-they desire two crops the same year. The Gulf Stream
gets shunted off from New England by the formation of the coast below:
besides, it is too shallow to be of any service. Icebergs float down
against its surface-current, and fill all the New-England air with
the chill of death till June: after that the fogs drift down from
Newfoundland. There never was such a mockery as this Gulf Stream. It is
like the English influence on France, on Europe. Pitt was an iceberg.

Still New England survives. To what purpose? I say, as an example:
the politician says, to produce "Poor Boys." Bah! The poor boy is an
anachronism in civilization. He is no longer poor, and he is not a boy.
In Tartary they would hang him for sucking all the asses' milk that
belongs to the children: in New England he has all the cream from the
Public Cow. What can you expect in a country where one knows not today
what the weather will be tomorrow? Climate makes the man. Suppose he,
too, dwells on the Channel Islands, where he has all climates, and is
superior to all. Perhaps he will become the prophet, the seer, of his
age, as he is its Poet. The New-Englander is the man without a climate.
Why is his country recognized? You won't find it on any map of Paris.

And yet Paris is the universe. Strange anomaly! The greater must include
the less; but how if the less leaks out? This sometimes happens.

And yet there are phenomena in that country worth observing. One of them
is the conduct of Nature from the 1st of March to the 1st of June,
or, as some say, from the vernal equinox to the summer solstice. As
Tourmalain remarked, "You'd better observe the unpleasant than to be
blind." This was in 802. Tourmalain is dead; so is Gross Alain; so is
little Pee-Wee: we shall all be dead before things get any better.

That is the law. Without revolution there is nothing. What is
revolution? It is turning society over, and putting the best underground
for a fertilizer. Thus only will things grow. What has this to do
with New England? In the language of that flash of social lightning,
Beranger, "May the Devil fly away with me if I can see!"

Let us speak of the period in the year in New England when winter
appears to hesitate. Except in the calendar, the action is ironical;
but it is still deceptive. The sun mounts high: it is above the horizon
twelve hours at a time. The snow gradually sneaks away in liquid
repentance. One morning it is gone, except in shaded spots and clo