FOOTSTEPS OF THE SEASONS. 180 



berry bushes, and in two or three days they are in full leaf. Old 

 stone walls, and tiees which grow in quiet nooks, wear beautiful 

 colours by the drapery of mosses, lichens, I'ungi, and liverworts which 

 cover them. We observe these parasites of every conceivable form 

 and colour, silver grey, rich velvety green, pale primrose, deep 

 orange, and tints which deepen down from pale amber to the rich hue 

 of the chestnut, or to the jetty blackness which enwraps the boles and 

 knots of the great oaks. Here and there in the wood, the ivy has 

 formed a thick bower, and when our eyes glance upon its deep green, 

 we have dim thoughts of ripe corn fields, and scarlet poppies, and all 

 the garniture of summer, forgetting that the trees above us are not yet 

 in leaf. There are always a great many little water runnels, clear and 

 sparkling, as they go tripping along through green banks of wet hair 

 moss, where the pale green sprays of the harebell, and the leaves of 

 the modest primrose betoken that there will soon be many blossoms 

 there. Even during March, while the trees are yet leafless, the forest 

 begins to kindle into life ; on a mild, sunny day, merry troops of 

 winged insects are dancing in the golden light, and frisking overhead, 

 as if overjoyed at the return of spring ; or perchance the warmth hath 

 awakened them so suddenly from their earthly sepulchre to a world 

 of new life and beauty, that they are not strictly compos mentis, but 

 in fact somewhat crazy and intoxicated with sunbeams. By the end 

 of April the whole forest is clothed in a garment of emerald green, 

 and every leaf glistens in the sunshine. The stately elm is well 

 covered with its bright mantle of leaves. The oak has a strange red- 

 dish tinge, as though he had slept so soundly during the frosts, that 

 on being awakened suddenly by the strong glare of light, he knew 

 not where he was, and in his confusion had thrust on his worn-out 

 autumn clothes, instead of the new ones which had been provided for 

 him. That loveliest of all forest trees, the beech, begins to show its 

 brownish purple sprays, and the Spanish chestnuts open their great 

 fan-like leaves of lovely green, and wherever we turn, either in lane 

 or forest, we encounter the soft emerald hue of the lime, the very 

 personification of spring, in the delicious green of its leaves, and the 

 rich perfume of its many blossoms. Then too the silvery birch qui- 

 vers and trembles in the gentle breeze with its ovate leaves and cat- 

 kins, so fragile and delicate in its outline, that it is more like a spirit 

 haunting the solitudes than a tree of any kind. The blackthorns 

 which grow in clumps in the woods, and which hedge the fields and 



