There nothing seemed to grow during the winter, all vegetation slumbered, sometimes never to awaken; here in mid winter the primrose and violet were in full bloom, and on New Year’s Day I gathered quite a posy of garden flowers, including roses and other fragrant flowers.

Snow fell on two or three occasions, but the bright sun dissipated it very quickly, and the frosts were not at all severe; in fact, were only of occasional occurrence.  These frosts are only severe enough to hurt one class of persons, and that is the gardeners, who dread a frost coming after the blossoms are set on the trees.  The climate being so mild the blossom buds burst at a very early period, so that a late frost coming nips them, then good-bye to the fruit.

Frequently potatoes are here being eaten before the green tops are above ground in England, which is another proof of the mildness of the climate.  No doubt this mildness and equability of temperature is due in a great measure to the influence of the Gulf Stream, which keeps the surrounding sea at an even temperature; the sea in turn tempering the wind, keeps the thermometer very level.

There is usually a very mild fortnight towards the end of October, which the natives call “La petite ete;” it appears like a return of summer, and is greatly enjoyed by everyone as the last of the really warm weather.

In the matter of sunshine England cannot be compared with these islands, for taking our much-favoured Devonshire, and comparing the hours of sunshine for December, January, and February, I find that in the Channel Islands the sun shews its face just double the number of hours that it does in fertile Devon.

In my garden on January 25th I had peas a foot above ground.  How I should have liked to shew my father these, he would scarcely have believed his eyes, for April 25th in Norfolk, would not have produced anything much more forward.

Now, having mentioned my father, I must tell a curious incident which happened concerning him upon the last day of January.  About eight o’clock in the evening I was sitting finishing a sketch of Crevichon, with my dog lying asleep near the fire, when he suddenly half raised himself, and looking towards the other end of the room commenced to whine.

I followed his eyes, and there to my astonishment sat my father.  He sat on a stool facing me, with his leg, which was enveloped in a huge covering, upon another stool.  His right hand rested upon the covered leg, while his left was placed upon his heart.  As the dog whined he looked straight at me, and in his well-known voice said,

“It’s all right, Harry, my boy, but it was a shake!”

I stood up to rush to him, but as I rose he melted away, leaving nothing but the two empty seats.  I was staggered, but calm immediately, for I had read of things of this kind before, and concluded that my father had met with some accident, and had thus by some unknown means communicated with me in spirit.