FMR MMT>S OF FSBT^UART 33 



season beat down and blight the opening foliage. The 

 moon of daffodils is on the wane. The blaze of yellow 

 that shone among the bare March thickets earlier on 

 is fading in a mist of green. 



We make much of flowers that blossom in these early 

 days. The bright eyes of the speedwell never seem 

 again so blue, nor flowers of celandine so richly wrought 

 in gold. All the more, perhaps, we prize them because 

 of the ever-felt misgiving, the fear that waits and will 

 not be denied, that they have come before their time ; 

 that snow may hide and bitter wind cut down these 

 first-fruits of the spring. When we watch the white 

 clouds sail the tranquil sky, when we gather the first 

 sweet violet in the hedge-row, while we hear the songs of 

 birds, the bleat of lambs, we are tempted all too soon 

 to cry : 



"Winter is past: lo ! sunshine and spring weather 1 

 We will forget the things that once have been." 



Yes, that is just it. We forget that to-morrow may 

 bring back the frost and snow ; we are unconscious, till 

 we face it, how keen is still the air. 



Some flowers of early spring are but survivors from 

 the previous summer waifs that in warm nooks have 

 lingered, unharmed by touch of frost. Such is the 

 lychnis, torch of wintry woodlands ; such the Herb 

 Robert, amongst whose crimson stems the blossoms of 

 last year are showing still. Some again, such as the 

 daisy, have but begun a season that will last the livelong 

 year. Others, like the snowdrop, live out their brief 

 lives in still half -wintry days, and, dying on the very 



