UNCLE IN ENGLAND. 275 



some of Farmer Moreland's fields. He is very 

 busy sowing late oats, and planting potatoes in 

 drills, which are made with as much regularity, 

 and the seeds dropped in as equally, as if the 

 distances had been measured by compasses. 



The bees have been about for some days, a 

 sure mark, my aunt says, of the arrival of spring. 

 They began to venture out of their hives about 

 the middle of this month ; and their coming 

 abroad is a sign that the flowers from which they 

 gather honey are already opening. 



The gooseberry trees are growing green, and I 

 can distinguish the flower-buds enlarging daily; 

 so are those of the currant, which in autumn I 

 saw closely folded up in little scaly buds. The 

 larch trees are shewing their gay green tinge, the 

 spurge laurel is in bloom ; and every tree, and 

 plant, and bird, are rapidly advancing toward the 

 perfection of summer. 



I said to my aunt this evening, that I thought 

 the appearance of all nature wakening, as it were, 

 from the torpor or death of winter, seemed to be 

 peculiarly suitable to the hopes of that glorious 

 change in ourselves which this period so forcibly 

 brings to our minds. She replied, that it was 

 one of those striking points of connexion be- 

 tween natural and revealed religion which must 

 make a deep impression on every reflecting 

 mind ; and she agreed with me that nothing 

 could afford a better subject for a hyrnn. 



