February 10.
No day so thoroughly spring-like as this, yet I feel we are to miss the unlocking delight we realize in the New England transition from winter to summer. The bugs and birds and frogs seem to realize the change, but they know their own and are grateful for the smallest favors. I miss the melting snow at noon and the crunching crystals at night and morning. My eyes are not dazzled by the pure splendor as the days lengthen. The cawing crow flies back and forth, but he does not seem so earnest, so put to his trumps as those that fly above Wigwam Hill [at Worcester, Mass.] when Long Pond is all leaden, and weeks of sunshine and rain must come to free the ice-bound waters. The shores of our river here are covered with nourishing things, and the tides make high and low for the benefit of lazy lives, but I do not see the use of living on such easy terms. Sometimes it seems to me like a funny experiment to try the merits of the body in this land of ease, and of the soul in a less genial clime. How long the experiment is to last the Lord only knows, but I am devotedly thankful that my place of nativity is among the cold mountains of Vermont. I do not believe it is possible for a New England type of man to originate in this level land. I shall as soon expect to find alligators in Charles River, or turkey buzzards among the Adirondacks. This reminds me that on my way through the pine woods yesterday, I ran one of these southern birds down. He had probably eaten so much that he could not fly. I easily captured him and brought him into camp for James to prepare for the rooms of the Natural History Society of Worcester. Can you imagine me galloping across the plains and through the woods with this South Carolinian specimen in my arms? I was thankful the long-legged horse did not have a fit of ugliness as he did the day before.
Before the countersign was given, to-night, the Captain [Rogers] and I went out to see a sick soldier at Battery plantation. It was much more convenient to enter the lines at the guard-house, when we returned, than to go to the ordinary entrance. We were challenged in the dark by, “Who come dar.” “A friend of the guard: call a corporal of the guard to let us in.” “Halt, halt,” at the same time cocking his musket. We, of course halted and asked if his gun was loaded. This raised his suspicion and his gun at the same time and he again demanded, “Who dar?” I said, “The surgeon and Capt. Rogers.” “I don' know any Sur John” and I began to think he might fire upon us before the corporal came, so I told him the doctor and the captain. This lessened his apprehensions. I believe it would surely be fatal for any one to attempt to get by the guard here at night. To our soldiers, this war is not play, they intend to obey orders.
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