New-York tribune., 1874-04-13

this was vanity. BY sunset. tho north wind
blew chilly, and the bleak shy closed over us-
as 1t was wont. f ~ a ...t tl.l
While the vernal feast remains in abeyance.
the clothes question is unsettled. The fair
creatures who somewhat remind us Of the an
cient Athenians, in that they spend their time
in buying or wearing some new thing, are at
their wits end. The multifarious millinery
which is readyis also premature. Tho other
multifarous, trappings which are not even
selected D.ust remain unbought. This is that
JOY deferred which makes the heart sick.
The fair wearer of good clothes is in state
o. distracted incompleteness for, though the
Winter is over and gone, the lark declines to
warble sweet Oh the spray, and she has an
injured sense Of having nothing to wear.
The male creature, too, is conscious that his
Winter coat is tingcd with a suspicion Of un-
fitness underneath is hidden suggestion of
shabbness that shrnks from exposure to tho
tardy Spring He dalies over tho delicate
cassimeres that would be burdensome in
August. but s'mTa,y rheumatic now. Ie
, clings affectionately TO his overcoat az to an
old friend; but it irks him little that he
cannot honorably shed it. And in these cold.
damp days when bellies and beanx agree that
the weather is perfectly horriG," puhdred'
of our brothers and sisters lament tnSt tbe
threadbare garments which scarcely covered
them through the mild Winter are insufficient
for the chilly Spring. These, long buoyed up
by the hope of warmer days coming, look
dolefully at the prospect through their loOpcd
and windOwed raggedness.
The vernal banquet is promise rather than
fruiton; it is suggestion rather than reality;
although the careful hOusekeeper, scanning
present prices may think it very real. Yet
green peas economically considered, arc the
immature seedlings of next year, the promise
of another generati0n-so to speak. And what
is lamb but q playful forcrunner of tho
autumnal mutton and the succulent saddle
which shall cOdy furnish forth December
luncheon tables This aroma of promise is all
there is of the Spring of which lamb and
peas are the ushcrs. Ever since the world
began, it has been the fashion of the poets to
sing the praises of Spring-with cold IN tho
head. But the history of the human race has
been one long protest against the gentle fraud.
Even Coleridge, in Christabel, complains that
"Spring comes late up this way; and, three
centuries ago, Ronsard prayed, God shield
" thee, Easter daisies" 1t Is an old
story. Spring is late this year. 1t is late
every year. AS regularly as the seasons
revolve, it is a matter of remark in the
vernal equinox that this is an unusually
backward season. In fact, it is as periodically
unusual as the whiting heat of Summer or the
severe cold of Winter both of which are an
nua topics of wonder to the Oldest lnhab-
liant. Nevertheless with all their drawbacks
and irritatons, the Spring months never pre-
tended to have anything to recommend them
but their notice of the coming of warmer days
and kinder skies. We should rob life of half
its enjoyment if VIC insisted on seizing the core
of things as we go along The robin, for ex-
ample, is only q fancy, an anticipation OK
something else to come. Personally, he is a
nuisance; gastronomcally, ne is very indif-
ferent bird nevertheless, poets have gorliied
him always, and his associations are chiefly
aesthetic and sentimental For this he E
tolerated. even welcomed. So practical people
who have to do with bonds, stocks, and daily
newspapers may look up to the gray sky
where the cangor of the wild geese pro-
claims the heart of Winter broken, and
feel that the promise of pleasanter days
is honestly made. March, April, and
May, like lamb and peas, are only
suggestions. 1t is foolish to crush the evanes-
cent charm of the time by trying to grasp it,
1t is unjust to blame these months for their
unexpected rgor; 1t should not be unexpected.
BY and by, when the fierce heats of the dog
days are upon u.s. we shall be sorry for the
hard things we have said of this season. Let
lis be patient. April was never June; it never
will be.