gs　cannot　be　pushed。　Nature　hesitates。　　The　woman　who　does　not　hesitate　in　April　is　lost。　The　appearance　of　the　bonnets　is　premature。　　The　blackbirds　see　it。　They　assemble。　　For　two　days　they　hold　a　noisy　convention；　with　high　debate；　in　the　tree…tops。　　Something　is　going　to　happen。
  Say；　rather；　the　usual　thing　is　about　to　occur。　　There　is　a　wind　called　Auster；　another　called　Eurus；　another　called　Septentrio；　another　Meridies；　besides　Aquilo；　Vulturnus；　Africus。　　There　are　the　eight　great　winds　of　the　classical　dictionary；arsenal　of　mystery　and　terror　and　of　the　unknown；besides　the　wind　Euroaquilo　of　St。　Luke。　　This　is　the　wind　that　drives　an　apostle　wishing　to　gain　Crete　upon　the　African　Syrtis。　　If　St。　Luke　had　been　tacking　to　get　to　Hyannis；　this　wind　would　have　forced　him　into　Holmes's　Hole。　　The　Euroaquilo　is　no　respecter　of　persons。
  These　winds；　and　others　unnamed　and　more　terrible；　circle　about　New　England。　　They　form　a　ring　about　it：　they　lie　in　wait　on　its　borders；　but　only　to　spring　upon　it　and　harry　it。　　They　follow　each　other　in　contracting　circles；　in　whirlwinds；　in　maelstroms　of　the　atmosphere：　they　meet　and　cross　each　other；　all　at　a　moment。　　This　New　England　is　set　apart：　it　is　the　exercise…ground　of　the　weather。　　Storms　bred　elsewhere　come　here　full…grown：　they　come　in　couples；　in　quartets；　in　choruses。　　If　New　England　were　not　mostly　rock；　these　winds　would　carry　it　off；　but　they　would　bring　it　all　back　again；　as　happens　with　the　sandy　portions。　　What　sharp　Eurus　carries　to　Jersey；　Africus　brings　back。　　When　the　air　is　not　full　of　snow；　it　is　full　of　dust。　This　is　called　one　of　the　compensations　of　Nature。
  This　is　what　happened　after　the　convention　of　the　blackbirds：　A　moaning　south　wind　brought　rain；　a　southwest　wind　turned　the　rain　to　snow；　what　is　called　a　zephyr；　out　of　the　west；　drifted　the　snow；　a　north　wind　sent　the　mercury　far　below　freezing。　　Salt　added　to　snow　increases　the　evaporation　and　the　cold。　　This　was　the　office　of　the　northeast　wind：　it　made　the　snow　damp；　and　increased　its　bulk；　but　then　it　rained　a　little；　and　froze；　thawing　at　the　same　time。　　The　air　was　full　of　fog　and　snow　and　rain。　　And　then　the　wind　changed；　went　back　round　the　circle；　reversing　everything；　like　dragging　a　cat　by　its　tail。　　The　mercury　approached　zero。　　This　was　nothing　uncommon。　　We　know　all　these　winds。　　We　are　familiar　with　the　different　〃forms　of　water。〃
  All　this　was　only　the　prologue；　the　overture。　　If　one　might　be　permitted　to　speak　scientifically；　it　was　only　the　tuning　of　the　instruments。　　The　opera　was　to　come；the　Flying　Dutchman　of　the　air。
  There　is　a　wind　called　Euroclydon：　it　would　be　one　of　the　Eumenides；　only　they　are　women。　　It　is　half…brother　to　the　gigantic　storm…wind　of　the　equinox。　　The　Euroclydon　is　not　a　wind：　it　is　a　monster。　　Its　breath　is　frost。　　It　has　snow　in　its　hair。　　It　is　something　terrible。　It　peddles　rheumatism；　and　plants　consumption。
