SOME MARCH JOTTINGS. 65 



golden dust, "worth a king's ransom," has yet been 

 seen. "A dry March never begs its bread," is a 

 proverb not yet in the way of being carried out. 



Vegetation is pushing forward, perhaps too rapidly, 

 the little green pinheads of the hawthorn hedges are 

 quickly expanding into leaf even in our smoke-be- 

 spattered suburban gardens it is pleasant to watch the 

 young flowers peeping through the brown earth. 

 Snowdrops have already come, lived their little day, 

 and are now quickly fading. Crocuses and bulbous 

 squills, hyacinths and daffodils are beginning to 

 smile upon us, and stray cats and dogs, and sparrows 

 (a murrain on them !) never miss a chance of scratch- 

 ing up our beds, and tearing the fragile flowers to bits. 

 A thousand welcomes to spring ! Though she cannot 

 restore to us who are growing or have grown old the 

 flowers of our youth, she still clothes the earth with 

 glory, and rejoices the hearts of all those happy 

 anglers who can go forth with their rods and their 

 tackle, their baskets and nets, and all the parapher- 

 nalia needed to betray the cunning trout, the frisky 

 roach, or the villainous pike. In some waters the 

 trout is already in good condition ; in others the 

 wisdom of conservators, taught by experience, will 

 extend his liberty of action for another month. These 

 jolly Piscators can now cry, with Cleopatra : 



" Give me mine angle, we'll to the river there, 

 My music playing far off. I will betray 

 Tawny-finned fishes ; my bended hook shall pierce. 

 Their slimy jaws ; and as I draw them up, 

 I'll think them every one an Antony, 

 And say, Ah, ha ! you're caught." 

 F 



