whose ever-living hedges scorned the livery of winter. Still, the degree of cold, though far less severe than what we had been accustomed to feel at home, was rendered more disagreeable, and probably more hurtful, by its combination with humidity. This excess of moisture, causing even the trunks of trees to grow green and mossy, united, as it often is, with a murky, misty atmosphere, makes an English winter, though comparativley mild, a depressing season to those nurtured under sunnier skies.
But the sweet Spring made amends for all. The earliest footprints of April were bright with flowers. I was then where I had long wished to be, in an English farm-house. Fields, under neat and skilful cultivation, and the healthful, happy faces of the laborers, presented a cheering picture of industry and content. Connected with the establishment was a large and productive garden, adorned in its more tasteful parts by winding gravel-walks, shrubbery, and rock-work, while here and there immense baskets, containing tons of mould, gave nutriment to hyacinths and other fragrant flowers, and nesting birds poured from vine and trellis their descant of love. It was pleasant to see that the children of those employed about the farm, as well as of the other neighboring poor, were objects of interest,—that they were sometimes collected for instruction by the mistress of the mansion,—that her needle was busy for their comfort, and they encouraged to mingle their voices with hers in sacred music.
