sees journalism leave vernalism at the post.

 

For whereas Spring's couriers were once the evidence of our finer senses, now

the Associated Press does the trick.

 

The warble of the first robin in Hackensack, the stirring of the maple sap in

Bennington, the budding of the pussy willows along the main street in Syracuse,

the first chirp of the blue bird, the swan song of the blue point, the annual

tornado in St. Louis, the plaint of the peach pessimist from Pompton, N.J., the

regular visit of the tame wild goose with a broken leg to the pond near

Bilgewater Junction, the base attempt of the Drug Trust to boost the price of

quinine foiled in the House by Congressman Jinks, the first tall poplar struck

by lightning and the usual stunned picknickers who had taken refuge, the first

crack of the ice jamb in the Allegheny River, the finding of a violet in its

mossy bed by the correspondent at Round Corners--these are the advanced signs of

the burgeoning season that are wired into the wise city, while the farmer sees

nothing but winter upon his dreary fields.

 

But these be mere externals. The true harbinger is the heart. When Strephon

seeks his Chloe and Mike his Maggie, then only is Spring arrived and the

newspaper report of the five foot rattler killed in Squire Pettregrew's pasture

confirmed.

 

A hackneyed writer would probably have said that the newspaper told the city man

about spring before the farmer could see any evidence of it, but that the real