were almost black, but, as the dawn ascended, they became dark green, of
a peculiarly delicate tint which is never seen in the daytime. The
quietude is profound, although a voice from an unseen fishing-boat can
now and then be heard. How strange the landscape seems! It is not a
variation of the old landscape; it is a new world. The half-moon rides
high in the sky, and near her is Jupiter. A little way further to the
left is Venus, and still further down is Mercury, rare apparition, just
perceptible where the deep blue of the night is yielding to the green
which foretells the sun. The east grows lighter; the birds begin to
stir in the bushes, and the cry of a gull rises from the base of the
cliff. The sea becomes responsive, and in a moment is overspread with
continually changing colour, partly that of the heavens above it and
partly self-contributed. With what slow, majestic pomp is the day
preceded, as though there had been no day before it and no other would
follow it!



MARCH



It is a bright day in March, with a gentle south-west wind. Sitting
still in the copse and facing the sun it strikes warm. It has already
mounted many degrees on its way to its summer height, and is regaining
its power. The clouds are soft, rounded, and spring-like, and the white
of the blackthorn is discernible here and there amidst the underwood.
The brooks are running full from winter rains but are not overflowing.
All over the wood which fills up the valley lies a thin, purplish mist,
harmonising with the purple bloom on the stems and branches. The buds