prising nearly five hundred acres round
the east and north sides of the castle.
Windsor great park adjoins the south
side of the town, at one period consisting
of four thousand acres, and was fourteen
miles in circumference, but George III.
set apart more than a thousand acres for
the formation of experimental farms, and
other purposes connected with agricul-
ture.
F.

APPEARANCES OF NATURE.

FEBRUARY.

which lie at its base, and is the finest | The little park is a fine expanse, comterrace of the kind in the kingdom. On the east side of the castle, are the private apartments of her majesty and the royal gardens, comprising about two acres. The drawing-room, audience-chamber, ball-room, and the Waterloo chamber, are superbly decorated. St. George'shall, the banqueting-room of the knights of the Garter, is two hundred feet in length, with an arched ceiling divided into compartments and panels, in which are nearly seven hundred shields, emblazoned with the arms of the knights down to the present time. In the lower ward, the principal object of interest is St. George's chapel, which is justly regarded as one of the finest buildings of the kind in the kingdom. The roof and the nave are painted with armorial bearings, and the whole highly enriched, so that it now presents one of the best examples of the capability of English architecture for the reception of splendid colouring and gilding. The round tower, or keep, was originally built by the celebrated William of Wykeham, the architect employed by Edward 111. It stands on an artificial mound, and is the most conspicuous object in the palace. The apartments of the constable of the castle, who commands its garrison, magazine of arms, etc., are contained within its precincts. In ancient times, the custody of distinguished state prisoners was intrusted to his care, among whom were John, king of France, David of Scotland, the earls of Surrey, of Lauderdale, and Lindsay, and the marshal de Belleisle. A fine view is enjoyed from the battlements of this tower, of the Thames, the lands, farm-houses, towns, and villages of the country round, forming a panorama, which, for beauty and magnificence, is almost unparalleled. The extent of the view will be perhaps imagined, when it is stated that it comprises parts of twelve counties-Middlesex, Essex, Hertford, Bedford, Buckingham, Berkshire, Oxfordshire, Wiltshire, Hampshire, Surrey, Sussex, and Kent. A poet

“THAT man," said Cowper, "who can derive no gratification from a view of nature, even under the disadvantage of her most ordinary dress, will have no eyes to admire her in any." This remark is especially applicable to the present month, which may be regarded as the most cheerless of the year. February may be divided into three parts: the commencement, before the severity of winter has passed; the middle, when thaws give a rawness to the atmosphere; and the close, when the wintry season merges into spring. In this progressive change we witness that beautiful adaptation of means to ends which are everywhere displayed in the works of nature. A sudden alteration from the coldness of winter to the mildness of spring would be injurious in its effects on both the animal and vegetable kingdoms, and hence a gradual and beneficial change has been ordained.

A general characteristic of the month is, the prevalence of fogs and damps, especially if a thaw takes place after a continued frost. When we had real winter, the clear, sharp, dry air saluted us by day, and the lofty sky appeared by night glittering with stars, or irradiated by the placid moon. But now, our walls are wet and cold, our rooms and drawers are damp, while clothes, books, and papers are unpleasant to the touch. The doors stick, the streets are covered with muddy pools, and the half-thawed ice and snow penetrate our boots. The houses look melancholy and desolate, the water drops from the trees, the grass is soft and sinks at every step, while the gravel walk resembles a saturated sponge. Cold, raw weather is, however, occasionally varied by milder days.

"But February's suns uncertain shine,
For rain and frost alternately combine

easily recognised at a considerable distance. The male bird is as large as the hen, but is flatter at the top of the head, and is easily distinguished from her by the vividness of the lovely scarlet or crimson on the breast, and the feathers on the crown of the head; those encompassing the bill are of a brighter black. When the birds are young, however, the distinction is by no means so apparent, from the want of the full development of the colours.

The little wren is secured by special privileges; it frequents our gardens and approaches close to our doors. How silently it hops along the hedges, and creeps mouse-like through the underwood, while, if it take wing for a short distance, its smallness and colour prevent our seeing it again. Such is the respect entertained for this little favourite, that the most inveterate bird's-nesters leave the wren undisturbed, regarding an attack upon its nest as a serious offence. It favours us during the month with its lively and sometimes pleasing strain, and

even

"When icicles hang dripping from the rock, Pipes his perennial lay."

The missel-thrush sings before the end of the month, and frequently may be observed perched on the top of some lofty tree, while his voice is occasionally heard when on the wing. From giving his song both before and during the occurrence of wind and rain, the appellation of "storm-cock" has been given him. Birds now pair, wood-owls hoot, turkeycocks gobble as they display their beauties to their admiring hens; partridges choose their mates, the raven begins to lay towards the end of this month, the pigeon feeds its young, and moles are busy in the earth.

