St. Paul daily globe. [volume] (Saint Paul, Minn.) 1884-1896, 1893-05-05

But If you are in the country you rec
ognize spring in still another fashion.
While the nights are yet chilly. and lit
tie patches of snow linger Oh the north
sides of the fences or the barn, the sky
takes on deep gray-5lue, ami bends
dome OF tempered steel over the moist
bosom of the earth. Early in the morn
ing, somewhere far off under the gray
blue sky, you hear wild birds
notes, shrill and inSistent, ir-
ritatingly so, if you are dull
and sluggard and fail to interpret the
message it brings. The next morning
YOU notice that there is hint of tender
green On the sunny slopes and III the
sheltered fence corners or on the south
side of the house. After little you
meet shy, wild creatures, If you are
early a-feld, busy with their houSakeep-
ing arrangements. You may peep all
YOU choose, but you are not likel to be
any the wiser for the breach of good
manners. They are ''short-mouthed
set" these wild neighbors of ours.
What buStling commonwealth
the barnyard grows! Fluffy bid
dies with broods of yellow down,
looking fit for nothing but to be
coddled and petted and wrapped i'll
cotton wool, but that Will develop into
"fryers" before you know it, hustle
about in the pale spring sunshine, Look
ing at them your mind is enlightened as
to the meaning of the old saw fuss and
feathers" Chanticleer. secure in his
masculine immunity from the worry of
the children, takes Oh more l0rdly
strut as he ''walks up and down seeking
what he may deVour,' and calls his
i,,ir f1, oh IN
with most, provoking condescenSiOn.
Those IShmaels of the feathered tribe.
the Guineas, living embOdiments
Of impudence and noise, stand
On pile of planks under the
sunny wall and call out all sorts of
fowish swear words TO their fellow
wearers of feathers and spurs. while
the geese waddle slowly by, as Sedate
and dignifed as they had never for one
moment forgotten the fact that it was
the melOdiouS voices of some Of their
ancestors that woke the garrison and
turned the tide of war for proud old
Rome, years ago, while the world was
young. The ducks have taken on new
shade to the sheeny creStS they So beau
tifnlly adorn. While you sit in the
barn door and throw corn and mediate
on the folly of all created things, the
separate feather OF his gorgeous tail
proclaiming the season, as he bends and
struts and values before his atmlrlng
family. He has q short memory for
the falls his pride has had. like
many a bigger and wiser masculine.
He cannot see, as l can, Aunt
Dinah with her bandanna at close reef,
sure token that she means business,
and business with his lordship of the
cleaning tail in particular. Every day
the air grows milder. Boxes Of seed,
garnered from last years sowing, come
to light, and are assorted and discussed.
Vick's Annual-or is it GregOry'S the
family swears by?-comes down from
the clock shelf, and is duly conned
for the steenth time, and
insofar as Vick'S advice agrees
with grandpa's opinions and eX-
perience he is indorsed, but no further.
They have learned by experience, these
"yeomen of the sod" and 90 their own
way in spite of all hook learning" that
can be reeled off between ''Sun-up" and
"suudoWn." If you are Of wondering
turn of mind. the world is full of Won
ders just now. Push aside the dead
leaves, and shy sweet blossoms i'll
blue and white and pink and
purple, with little furry stems
and leaves, peep out at you. You think
Of the sweet faces of human bud and
bloom that have peeped out just SO
above wreath of fur in the past gay
winter. Zone is just as sweet and just
as useless as he other" you say, not
knowing that the words are prompted
by the dregS of the winters folly. But
you are right-you have only mistaken a
syllable; that's all. One Is just as
useful as the other, for both
are promises of Infinite possibilities
for the future. Along the runs queer
silvery-brown pussy willows SWING and
dance at each touch of the south winds
fingers, and queerer brown Spirals
slowly unrolI into green and graceful
ferns. Stiff green spears push through
the ooze on the edges of the marsh.
Would you believe it? They are the
vanguard of the royal flowers of France,
the wild "heurs de lis"-blue flags
the children call them. AS queer
purple clumps part the MOSES
at the feet Of the forest
trees that by-and-by shall be bluebellS
such as wake the melody of Scotia'S
favorite singer. Later, you may find in
the same place pale ghosts of flowers
Yiolets, dear to chiIdren'S hearts, or shy,
sweet anemones or delicate spectaO-
Ills. Where did they get the name of
churchman's brooches ~ But it is use
less TO try to count them all, for over
the hills come trooping wild plum or
crabapple blossoms, or green and
spicy grapes. and before you think it
the orchard is ridged with pillows of
green, crested with pink and white,
sweet as dreams of youth; the air Is full
of perfume as subtle and delicate as the
teachings of adversely. The world is
a poem, a-throb with the gospel of hope,
illumined by loves prismatic tints,
bound in sunshine and raindrop.
Across the title page, written by the
hand Of the author, the legend, Gail
things are possible to him who trust
eth" And it is spring in the country.
f. 2. X.
LITERARY PICTURES