  The　Euroclydon　knew　just　the　moment　to　strike　into　the　discord　of　the　weather　in　New　England。　　From　its　lair　about　Point　Desolation；　from　the　glaciers　of　the　Greenland　continent；　sweeping　round　the　coast；　leaving　wrecks　in　its　track；　it　marched　right　athwart　the　other　conflicting　winds；　churning　them　into　a　fury；　and　inaugurating　chaos。　It　was　the　Marat　of　the　elements。　　It　was　the　revolution　marching　into　the　〃　dreaded　wood　of　La　Sandraie。〃
  Let　us　sum　it　all　up　in　one　word：　it　was　something　for　which　there　is　no　name。
  Its　track　was　destruction。　　On　the　sea　it　leaves　wrecks。　　What　does　it　leave　on　land？　　Funerals。　　When　it　subsides；　New　England　is　prostrate。　　It　has　left　its　legacy：　this　legacy　is　coughs　and　patent　medicines。　　This　is　an　epic；　this　is　destiny。　　You　think　Providence　is　expelled　out　of　New　England？　　Listen！
  Two　days　after　Euroclydon；　I　found　in　the　woods　the　hepatica　earliest　of　wildwood　flowers；　evidently　not　intimidated　by　the　wild　work　of　the　armies　trampling　over　New　Englanddaring　to　hold　up　its　tender　blossom。　　One　could　not　but　admire　the　quiet　pertinacity　of　Nature。　　She　had　been　painting　the　grass　under　the　snow。　　In　spots　it　was　vivid　green。　　There　was　a　mild　rain；mild；　but　chilly。　　The　clouds　gathered；　and　broke　away　in　light；　fleecy　masses。　　There　was　a　softness　on　the　hills。　　The　birds　suddenly　were　on　every　tree；　glancing　through　the　air；　filling　it　with　song；　sometimes　shaking　raindrops　from　their　wings。　　The　cat　brings　in　one　in　his　mouth。　　He　thinks　the　season　has　begun；　and　the　game…laws　are　off。　　He　is　fond　of　Nature；　this　cat；　as　we　all　are：　he　wants　to　possess　it。　　At　four　o'clock　in　the　morning　there　is　a　grand　dress…rehearsal　of　the　birds。　Not　all　the　pieces　of　the　orchestra　have　arrived；　but　there　are　enough。　　The　grass…sparrow　has　come。　　This　is　certainly　charming。　The　gardener　comes　to　talk　about　seeds：　he　uncovers　the　straw…berries　and　the　grape…vines；　salts　the　asparagus…bed；　and　plants　the　peas。　You　ask　if　he　planted　them　with　a　shot…gun。　　In　the　shade　there　is　still　frost　in　the　ground。　　Nature；　in　fact；　still　hesitates；　puts　forth　one　hepatica　at　a　time；　and　waits　to　see　the　result；　pushes　up　the　grass　slowly；　perhaps　draws　it　in　at　night。
  This　indecision　we　call　Spring。
  It　becomes　painful。　　It　is　like　being　on　the　rack　for　ninety　days；　expecting　every　day　a　reprieve。　　Men　grow　hardened　to　it；　however。
  This　is　the　order　with　man；hope；　surprise；　bewilderment；　disgust；　facetiousness。　　The　people　in　New　England　finally　become　facetious　about　spring。　　This　is　the　last　stage：　it　is　the　most　dangerous。　When　a　man　has　come　to　make　a　jest　of　misfortune；　he　is　lost。　　〃It　bores　me　to　die；〃　said　the　journalist　Carra　to　the　headsman　at　the　foot　of　the　guillotine：　〃I　would　like　to　have　seen　the　continuation。〃　One　is　also　interested　to　see　how　spring　is　going　to　turn　out。
  A　day　of　sun；　of　delusive　bird…singing；　sight　of　the　mellow　earth；　all　these　begin　to　beget　confidence。　　The　night；　even；　has　been　warm。　But　what　is　this　in　the　morning　journal；　at　breakfast？〃An　area　of　low　pressure　is　moving　from　the　Tortugas　north。〃　　You　shudder。
  What　is　this　Low　Pressure　itself；it？　　It　is　something　frightful；　low；　crouching；　creeping；　advancing；　it　is　a　foreboding；　it　is　misfortune　by　telegraph；　it　is　the　〃'93〃　of　the　atmosphere。
