Middletown transcript., 1912-04-13
A PROSE SPRING SONG
BY OUR poErrcA1 BA1D-HEADED EDITOR

BY OUR PoETICAL BALD-HEADED EDITOR
Spring is herel yes, SpEing is here.
"H-a-ow do you kno-o ow it," doubt
fully chatter, in shivering tremolo, mum
bers OF our readers as they snuggIe up to
the stove, the registeror, the ''griddle" in
the floor, as the case may be? Well, by
certain sure proofs. In the fret place,
We saw a small boys kite hanging in.
gloriously by its prehensiIe tail across
telegraph wire, that's always good sign,
for the small boy flies his kite in the gen.
tie Spring time, and is sure to get into a
mix up with wires or tree tops. Then we
have observed a number of those insect
and worm gentry who take long winter
maps in tree holes, in warm chimney cor
ners in the garret, etc.-the "busy bee,"
she wasp, and the caterpillar. flying and
crawling about, this is another pointer
then again, the blessed martins, whose
CHEEKY twitter brightens many home
for few months each year in their but
too short stay, have come hack to us from
their warm southland jaunt, and they
know better than the almanac, and far
more surely than the Government wealth.
er sharps, when Spring is really come;
they never resume housekeeping in the
Summer cottages we provide rent free
for them, until the genuine Spring article
ia on tap. Once more the small boy omen.
One sees now on the pavements certain
strange, cabalistic markings 10 chalk, or
scratched on the ground paths, circles
and quartered rings and the like with
holes, or marbles in 'em, and groups of
knickerbockered lads, on theiS- knees,
firing away at the marbles and holes, or
at each others "white allies" quarrel'iug
or haIf-scrspping every now and then,
and yelling all the while like so many
Comanche savages in such professional
jargon as ''fen dubs," "knuckIe-down to
the inch bone," 'you pudged," ''that's
my white shooter" ETC., a good omen
this, for the small boy knows, just as all
the other healthy animals in a state of
uncontaminated nature know, when
Spring has come.
Bot if any one, or all Of these indica-
tions OF the first order should fail, there
remains one infallible sign that feelingly
apprises every married man at least, that
the vernal season has indeed struck tile
town, and incidentally his pocketbook-
the Spring bonnet crop is ripel We now
know only too we'll that the sweet ma
tin carols of the lark, and the robin that
family mingling their perfumed notes
with our happy dreaming as We lie a-bed,
waiting for our better half to start the
kitchen fire and get breakfast, truly be-
token the seasons advent, for our sfore-
said soulmate will come in before dinner
with tales of the ''just too lovely for any
thing" new shapes Of Easter chats" that
are to be seen at the stores. Oh! we know
it but too well by the size of 'em-the
bills, we mean, not the bonDsts, though
heaven knows they are big enough too!
And as We wearily survey our depleted
wallet, looking as though Jumbo had
trodden it, and then turn to behold our
own Mary looking sweeser than ever, her
thick brown braids crowned with some
milIiner's marvellous creation-we just
know for certain that Spring is here for
keeps, and thank God for it-and foI
Mary