The Chrissenmas to Mayday 
is, “ March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb.’' 
“March, the Master of Hounds,” Liiders calls him in a 
pretty little poem I delight in. Boy picked a large bunch 
of Primroses to-day and some crocuses, “ Flower of Love.” 
In the afternoon there were two smart snow-showers and 
it turned bitterly cold. I came across the following little 
poem the other day ; I think it is rather pretty. I do not 
know who wrote it. It reminds me of Smetham’s youthful 
efforts : 
O little birds that all day long 
Carol on every tree, 
What is the meaning of your song. 
The meaning of your glee ? 
You are so very, very glad — 
How loving God must be ! 
Dear flowers that blossom round my feet, 
It fills my heart to see, 
Your smiling faces, when you meet 
God’s wind upon the lea : 
You seem to laugh for happiness 
How loving God must be. 
And all day long our hearts rejoice, 
God cares for you and me. 
We are but children ; yet our voice 
May praise him merrily, 
And we can sing like all the birds — • 
How loving God must be. 
March 6. — Wild scuds of snow and cold, bitterly cold. 
... A weary day to start off wandering. How I pity the 
poor tramps one sees in the muddy roads as one whisks 
by warmly ensconced in a snug railway car at the “ tail of 
a lively tea-kettle,” as somebody phrases it ! They always 
seem to be burdened with tiny dirty babies and never to 
reach their destinations. 
March 7. — A visit to Teapot Land. 
Teapot Land — the words recall a little grey fishing town 
by the sea, which looked really blue that day, which it does 
not often, I think, being a cold northern sea, brown- and 
orange-sailed boats, sturdy blue-clothed fishermen, and the 
bonniest apple-cheeked bairns tumbling about up and down 
the outside stone stairs of the dingy mossy houses, and up 
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