Castles in the Air. 45 



But March for once has had more in it of westward 

 than of east, after all ; no bitter winds have chilled the 

 generous sunshine of the lengthening days. 



Under its influence benign the purple blossoms 

 jewel all the branches of the elms, a mist of green is 

 gathering in the thickets, the blue-bell leaves are 

 springing in the underwood. 



Under every hedgerow the celandine spreads its 

 petals to the utmost, as if to gather from the sunlight 

 an added touch of gold. 



There are speedwells by the wayside; there are 

 primroses in the copse. Stray violets begin to scent 

 the lanes, and the fair faces of the wood anemones 

 are peering through the deep, dead leaves. 



Everywhere the birds are busy. On the housetop 

 sits the chattering starling, his half-finished nest in 

 the gable beneath him abandoned for the moment ; 

 while in his own quaint way he gives utterance to the 

 love that stirs his pulses. 



In the warm sun the chaffinch sings, with hardly a 

 pause between the endless verses of his simple ballad. 



A sober hedge-sparrow, creeping mouse-like through 

 the bushes, searching the leaves for snail or insect, 

 looks up from his work now and then, and sings with 

 all his might ; or, as his mate draws near, lowers his 

 voice until the listener can hardly catch the notes of 

 the tender little love-song that he whispers in her ear, 

 as if jealous lest some idle mischief-maker strolling by 

 should overhear him, and mock the story of his love. 



