THE FIRST PRIMROSE.

March 6th.--Fine March weather: boisterous, blustering, much wind
and squalls of rain; and yet the sky, where the clouds are swept
away, deliciously blue, with snatches of sunshine, bright, and
clear, and healthful, and the roads, in spite of the slight
glittering showers, crisply dry. Altogether the day is tempting,
very tempting. It will not do for the dear common, that windmill of
a walk; but the close sheltered lanes at the bottom of the hill,
which keep out just enough of the stormy air, and let in all the
sun, will be delightful. Past our old house, and round by the
winding lanes, and the workhouse, and across the lea, and so into
the turnpike-road again,--that is our route for to-day. Forth we
set, Mayflower and I, rejoicing in the sunshine, and still more in
the wind, which gives such an intense feeling of existence, and,
co-operating with brisk motion, sets our blood and our spirits in a
glow. For mere physical pleasure, there is nothing perhaps equal to
the enjoyment of being drawn, in a light carriage, against such a
wind as this, by a blood-horse at his height of speed. Walking
comes next to it; but walking is not quite so luxurious or so
spiritual, not quite so much what one fancies of flying, or being
carried above the clouds in a balloon.

Nevertheless, a walk is a good thing; especially under this southern
hedgerow, where nature is just beginning to live again; the
periwinkles, with their starry blue flowers, and their shining
myrtle-like leaves, garlanding the bushes; woodbines and elder-trees