MARCH. 53 



tages, they have caught the happy infection : 

 there are windows thrown open, and doors 

 standing ajar. The inhabitants are in their 

 gardens, some clearing away rubbish, some 

 turning up the light and fresh-smelling soil 

 amongst the tufts of snow-drops and rows of 

 bright yellow crocuses, which every where 

 abound ; and the children, ten to one, are peep- 

 ing into the first birds'-nest of the season — the 

 hedge-sparrow's, with its four sea-green eggs, 

 snugly but unwisely built in the pile of old 

 pea-rods. 



In the fields labourers are plashing and 

 trimming the hedges, and in all directions are 

 teams at plough. You smell the wholesome, 

 and, I may truly say, aromatic soil, as it is 

 turned up to the sun, brown and rich, the 

 whole country over. It is delightful, as you 

 pass along deep hollow lanes, or are hidden in 

 copses, to hear the tinkling gears of the horses, 

 and the clear voices of the lads calling to them. 

 It is not less pleasant to catch the busy caw 

 of the rookery, and the first meek cry of the 

 young lambs. The hares are hopping about 

 the fields, the excitement of the season over- 

 coming their habitual timidity. The bees are 

 revelling in the yellow catkins of the sallow. 

 The harmless English snake is seen again curl- 

 ed up, like a little coil of rope, with its head 



