A garden, large or small, should look both orderly and rich*** 



WILLIAM MORRIS, 



MARCH 



Comes burly March with blustering breeze ; 

 The March-birds' mad and merry din, 

 From every branch of breaking trees 

 Now fills each lane with silvery glees. 



With longer lives the days are crowned, 

 Now that on moss-floor' d copse and glen 

 The perfumed violets are found, 

 And emerald leaflets are unwound. 



The birds on newly tuned lyres, 

 Rehearse their anthems to the Spring ; 

 The rooks whirl round the tall tree-spires, 

 The primrose lights its golden fires. 



TT7HILE Spring advances upon the world, Winter is often 

 met with upon the way; and although Winter is 

 ushered again into our presence, it seems an alien visitor. At 

 last the tall elms just beyond the garden are tenanted, and the 

 birds, a dark patch, are silhouetted against a blue sky, sitting 

 as sentinels beside their nests. Not long since how busy these 

 birds were ; and I noticed them more especially so just before 

 sunset, flying with twigs to which the withered leaves were 

 still adhering across the fields, the sunset light changing 

 their burden to sprays of gold. I am never tired of watching 

 the blue-tits swinging on the budding branches, perched in 

 their dainty fashion and attempting many a wonderful and 

 surprising attitude. 



The little wood is full of curious, quiet, life-stirring 

 sounds, a blending of bird-notes the metallic twitter of the 



49 D 



