CHARMS OF A SPRING MORNING. 113 



over the cheerful feelings inspired by early spring. We were 

 out in the morning while the dews yet hung heavy in the 

 shade, a few remaining drops still brightly twinkling in the 

 sun. Leaving the beaten foot-path across the fields, we pur- 

 sued, over the grass, a little private track of our own making, 

 towards an old willow pollard, which, from long acquaintance, 

 and, we believe, sole discovery and appropriation of certain of 

 its venerable charms, we considered to the full as much our 

 own property as its legal owner's. To him it is nothing, pro- 

 bably, but a hollow worthless stump : to us, it is a perfect 

 treasure-house, more full, a thousand times, in its mouldering 

 decay, than it was in its solid strength. The arm of lightning, 

 shivering picturesquely its highest branch, has struck it into 

 coin for the painter's mint ; but it is the gentler hand of Time 

 which has moulded it for us into a casket, and prepared it for 

 the reception of living treasures, aurelia of Moth, or grub of 

 Beetle, ensconced beneath the case of rotten wood and bulging 

 bark, or packed in its soft lining, the vegetable mould which 

 fills the hollow of the trunk. 



Was there a single object within view, or a single sound 

 within hearing, that could possibly awaken one discordant emo- 

 tion ? The sheep in an adjoining field were bleating of peace 

 and good-fellowship ; the turtle was repeating her lay of love ; 

 and the " shivering note " of the little willow wren, with a 

 thousand others, took up the tale. Pleasure was on the wing 

 in a throng of insect forms, and humming her delight in a 

 chorus of insect voices. Hope was in the season happiness 

 apparently in everything ; and yet, as we sat and looked down 

 upon the smooth surface of the waters, itself an image of 

 bright tranquillity, thoughts of violence, cruelty, and destruc- 

 tion took sudden and forcible possession of our mind. 



Our eyes were fixed upon the water, which, to the cursory 

 observer, presented nothing but a picture of still life, of the 

 old willow and the blue sky. To another, examining more 

 closely, the mirrored landscape was not without its moving 



M 



