subject to such coincidences
Prince's mind imprisoned in a poor man's purse
Progressive memory
Somewhat damaging to an estimate of his originality
Thames had no bridges
Those that did not work should not eat
Tobacco-selling
Wanted advancement but were unwilling to adventure their ease
Would if he could
Writ too much, and done too little

SPRING IN NEW ENGLAND

Then follows a day of bright sun and blue sky. The birds open the
morning with a lively chorus. In spite of Auster, Euroclydon, low
pressure, and the government bureau, things have gone forward. By the
roadside, where the snow has just melted, the grass is of the color of
emerald. The heart leaps to see it. On the lawn there are twenty
robins, lively, noisy, worm-seeking. Their yellow breasts contrast with
the tender green of the newly-springing clover and herd's-grass. If they
would only stand still, we might think the dandelions had blossomed. On
an evergreen-bough, looking at them, sits a graceful bird, whose back is
bluer than the sky. There is a red tint on the tips of the boughs of the
hard maple. With Nature, color is life. See, already, green, yellow,
blue, red! In a few days--is it not so?--through the green masses of the
trees will flash the orange of the oriole, the scarlet of the tanager;
perhaps tomorrow.

But, in fact, the next day opens a little sourly. It is almost clear
overhead: but the clouds thicken on the horizon; they look leaden; they
threaten rain. It certainly will rain: the air feels like rain, or snow.
By noon it begins to snow, and you hear the desolate cry of the
phoebe-bird. It is a fine snow, gentle at first; but it soon drives in
swerving lines, for the wind is from the southwest, from the west, from the
northeast, from the zenith (one of the ordinary winds of New England),
from all points of the compass. The fine snow becomes rain; it becomes
large snow; it melts as it falls; it freezes as it falls. At last a
storm sets in, and night shuts down upon the bleak scene.

During the night there is a change. It thunders and lightens. Toward
morning there is a brilliant display of aurora borealis. This is a sign
of colder weather.

The gardener is in despair; so is the sportsman. The trout take no
pleasure in biting in such weather.

Paragraphs appear in the newspapers, copied from the paper of last year,
saying that this is the most severe spring in thirty years. Every one,
in fact, believes that it