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Is the man going mad? thought I. He is very like Don Quixote. "What colour are they, I say?" repeated he vehemently. "I am sure I don't know, sir," said I, with the meekness of ignorance. "I knew you didn't. No more did I an old fool that I am! till this young man comes and tells me. Black as ash-buds in March. And I've lived all my life in the country; more shame for me not to know.
Is ever a November so self-centred as to refuse to help the Old Year to a memory of the gleams of April, and the nightingale's first song about the laggard ash-buds?
"The wind sounds like a silver wire," or, "To watch the emerald-colored water falling," or, "Black as ash-buds on the front of March." Whatever it might be she was observing, there was some line of this great interpreter of nature ready to make the moment melodious.
It was a charming morning, one of those that comes to us sometimes in an English April when the air is soft like that of Italy and the smell of the earth rises like that of incense, and little clouds float idly across a sky of tender blue. Standing thus he looked out upon the park where the elms already showed a tinge of green and the ash-buds were coal black.
"The cedar spreads his dark-green layers of shade." "Capital term 'layers! Wonderful man!" I did not know whether he was speaking to me or not; but I put in an assenting "wonderful," although I knew nothing about it, just because I was tired of being forgotten, and of being consequently silent. He turned sharp round. Now, what colour are ash-buds in March?"
"No, Madam," answered Hugh, blushing; "because she always loves to wear red garments." "Ah, then she is dark!" "That is so, Madam; her eyes and hair are black as ash-buds." "God's truth! Lady," interrupted King Edward, "is this young man's message of the colour of the eyes of his mistress, which, without doubt, being in love, he describes falsely? On with the letter!"
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