THE ROAD TO SPRING 
The halcyon days are over : mild and tender interlude 
of ineffable gentleness, a space of earliest Spring, as it 
were, but wanting Spring’s disquietude. The serene 
and smiling grace of the low midwinter sun, the milk 
and turkis skies, the bared beauty of the naked trees, the 
strange richness of the short emerald grass, so wonderful 
to eyes already schooled to inexpectancy of Nature’s 
kindness for many weeks to come—all has partaken 
almost of the nature of a benediction, a respite. The 
oasis was welcome, and more than welcome; but the 
long white road lies ahead, the road to Spring, swept by 
rough winds, blocked now and again by fog and frost 
and snow, and yet leading, every inch of it, to the 
desired haven— 
cc Over the Mountains of the Moon, 
Down the Valley of the Shadow, 
Ride, boldly ride, the Shade replied, 
If you seek for El Dorado.” 
And so we too shall journey on, undaunted by the 
darkness of the way, even snatching a certain pleasure 
from its predicaments, and, at times, a swift and sudden 
joy from some sunlit turn in the highway, some sheltered 
dip where unsuspected buds may be blowing, fair pledges 
of the promised land. One needs must take one’s happiness 
where one may chance to find it; and for all its denials 
and asperities, I am come at last to consider winter, even 
our surly English winter, as a season by no manner of 
means so ungracious as it has been painted. There are 
ameliorations, there are beauties, if you do but choose 
