22 A YEAR IN A LANCASHIRE GARDEN. 



February 22. Since I wrote we have had the 

 sharpest and keenest frost sharper than we have 

 had all the winter ; and an east wind which at once 

 dried and froze up everything. Now spring has 

 come again, and (as Horace says) has " shivered " 

 through the trees. The Elders are already un- 

 folding their leaves, and a Lonicera is in freshest 

 bud. I remember when, a few years ago, Mr. 

 Longfellow, the American poet, was in England, 

 he told me that he was often reminded by the 

 tender foliage of an English spring of that well- 

 known line of Watts, where the fields of Paradise 



" Stand dressed in living green ; " 



and I thought of this to-day when I looked, as I 

 remember he was looking, at the fresh verdure of 

 this very Lonicera. 



But all things are now telling of spring. We 

 have finished our pruning of the wall-fruit ; we 

 have collected our pea-sticks, and sown our earliest 

 Peas. We have planted our Ranunculus bed and 

 gone through the herbaceous borders, dividing and 

 clearing away where the growth was too thick, and 

 sending off hamperfuls of Pseony, Iris, GEnothera, 

 Snowflake, Japanese Anemone, Day Lily, and 

 many others. On the other hand we have been 



