VIII 



The Blackthorn^ or Sloe 



IT bursts upon us suddenly in the 

 leafless hedges of March, whitening 

 them here and there like showers of 

 scattered spray. How beautiful, but 

 how very frail ! We take a piece home, 

 and almost immediately it drops. In an- 

 other day or two we pass the same way 

 again, and the parent bloom is also gone, 

 defaced and half scattered to the wind. 

 The Blackthorn seems but made for a 

 passing glance, put together slightly and 

 carelessly, as if Nature had thrown 

 us in the uncertain season of spring a 

 little foretaste of the summer loveliness 

 she is preparing, just as she cheers us 

 now and then with a bright, still, sunny 

 day. As we go on towards summer, 

 fruit blossoms become compact and more 

 finished. There is a great advance from 

 the plum to the pear and apple ; and there 

 is just the same from the Sloe to the 



