tirring myself to go out for an afternoon walk； something white fell softly across my vision。 A few minutes more； and all was hidden with a descending veil of silent snow。
It is a disappointment。 Yesterday I half believed that the winter drew to its end； the breath of the hills was soft； spaces of limpid azure shone amid slow…drifting clouds； and seemed the promise of spring。 Idle by the fireside； in the gathering dusk； I began to long for the days of light and warmth。 My fancy wandered； leading me far and wide in a dream of summer England。 。 。 。
This is the valley of the Blythe。 The stream ripples and glances o