"There is a worm, that disagreeable creature, which spoils the grass and walks;-kill or throw it away," is often said. Though unsightly to the eye, and apparently small and despicable, the number of worms renders them very useful. They draw sticks and twigs into the ground, rendering it pervious to the rain, and to the creeping roots of fibrous plants; and their efficiency is by no means contemptible in throwing up a fine soil to the surface, for by their instrumentality a barren field has often been converted into a fruitful pasture.

One of the first signs of returning spring is, the appearance of that robin

of plants-the snowdrop, which, with her peerless sisters, displays herself, in the most dreary part of the year, and neighbours greet one another with the saying, "Winter will soon be over-I saw a snowdrop in the hedge to-day."*

A

There, too, the common daisy (bellis perennis) the "wee modest crimsontipped flower," that delights us in infancy and age, is also opening to the sun. hundred pleasing associations are suggested as we see it again for the first time, nor do we hesitate to walk abroad in search of our favourite. The snowy white petals contrast with the golden tuft of tubular florets in the centre, as it rears its head above the green grass. Nor is the protection afforded against injury unworthy of observation, for on the approach of night the "pinky lashes" are folded together, and thus preserved from the effects of rain.

like

And now, if you approach the wood, when the shades of night have gathered around, the thick and gnarled trunk of that old oak will afford a suitable situation for your observations. But hark! that is the report of a gun which has doubtless brought some unsuspecting pheasant into the lawless hands of the poacher. Again, that suppressed childother, caused by some poor puss having cry, succeeded by another and anbeen caught by a snare, while the crackling of sticks and the voices of men disto the shelter of that furze bush, lest they tinctly heard approaching, urge a retreat should think you an informer; and an encounter with armed men in a wood at Leaving the wood by that gap near the night would be anything but satisfactory. elm, you may walk along towards the road. But listen a moment, for that quick, sharp bark tells that a fox is near, wood indicates his approach. What an and the increased rustling of the underair of cunning is there in that broad head, sharp snout, and flat white forehead, and as he skulks away by the hedge the grey of his breast and belly are hid, and the yellowish red or brown of his back and fine bushy tail, tipped with white, are displayed. But the hounds are to be brought to-morrow, and many a hard run will he have if he escape at all. In no country in the world is the sport of foxhunting so much followed as in England,

*The yellow hellebore accompanies, and sometimes even anticipates the maid of February, mix

ing agreeably its bright sulphur with the deep orange yellow of the spring crocus.

and excitement pervades the feelings of
all when the approach of the hounds is
discovered. The old people seem to re-
gain some of their juvenile spirit, labour-Strong on the wing his busy followers play,
ing men throw down their tools to follow
in close pursuit, stopping occasionally to
open a gate for a huntsman, while the
younger ones run on foot for miles across
the country to see the sport, and if pos-
sible, by some turn of the pursued, to be
"in at the death." Undoubtedly much
of the excitement connected with the
chase is occasioned by the sagacity and
wiliness of the fox, and the innumerable
stratagems he employs to escape his
hundred enemies. For instance, he will
run along a brook for a considerable
distance in order to take off the scent, as
Robert Bruce did, when pursued by the
blood hounds of his enemies. Or he will
make for a field, where there are sheep,
and as they, alarmed by his presence,
run together for mutual protection, Rey-
nard immediately dashes into the midst
of the flock, and then takes off at right
angles from the part of the field at which
he entered. The sheep by their con-
fusion hinder the dogs, and running over
the track destroy the scent, so that the
pack is often detained some time. We
are, however, no patrons of the sport; a
better state of mind and heart than that
now commonly displayed, will have other
pleasures, which, unlike those of the
chase, are not objectionable.

"Through each toilsome day
Draws his fresh parallels, and widening still,
With smiling brow the ploughman cleaves his way,

Treads slow the heavy dale, or climbs the hill;

Where writhing earth-worms meet the unwelcome day;

Till all is changed, and hill and level down

Assume a livery of sober brown."

In some parts of the country: "The husbandmen resume their wonted toil, Yoke their strong steers, and plough the yielding soil."

"Now prudent gard'ners seize the happy time,

To dig and trench, and prune for shoots to climb,
Inspect their borders, mark the silent birth
Of plants, successive, from the teeming earth,
Watch the young nurslings with parental care,
And hope for 'growing weather' all the year.'

The farmer's occupations during this month are numerous. In frosty weather the grass land is covered with soil which was obtained from the hedges, dykes, and mounds, which have been pared away. This soil serves well for manure, greatly improving the ground. The beasts and sheep which are sprinkled over the fields to gain what little food they can, now require some hay; but the majority of the former are in the straw yards, fattening for the market. The hedgers and ditchers are at work; hedges are stocked up, and fields thrown together; the farm-roads are repaired; while countless numbers of the members of the feathered race crowd round the stack yards and barns in search of food. Bloomfield says, in his description of the ploughman's task:

On a cold morning, though the wind makes the casement rattle, the labourer has been at his work for some time. The thresher, in particular, attracts attention; for though much of his labour has been superseded by a threshing machine, some is reserved for the wintry employment of the poor. If you had approached the barn two hours ago, you would have heard stroke succeeding stroke-and he will continue his laborious occupation through the tedious hours of the day.

