the world none are more strangely and suggestively beautiful than
the little patches of rain or spring water in the twilight on the
moorland or meadows. Presently the wind rose again, and a rain-
squall followed. It passed, and the stars began to come out, and
Orion showed himself above the eastern woods. He seemed as if he
were marching through the moonlit scud which drove against him. How
urgent all the business of this afternoon and evening has been, and
yet what it meant who could say? I was like a poor man's child who,
looking out from the cottage window, beholds with amazement a great
army traversing the plain before him with banners and music and
knows nothing of its errand.



THE END OF THE NORTH WIND



For about six weeks from the middle of February we had bitter
northerly winds. The frost was not very severe, but the wind
penetrated the thickest clothing and searched the house through and
through. The shrubs, even the hardiest, were blackened by its
virulence. There was scarcely any sunshine, and every now and then
a gloomy haze, like the smoke in London suburbs, invaded us. The
rise and fall of the barometer meant nothing more than a variation
in the strength of the polar current. Growth was nearly arrested,
although one morning I found three primroses in a sheltered hollow.
Never had the weather seemed more hopeless than towards the close of
March. On the last evening of the month the sky was curiously
perplexed and agitated notwithstanding there was little movement in