SPRINGTIME 
I 2 1 
to dim its brightness, and although the sun shone warmly there 
was air enough to refresh the whole scene and keep the most 
fragile flower from fading. Everything around reminded me it 
was springtime ; the raindrops from a previous shower still 
shone in the sunlight, and there was a sweet fresh smell of young 
blossoms and leaves. From an oak overhead came the sweet 
slender voice of a linnet, who seemed to be telling his mate of 
the many pleasures in store for them both. 
The rosy breast of the linnet was quite distinct, for the oak 
tree in which he sang was as yet leafless — indeed it looked quite 
black compared with the green around. As I followed the foot- 
path I found this meadow skirted by a hedge enclosing a wood, 
which attracted me greatly. Primroses could be seen nestling 
in their leaves and moss, the violets were there, too, with their 
fragrant scent. I entered the wood and stooped to pick a flower ; 
as I did so a blackbird uttered its well-known note on being dis- 
turbed. I soon discovered its neatly-lined nest, with three 
greenish speckled eggs in it. I became alarmed for the safety 
of these eggs when I perceived a hedger ditcher clearing away 
the rubbish from a tiny brook close by, so that the water might 
run uninterrupted in its course. As I approached I wondered 
if there were any fish in the stream. It was some time before I 
could distinguish the tiny minnows on account of the brown 
scum of spring that lined the bottom. By gazing at a stone 
my eyes became accustomed to the peculiar light, and I could 
then distinguish these tiny fish swimming in and out of the 
water weed. They had not yet put on their rosy dress which 
they assume in the height of summer, a certain proof that they 
are in perfect health. As I followed this stream I found it grew 
wider. Marsh-marigolds were in flower in the swampy parts of 
the brook. Very handsome did they look, contrasting grandly 
with the green around. A white butterfly flitting idly 
settled on one of these flowers near the brook and was reflected 
in the shining water. I stood for a moment to watch the insect 
as it flew from flower to flower. It soon disappeared among 
the underwood, and I determined to follow its example, and 
leave the brook’s side to roam at will among the trees and 
flowers. It seemed to me spring was the best time of all the 
the year to wander in a wood. The branches had not yet 
become bushy, and the thistles that in the autumn will be tall 
and thick were yet no hindrance. Burrs did not attach them- 
selves at every step, though the large burdock leaves were 
spreading fast. The nightingales sang continually, and the 
soft coo-coo of the dove seemed to whisper comfort and hope 
to me. 
The beautiful wild anemones drooped their graceful heads, 
much too fair were they to last long on so rude an earth. 
They are followed by the bluebells which dye the ground with 
