MARCH 57 



The sap has risen, and every twig is swelling : even the 

 hawthorn hedges some time since were green in places with 

 expanded buds that the past warm weather had brought 

 forth. The snowdrops, too, hang their heads, and kindled 

 are the yellow fires of the crocus, for it is the first Spring 

 day! 



There comes to us, sent by Spring, one out of its store of 

 beautiful days : it comes between days of bitter wintry winds, 

 and is made up of hours of serene loveliness. It seems a day 

 more venturesome than the rest, having strayed from the 

 warm enfoldment of Spring. But recently such a day was 

 ours to claim, holding all those characteristics which mark 

 with beauty the year's youngest season : the changeful lights 

 and sudden passing of the world from shine to shadow, the 

 brief, beautiful showers that transform a golden land to one 

 of silver. If you notice, the Springtime land in the sunshiny 

 hours is golden, the trees seem a network of that shimmering 

 precious metal ; but at shower-time the land seems hung with 

 curtains of silver the rain of Spring weaves always silvery 

 draperies for the world, but not so the rain of summer, 

 autumn or winter. 



