But the first
spring day is not on the time-table at all. It comes when it is
ready, and in the latitude of New York this is usually not till
after All Fools' Day.
About this time,--
"When chinks in April's windy dome
Let through a day of June,
And foot and thought incline to roam,
And every sound's a tune,"--
it is the habit of the angler who lives in town to prepare for the
labours of the approaching season by longer walks or bicycle-rides
in the parks, or along the riverside, or in the somewhat demoralized
Edens of the suburbs. In the course of these vernal peregrinations
and circumrotations, I observe that lovers of various kinds begin to
occupy a notable place in the landscape.
The burnished dove puts a livelier iris around his neck, and
practises fantastic bows and amourous quicksteps along the verandah
of the pigeon-house and on every convenient roof. The young male of
the human species, less gifted in the matter of rainbows, does his
best with a gay cravat, and turns the thoughts which circulate above
it towards the securing or propitiating of a best girl.
The objects of these more or less brilliant attentions, doves and
girls, show a becoming reciprocity, and act in a way which leads us
to infer (so far as inferences hold good in the mysterious region of
female conduct) that they are not seriously displeased.
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