A SPRING EELISH 173 



about it; the sweat of long years of honest labor 

 has not yet fattened the soil it stands upon. 



The full charm of this April landscape is not 

 brought out till the afternoon. It seems to need 

 the slanting rays of the evening sun to give it the 

 right mellowness and tenderness, or the right per- 

 spective. It is, perhaps, a little too bald in the 

 strong, white light of the earlier part of the day; 

 but when the faint, four-o'clock shadows begin to 

 come out, and we look through the green vistas, and 

 along the farm lanes toward the west, or out across 

 long stretches of fields above which spring seems 

 fairly hovering, just ready to alight, and note the 

 teams slowly plowing, the brightened mould-board 

 gleaming in the sun now and then, — it is at such 

 times we feel its fresh, delicate attraction the most. 

 There is no foliage on the trees yet; only here and 

 there the red bloom of the soft maple, illuminated 

 by the declining sun, shows vividly against the 

 tender green of a slope beyond, or a willow, like a 

 thin veil, stands out against a leafless wood. Here 

 and there a little meadow watercourse is golden 

 with marsh marigolds, or some fence border, or 

 rocky streak of neglected pasture land, is thickly 

 starred with the white flowers of the bloodroot. 

 The eye can devour a succession of landscapes at 

 such a time; there is nothing that sates or entirely 

 fills it, but every spring token stimulates it and 

 makes it more on the alert. 



April, too, is the time to go budding. A swell- ( 

 ing bud is food for the fancy, and often food for' 



