no triumphal arches to grace its entree.  Few new voices in the tree-tops hail its advent.  No choirs of tree-toads fiddle in the fens.  No congregation of frogs at twilight gather to the green edges of the unfettered pond to sing their Old Hundred, led by venerable Signor Cronker, in his bright, buskin doublet, mounted on a floating stump, and beating time with a bulrush.  No Shad-spirits with invisible wings, perform their undulating vespers in the heavens, to let the fishermen know that it is time to look to their nets.  Even the hens of the farm-yard cackle with no new tone of hope and animation at the birth of the English Spring.  The fact is, it is a baby three months old when it is baptised.  It is really born at Christmas instead of Easter, and makes no more stir in the family circle of the seasons than any familiar face would at a farmer’s table.

In a utilitarian point of view, it is certainly an immense advantage to all classes in this country, that Nature has tempered her climates to it in this kindly way.  I will not run off upon that line of reflection here, but will make it the subject of a few thoughts somewhere this side of John O’Groat’s.  But what England gains over us in the practical, she loses in the poetical, in this economy of the seasons.  Her Spring does not thrill like a sudden revelation, as with us.  It does not come out like the new moon, hanging its delicate silver crescent in the western pathway of the setting sun, which everybody tries to see first over the right shoulder, for the very luck of the coincidence.  Still, both countries should be contented and happy under this dispensation of Nature.  The balance is very satisfactory, and well suited to the character and habits of the two peoples.  The Americans are more radical and sensational than the English; more given to sudden changes and stirring events.  Sterne generally gets the credit of saying that pretty thought first, “Providence tempers the wind to the shorn lamb.”  A French writer puts it the other way, and more practically:  “Providence tempers the wool of the lamb to the wind.”  This is far better and more natural.  But it may be truly said that Providence tempers the seasons to the temperaments and customs of the two nations.

Just before reaching Oakham, I passed a grand mansion, standing far back from the turnpike road, on a commanding eminence, flanked with extensive plantations.  The wide avenue leading to it looked a full mile in length.  Lawns and lakes, which mirrored the trees with equal distinctness, suffused the landscape of the park like evening smiles of Nature.  It was indeed a goodly heritage for one man; and he only mounted a plain Mr. to his name, although I learned that he could count his farms by the dozen.  I was told that the annual dinner given to his tenant farmers came off the previous day at the inn where I lodged.  A sumptuous banquet was provided for them, presided over by the steward of the estate;