the snow, roughened by being melted, was adorned with fern like frost.  It was a wonderfully frosty morning and on the way to work, as I observed all these things, I longed to be out in the country.
     As the sun came up higher, snow and ice began once more to melt and soon the streets, partly covered with black sooty ice, were glittering with running water.  At the office, we had a window up, and the chilly breeze tempered by the warm air of the rooms, was exactly like a spring breeze and oh how irksome the work became.  These are wonderfully tantalizing days, How like Spring it is!  John Burroughs says he always has a tendancy to migrate in the Spring – and I believe every one has it.  Looking out over snowless shops roofs, lying in the glare of the sun, and looking up at the blue sky, one can imagine it really is spring.  The rattling of wagons and the sound of carpenters’ pounding and the roaring of trains, add to this feeling.
     At every new rising of the cool breeze, the vision of low, watery places arose before me, and the longing to be afield grew stronger.  Presently I heard someone coming