FOOTSTEPS OF THE SEASONS. 187 



Among the first spring flowers we find the daisy that " never 

 dies," the dwarf furze, and the little chick-weed, although these may 

 better be legarded as the few connecting links between autumn and 

 spring; for winter never kills them quite, and when ihe frosts break 

 up they put forth a new show of blossoms, as though p'.oud of their 

 sufierings in struggling to keep the world from being flowerless. 

 Then comes the little whitlow grass, and the meek speedwell, 



" Looking up with gentle eye of blue 

 To the younger sky of the self-same hue," 



and that most lovely of spring flowers, the snowdrop ; may the bless- 

 ings of heaven rest upon if, for its unsullied baauty ; how beauteous 

 in its snowy whifeness this gentle firstling of the year, tender and 

 pure, and heedless of clouds and storms. We think of the time when, 

 long, long ago, we were ourselves in the budding spring-time of life, 

 and when our childish hopes were all confined within the old house, 

 which stood on the corner of a wide common, embosomed in ivy and 

 tall trees, with its thatched roof, its old fantastic porch, and great, 

 grim spectre chimneys. Then we saw and felt the changes of the 

 seasons, as though they and their influences passed through our 

 young hearts. Then when winter came, the dazzling snow lay like a 

 cold and quiet shroud over every hill and dale ; there were long 

 icicles hanging to the window frames, and from the branches of the 

 trees, and when they glittered in the sun we thought that some 

 gentle fairy must have hung them there, to make old Winter smile. 

 Every blade of grass was dusted with diamonds and glittering sparks, 

 and the grey sky hung above the snow, as though dazzled and spell- 

 bound by its whiteness. Then at night there were strange sounds, 

 hollow dii*ge-Hke meanings among the trees, and the dead leaves 

 and broken branches made a husky and a doleful rattling out of 

 doors ; and our little hearts began to throb with fear. Then we 

 thought of sailors on the frozen ocean, and of those who had died in 

 shipwreck, and whose dead bodies had been swallowed up by the 

 boiling surges of the sea. But, oh ! no pen or tongue can tell how 

 our childish spirits fluttered when we found the first snowdrop of the 

 spring. Then we thought of all the flowers that were coming to greet 

 us with their smiles ; of the sweet birds who all the live-long summer 

 day sing songs of joy and love. Then have we thought in our childish 

 hope that summer would soon come, and then there would be no 