  This　low　pressure　is　a　creation　of　Old　Prob。　　What　is　that？　　Old　Prob。　is　the　new　deity　of　the　Americans；　greater　than　AEolus；　more　despotic　than　Sans…Culotte。　　The　wind　is　his　servitor；　the　lightning　his　messenger。　　He　is　a　mystery　made　of　six　parts　electricity；　and　one　part　〃guess。〃　　This　deity　is　worshiped　by　the　Americans；　his　name　is　on　every　man's　lips　first　in　the　morning；　he　is　the　Frankenstein　of　modern　science。　　Housed　at　Washington；　his　business　is　to　direct　the　storms　of　the　whole　country　upon　New　England；　and　to　give　notice　in　advance。　　This　he　does。　　Sometimes　he　sends　the　storm；　and　then　gives　notice。　　This　is　mere　playfulness　on　his　part：　it　is　all　one　to　him。　　His　great　power　is　in　the　low　pressure。
  On　the　Bexar　plains　of　Texas；　among　the　hills　of　the　Presidio；　along　the　Rio　Grande；　low　pressure　is　bred；　it　is　nursed　also　in　the　Atchafalaya　swamps　of　Louisiana；　it　moves　by　the　way　of　Thibodeaux　and　Bonnet　Carre。　　The　southwest　is　a　magazine　of　atmospheric　disasters。　　Low　pressure　may　be　no　worse　than　the　others：　it　is　better　known；　and　is　most　used　to　inspire　terror。　　It　can　be　summoned　any　time　also　from　the　everglades　of　Florida；　from　the　morasses　of　the　Okeechobee。
  When　the　New…Englander　sees　this　in　his　news　paper；　he　knows　what　it　means。　　He　has　twenty…four　hours'　warning；　but　what　can　he　do？　Nothing　but　watch　its　certain　advance　by　telegraph。　　He　suffers　in　anticipation。　　That　is　what　Old　Prob。　has　brought　about；　suffering　by　anticipation。　　This　low　pressure　advances　against　the　wind。　　The　wind　is　from　the　northeast。　　Nothing　could　be　more　unpleasant　than　a　northeast　wind？　　Wait　till　low　pressure　joins　it。　　Together　they　make　spring　in　New　England。　　A　northeast　storm　from　the　southwest！there　is　no　bitterer　satire　than　this。　　It　lasts　three　days。　　After　that　the　weather　changes　into　something　winter…like。
  A　solitary　song…sparrow；　without　a　note　of　joy；　hops　along　the　snow　to　the　dining…room　window；　and；　turning　his　little　head　aside；　looks　up。　　He　is　hungry　and　cold。　　Little　Minnette；　clasping　her　hands　behind　her　back；　stands　and　looks　at　him；　and　says；　〃Po'　birdie！〃　They　appear　to　understand　each　other。　　The　sparrow　gets　his　crumb；　but　he　knows　too　much　to　let　Minnette　get　hold　of　him。　　Neither　of　these　little　things　could　take　care　of　itself　in　a　New…England　spring　not　in　the　depths　of　it。　　This　is　what　the　father　of　Minnette；　looking　out　of　the　window　upon　the　wide　waste　of　snow；　and　the　evergreens　bent　to　the　ground　with　the　weight　of　it；　says；　〃It　looks　like　the　depths　of　spring。〃　　To　this　has　man　come：　to　his　facetiousness　has　succeeded　sarcasm。　　It　is　the　first　of　May。
  Then　follows　a　day　of　bright　sun　and　blue　sky。　　The　birds　open　the　morning　with　a　lively　chorus。　　In　spite　of　Auster；　Euroclydon；　low　pressure；　and　the　government　bureau；　things　have　gone　forward。　　By　the　roadside；　where　the　snow　has　just　melted；　the　grass　is　of　the　color　of　emerald。　　The　heart　leaps　to　see　it。　　On　the　lawn　there　are　twenty　robins；　lively；　noisy；　worm…seek