But now, about the tenth of March, that miserable moaning noise, which had both foregone and accompanied the rigour, died away from out the air; and we, being now so used to it, thought at first that we must be deaf.  And then the fog, which had hung about (even in full sunshine) vanished, and the shrouded hills shone forth with brightness manifold.  And now the sky at length began to come to its true manner, which we had not seen for months, a mixture (if I so may speak) of various expressions.  Whereas till now from Allhallows-tide, six weeks ere the great frost set in, the heavens had worn one heavy mask of ashen gray when clouded, or else one amethystine tinge with a hazy rim, when cloudless.  So it was pleasant to behold, after that monotony, the fickle sky which suits our England, though abused by foreign folk.

And soon the dappled softening sky gave some earnest of its mood; for a brisk south wind arose, and the blessed rain came driving, cold indeed, yet most refreshing to the skin, all parched with snow, and the eyeballs so long dazzled.  Neither was the heart more sluggish in its thankfulness to God.  People had begun to think, and somebody had prophesied, that we should have no spring this year, no seed-time, and no harvest; for that the Lord had sent a judgment on this country of England, and the nation dwelling in it, because of the wickedness of the Court, and the encouragement shown to Papists.  And this was proved, they said, by what had happened in the town of London; where, for more than a fortnight, such a chill of darkness lay that no man might behold his neighbour, even across the narrowest street; and where the ice upon the Thames was more than four feet thick, and crushing London Bridge in twain.  Now to these prophets I paid no heed, believing not that Providence would freeze us for other people’s sins; neither seeing how England could for many generations have enjoyed good sunshine, if Popery meant frost and fogs.  Besides, why could not Providence settle the business once for all by freezing the Pope himself; even though (according to our view) he were destined to extremes of heat, together with all who followed him?

Not to meddle with that subject, being beyond my judgment, let me tell the things I saw, and then you must believe me.  The wind, of course, I could not see, not having the powers of a pig; but I could see the laden branches of the great oaks moving, hoping to shake off the load packed and saddled on them.  And hereby I may note a thing which some one may explain perhaps in the after ages, when people come to look at things.  This is that in desperate cold all the trees were pulled awry, even though the wind had scattered the snow burden from them.  Of some sorts the branches bended downwards, like an archway; of other sorts the boughs curved upwards, like a red deer’s frontlet.  This I know no reason* for; but am ready to swear that I saw it.