Probably the Oldest Inhabitant cannot remember a season in which
winter and spring had so close a struggle. Cold and warmth alternate ; and in the midst of a brilliant sun, which in- vites the green kids from their brown hiding-places, we read the stories of men and women perishing in the snow of the moorlands. March has had little of the lion this month ; but an April sun almost shines upon December's snow ; beneath which lies poor humanity, which vainly proposes when God disposes. But winter, late, short, and sharp, is clearing away ; the belated farmer is get- ting out his plough; and the impatient husbandman is looking out for labouring help in a spirit that may be cheering to the bold peasantry, if the spring at last expected be vouchsafed.