In the fresh young vigour of an April sun, the world has a cheerful aspect, and is doubly bright, and vastly warmer, when beheld through good flint-glass. Especially while the east winds hold, which never now forget to hold the spring of England, heart and throat. But forty years ago, there were some springs of gentle quality.
Upon a pleasant April morning, of the sweet inconstant kind, such as we vainly sigh for now, a gardening man, with a quick step, came into his happy greenhouse. A door from his favourite sitting room led into this still more favoured place, and the smile with which he entered showed that he expected to find pleasure here. It was a long, low, span-roof house, with no sidelights, and very simple, not even framed with rafters. Yet snug from violence of wind, and bright with every sunbeam, this humble house was rich with joy, for all who love good health, and peace
