In the little green lane that leads to it we meet with nothing very different from what we have already noticed; unless it be an early Bee booming past us, or hovering for a moment over the snowy flower of the Lady-smock; or a village boy looking upward with hand-shaded brow after the mounting Lark, while he holds in his other hand the tether of a young heifer, that he has led forth to take her first taste of the fresh-sprouting herbage.
On reaching the Village Green, we cannot choose but pause before this stately Chestnut-tree, the smooth stem of which rises from the earth like a dark coloured marble column, seemingly placed there by art to support the pyramidal fabric of beauty that surmounts it. It has just put forth its first series of rich fan-like leaves, each family of which is crowned by its splendid spiral flower; the whole, at this period of the year, forming the grandest vegetable object that our kingdom presents, and vying in rich beauty with any that Eastern woods can boast. And if we could reach one of those flowers, to pluck it, we should find that the most delicate fair ones of the Garden or the Greenhouse do not surpass it in elaborate pencilling and richly varied tints. It can be likened to nothing but its own portrait painted on velvet.
Farther on, across the Green, with this little raised footpath leading to it, stands a row of young Lindens, separating in the middle to admit a view of the Parsonage-house; for it can be no other. What a lovely green is theirs! and what an exact shape in their bright circular leaves, all alike, clustering and flapping over each other! And their smooth pillar-like stems shoot out from the hard gravel pathway like artificial shafts, without a ridge, a knot, or an inequality, till they spread forth suddenly just above the reach of branch-plucking schoolboys.
The Honeysuckles, that wreathe the trellised door of the neat dwelling, have already put forth their dull purple-tinged leaves, at distant intervals, on the slim shoots; but the Jasmin, that spreads itself over the circular-topped windows, is not yet sufficiently clothed to hide the formality of its training.
To the right, the fine old avenue of Elms, forming the Walk leading to the low Church, are sprinkled all over with their spring attire; but not enough to form the shade that they will a month hence. At present the blue sky can every where be seen through them.
We might wander on through the Village and its environs for a while longer, pleasantly enough, without exhausting the objects of novelty and interest that present themselves in this sweetest of months; but we must get within more confined limits, or we shall not have space to glance at half those which more exclusively belong to this time.
If the Garden, like the Year, is not now absolutely at its best, it is perhaps better; inasmuch as a pleasant promise but half performed partakes of the best parts of both promise and performance. Now, all is neatness and finish, or ought to be; for the weeds have not yet began to make head; the annual flower seeds are all sown; the divisions and changes among the perennials, and the removings and plantings of the shrubs, have all taken place. The Walks, too, have all been turned and freshened, and the Turf has began to receive its regular rollings and mowings. Among the bulbous-rooted perennials, all that were not in flower during the last two months, are so now; in particular the majestic Crown-imperial; the Tulip, beautiful as the panther, and as proud,—standing aloof from its own leaves; the rich double Hyacinth, clustering like the locks of Adam; and Narcissus, pale and passion-stricken at the sense of its own sweetness.
But what we are chiefly to look for now are the fibrous-rooted and herbaceous Perennials. There is not one of these that has not awakened from its winter dreams, and put on at least the half of its beauty. A few of them venture to display all their attractions at this time, from a wise fear of that dangerous rivalry which they must be content to encounter if they were to wait for a month longer; for a pretty villager might as well hope to gain hearts at Almack’s, as a demure daisy of a modest polyanthus think to secure its due share of attention in presence of the glaring peonies, flaunting roses, and towering lilies of May and midsummer.
Now, too, those late planted Stocks and Wallflowers, that have had strength to brave the cutting blasts of winter, feel the benefit of their hardihood, and show it in the profusion of their blooms and the richness of their colours.