Nature is very dead, and I understood the glee with which
the children used to announce the return of the crows, for these
wise birds are the unfailing harbingers of Spring. With us Spring
is undecided, fickle, and coy. She is not sure of herself, and
after making timid, tentative advances, retreats again, uncertain
as to her ability to cope with grim Winter. In Canada, Spring
comes with an all-conquering rush. In one short fortnight she
clothes the trees in green, and carpets the ground with blue and
white hepaticas. She is also, unfortunately, accompanied by
myriads of self-appointed official maids-of-honour in the shape of
mosquitoes, anxious to make up for their long winter fast. As the
fierce suns of April melt the surface snow, the water percolates
through to the ground, where it freezes again, forming a sheet of
what Canadians term "glare-ice." I have seen at Rideau Hall this
ice split in all directions over the flower-beds by the first
tender shoots of the crocuses. How these fragile little spears of
green have the power to penetrate an inch of ice is one of the
mysteries of Nature.
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