That humble cottage at the end of the village, with its neat white-washed front, protected his weary head last night; and this morning a light might be perceived at the window, and the fire's flickering flame would display the cheerful hearth; the few articles of domestic use neatly arranged in their places, and the floor is clean; while the most interesting object of all, the stalwart workman, is preparing for the labours of the day. The honest English labourer is truly one who demands our kindliest sympathy. His lot has been hard, and you would not anticipate much fruit from so barrenlooking a stem. But judge not hastily. Notice him as he sallies forth, in his coarse but comfortable attire, with his basket on his shoulder, and a little keg of beer in his hand. Nothing unnecessary is worn; that cotton handkerchief which encircles his throat displays much cleanliness and neatness; the patch in his short frock has been carefully put on, and his heavy iron-soled boots are well suited for the purpose for which they are required. That candid, manly countenance, if attentively examined, deprives you of any suspicions you might have entertained. Converse with him, he replies with confidence, yet deference; speak to him of his employments, he will answer with promptitude; joke with him, and he will enjoy your mirth. He would injure none-though, if insulted, he would defend himself with honest indignation. He is grateful for kindness, and will ap

and conduct, opposed both to unlimited despotism and licentious democracy. All authority now remained with the Jacobin party. Marat, one of Robespierre's associates, was assassinated by Charlotte Corday, soon after which, a period expressively called the "reign of terror" began. But the mind revolts from the scenes that followed. Any one who wishes to see them delineated with horribly graphic effect, may turn to the pages of Alison and Cobbett. Atheism,

preciate a generous act. Though unlettered, he will receive and respect good advice; although rough he is unprejudiced; and while inclined to consider the rich as selfish-he is open to conviction. He is liberal in his treatment of friends, though his provident disposition is often displayed. Unblessed by intellectual acquirements, he is often free from that gross immorality which appears so commonly in connexion with those "hotbeds of vice," the large towns of the empire-and happy is he in the ex-murder, and robbery were predominant. change! But what is his lot? From the age of seven or eight his duties begin, for the necessities of the family require that each child should contribute to his own maintenance as soon as he is able; and having thus commenced his labours, will continue as long as life, health, and work last. His hours are long, his work heavy, and rarely, alas! very rarely, is his pittance adequate.

It is true, that our agricultural population presents affecting proofs of human depravity. But let not the reader condemn the failings he observes, if he make no effort for their diminution. Our duty to ourselves, to one another, and to God, demands that endeavours should be made for the reduction of existing evils; and we should remember that we are morally responsible for the occasion of much sin, if exertions are not made to lessen and remove the aggregate. Nor is this to be done by the elaboration of theories, but by individual, devout, and persevering efforts. The principle should be maintained which has encouraged men, in the most trying circumstances, to renewed exertions, to regard nothing as completed, as long as anything remains to be done. F. S. W.

ENGLISH HISTORY.

IN Paris, the reign of anarchy proceeded, during 1793. The revolutionary leaders were occupied in destroying each other; at the head of them was the horrible Robespierre. A revolutionary tribunal was formed, which controlled the convention. The more moderate of the republican leaders, called the Girondists, were driven from power, and mostly guillotined. In October, twenty of these were executed in one day. They were destitute of religious truth, but were men of comparatively enlightened minds, inclined to be moderate in their principles

No one was safe from the guillotine. When the cowardly undisciplined refuse, sent to the army, fled before the enemy, the commander was denounced, sent to Paris, and put to death. Such was the fate of Houchard, the general who had compelled the allies to leave the siege of Dunkirk. If any one had been noted using a hasty expression, or if he were suspected of having wealth, or were opposed to the present order, or rather disorder, he was denounced, at the caprice of any one in power, carried before the revolutionary tribunal, and ordered to the guillotine. Throughout the land, tribunals, or rather small committees, of the same character were established, estimated, at one time, to have been fifty thousand in number, under the direction of men who were paid half a crown each day for their attendance. There were many thousands of these so-called judges, men of the worst and most profligate description. Every one trembled, and distrusted his neighbour. The poor queen was treated with brutality, and subjected to the most atrocious false accusations, in October she was condemned, and guillotined. The young dauphin was placed under the care of a shoemaker, who by every species of insult and ill treatment, destroyed the health of the poor child: he sunk into a state of imbecility, and died in the following year. The princess royal was eventually released, being exchanged for some of the republican deputies seized by Dumourier. The duke of Orleans, who had so actively promoted the worst scenes of the revolution, was now executed. His sons, the eldest of whom is the present king of France, had previously escaped; they went forth to wander over the face of the earth. To the eldest, "sweet were the uses of adversity;' having had to earn his bread, and experiencing what it is to want, he learned truths which probably he would not otherwise have known. Thus he became fitted