. In fact, Nature is not to be forestalled nor hurried
in this way. Things cannot be pushed. Nature hesitates. The woman who
does not hesitate in April is lost. The appearance of the bonnets is
premature. The blackbirds see it. They assemble. For two days they hold
a noisy convention, with high debate, in the tree-tops. Something is
going to happen.

Say, rather, the usual thing is about to occur. There is a wind called
Auster, another called Eurus, another called Septentrio, another
Meridies, besides Aquilo, Vulturnus, Africus. There are the eight great
winds of the classical dictionary,--arsenal of mystery and terror and of
the unknown,--besides the wind Euroaquilo of St. Luke. This is the wind
that drives an apostle wishing to gain Crete upon the African Syrtis. If
St. Luke had been tacking to get to Hyannis, this wind would have forced
him into Holmes's Hole. The Euroaquilo is no respecter of persons.

These winds, and others unnamed and more terrible, circle about New
England. They form a ring about it: they lie in wait on its borders,
but only to spring upon it and harry it. They follow each other in
contracting circles, in whirlwinds, in maelstroms of the atmosphere:
they meet and cross each other, all at a moment. This New Eng