St. Paul daily globe., 1893-05-04

If you are living in the suburbs or in
4 small town you know when it is spring
by other, subtler signs than those
that gauge this pleasant knowledge for
the denizens Of the city's crowded
ways. You wake up some morning
In the mystic hours between the 'daWn-
ing and the daylight" and note Ian
guorous softness in the air.
Afar off in the vague shadows
Of a wood you hear the soft
notes of blue birds song. Under
;he caves the sparroWs are dlsputlng
possession of last years freeholds with
an equally vociferOus family of mar
tens. That notable housekeeper, your
neighbor. is up betimes and begins the
spring campaign against the winter
RccumulatiOns Of SCOT and smoke, dust
and dirt, with her cohort of strong
armed maidenS armed with broom and
brush, and tub and pail, with sundry
calculations of veXatiOn an deSpai
that are often both loud and
deep. Cut to the soul by the
thought Of your own Indifference, you
rise from your couch. self-reproachful,
as you see how your neigbbOrS are wei
coming the spring. But the odor Of
freshly turned earth Is in the air. Your
soul is stepped IN lrrepresSible idleneSS.
You lolter about in the moist yard under
the budding trees. The lilac bushes are
putting out plump, fragrant buds. All
the little shrubs have look of being
alive and busy. Unseen forces are at
work pumping life and bloom and beauty
into all living things, and by and by
they will bring fruitiOn, sure and satisfy
ing. Nothing so confirms ones childish
belief in the literal truth of the old
Bible story of mans original shaping
from the earth as this delight i'll her an
nual awakening that most people feel,
even though they cannot tell just how
Or why they are affected. The love song
Of the thrush, or the wrenS, or even the
common barnyard fowls. touches chord
in the human breast. You put your ear
TO the ground and hear the soft throb-
bing of Natures heart. You catch
her breath in the moist fragrance
Of the early blades, or hear her
tones in the whisper of the breeze.
Your nelghbOr is agriculturally inclined,
and comes hurrying home at night with
an assorted selection Of garden tools,
and with pockets bursting with seed
that are to develop into such vegetables
rs only the horticultural artist sees in
his dreams and pictures III his annual
catalogue, and that, lie assures you, re-
Quire only the seed tie sells and "a very
few moments work each day TO be
within the reach Of every man" You
have a faint memory of the tools that
neighbOr used last year for a season,
and left, alas, to rust away under the
gOOseberry bushes at one side of his
garden. You think that perhaps you
could find them there now if you were
not SO tender-hearted and dld not hate
to spoil sport" for any one. SO you
smile as you sit by your window in the
chilly dusk and hear him tell the new
arrival of what man may do with a
piece Of ground 80 by 100 feet or less,
how many dollars worth of vegetables
he may raise, as well as saved doc
tors bills aud increased self-re-
Bpect and Independence. You have
heard all about that before, but you
smile as each word your neighbor says
more clearly dlscioses the force of
heredity. He is only son OF that
sturdy old gardener Adam, after all.
Every morning as you 90 down to the
corner to take the car you see some
new suggestion of the season, and in
the evening when you go home you
notice your neighbors' yards are freshly
raked. Little hillockS of dry grass and
weed stalks dot the sides of the road,
waiting for night and the crowd of boys
who have not yet outgrown their nat
ural savagery to gather and build a
bonfire. After nghtfall you take youI
cigar or your favorite eat and sit by the
window and watch the lurid flames thai
mount, like the hopes of youth, in &
blaze Of glory, and flicker and wane
like the expectations Of manhood, anC
die out into gray ashes like the aspra
tions of age, while tie boys yell anC
dance, as did their f0refathers not ST
long ago, and are happy because the!
are unthlnklng young animals, and it il
spring.