!34 IN SPRING. 



trees in May : now I recall the lifeless beauty of 

 midwinter snows. In winter the beauty of the 

 marble statue held me : now, the joy of a living 

 form. 



But apple-blossoms bear well a close inspec- 

 tion. Better than a comprehensive view from the 

 neighboring fields is to draw near, to walk beneath 

 and beside them, to linger in their scented shade. 

 Time after time, until now, a shadow of doubt 

 has crossed our paths, when we gathered early 

 bloom. The wail of winter winds still sounded 

 in every passing breeze, although we plucked 

 violets from the greensward beneath budding 

 trees. Too often, in April, we are over-confi- 

 dent ; but there is little danger of disaster now. 

 Apple-blossoms are the first assuring gift of 

 fruitful summer. Grim winter is powerless now, 

 to wound us. Tricksy April can play no heart- 

 less pranks. 



What summer sound is more suggestive than 

 the hum of bees ? Certainly not even the song 

 of the returning birds. As I look among the 

 flower-laden boughs above me, I can see not 

 only the bees from the hive, the true honey- 

 gatherers, but burly humble-bees go whizzing 

 through the rosy labyrinths, or, dipping down to 

 a level with my upturned face, threaten fierce 

 vengeance if I draw too near. Again and again 

 they come, one after another, and each time, I 



