strength. I gaze lovingly at the rich brown earth, so lately freed from
the frost's grasp, through which the blunt green buds are gently forcing
themselves. I look down the flaming crocus throats--the imperial purple
goblets with powdery gold stamens--and at the modest little pink faces
of the hepaticas. All over our wood there is a faint yet certain purply
shade, forerunner of the summer green, and the loud and sweet-voiced
birds are abroad. O Spring! Spring! with all your searching east winds,
with your late, shriveling frosts, with your occasional untimely sleets
and snows, you are yet as much better than summer as hope is better than
fruition.

J'aime, I love.
Tu aimes, Thou lovest.
Il aime, He loves.

It runs in my head like some silly refrain. I meet Bobby. I also meet
Vick, my little shivering, smooth, white terrier. They both join me. The
one wriggles herself into the shape of a trembling comma, and, foolishly
chasing herself, rolls over on her back, to demonstrate her joy at my
advent. The other says:

"Come into the kitchen-garden, and see whether the apricot-flowers are
out on the south wall."

We pace along the broad and even gravel walk among the red cabbages and
the sea-kale, basking in the sun, whose heat we feel undiminished by the
influence of any bitter blast, in the prison of these four high walls,
against which the long tree-branches are pinioned. In one place, the
pinioning has failed. Along, flower-laden arm has burst from its bonds,
and is dangling loosely down. There is a ladder against the wall, set