THE PAGEANT OF THE SEASONS 85 



trying to understand her teachings are the happiest 

 of a naturalist's life. In the hawthorn bush there 

 is now a rustling, and a bullfinch half shows him- 

 self a tinge of red amongst the white may. 

 His breast can be seen swelling as he "pipes"; 

 the wind sends a hanging spray of blossom between 

 us, and when this moves he is gone. The fields now 

 resemble a cloth of yellow, although in corners and 

 on the greensward bordering hedges there are patches 

 of veronica, which in their simple beauty outshine all 

 other spring flowers at this time. These are half 

 hidden among the shorter nettles and grasses, and 

 their tiny deep blue faces seem to welcome the sun- 

 beams. I love the germander speedwell above all 

 wild flowers ; there is a beauty in this veronica that 

 no one could pass over. 



When the days of spring gradually fade into 

 the longer hours of sunshine of summer, we notice 

 it less than the beginning or end of any other 

 season. There is no awakening as in the early 

 days of spring, or any fading beauty like that of 

 dying summer, when the autumn trees are clothed 

 in golden-coloured foliage. And there is no feeling 

 of sorrow such as passes over us when we see the 

 last of the falling leaves, or listen to the farewell 

 twitter of a solitary swallow. No ; spring glides into 

 summer, all things being in harmony. 



The first wild rose of summer, high up over the 



