CHAPTER III 

 WINTER'S PASSING 



ON a gloriously bright February day I sit down to 

 give hail ! to the returning sun. 



I might be a lone traveller in a wilderness of eternal 

 ice welcoming our luminary after the long winter 

 night, such exceeding joy do I feel at the return of the 

 genial solar beams. Filthy fog and foulest air, weeping 

 skies and biting blasts, have held sway here sadly too 

 long, no matter whether they be stern winter's pre- 

 rogative or not. Too long has the beamless sun 

 skulked behind any mean object whatever, be it a 

 smoking chimney-stack or the outbuildings of an 

 Inferno-like forge. Too long has even its place in 

 the southern sky been undiscoverable for days together, 

 as though it were utterly ashamed of its lowly position. 

 Yet we must not congratulate ourselves overmuch 

 upon this portent of Spring. The February sun's 

 capriciousness was recognised by Spenser, who deemed 

 it worthy of mention in his immortal " Shepheard's 

 Calendar " : 



When the shining sunne laugheth once, 

 You deemen the spring is come attonce ; 



and just when you count " freed from feare," there 



Comes the breme winter with chamfred browes, 

 Full of wrinckles and frostie furrowes, 

 Drerily shooting his stormy darte, 

 Which cruddles the blood and pricks the harte. 



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