12 THE ROLL OF THE SEASONS 



hedgerow trees. Not only the dead leaves, but dead 

 twigs and dead branches have been removed, and all 

 that is upright is lissom and blushing with sap through 

 the semi-transparent bark. Down below, the heaps 

 of last year's wood-ant nests are trickling forth the 

 half-frozen insects to bask in the feeble sunshine and 

 regain a little of the universal force. They lie out 

 not many inches from home, a glistening mass of soft- 

 looking bodies and gently waving antennae. Not far 

 away, a far more eloquent register of the year's sun- 

 shine is found in certain old-established clumps of 

 setterwort or stinking helebore. Starting with the 

 first indication of a stronger sun, and scarcely pausing 

 out of respect for the almost solid weeks of frost that 

 we have had, they have crowned the boldly cut leaves 

 of last year with nearly ten inches of vivid green. 

 The full, tender-looking buds, as big as those of a 

 peony in May, are on the point of opening into the 

 green flower that is the next stage in the plant's 

 wholly beautiful career. We can also find another 

 full blossom in the wood (without counting the tassels 

 of the dog's-mercury that are already flinging their 

 pollen). The palm-like trunks of Daphne laureola 

 bear under the glossy leaves that give the plant its 

 specific name clusters of yellowish-green bells, wide 

 open, and hanging in security under their roof, much 

 as the crown imperial blossoms will hang six weeks 

 later. 



As we near the lake, deep in the bosom of our 

 wood, a brilliant harbinger indeed shoots from its 

 favourite perch for years past, and displays an almost 

 incredible gleam of colour. It is Tennyson's "sea- 

 blue bird of March." But how much more brilliant 



