Fragments of young Hope’s poesy:
And dame oft stops her buzzing wheel
To hear the robin’s note once more,
Who tootles while he pecks his meal
From sweet-briar hips beside the door.
The frost often returns after a few days, and binds Nature with his iron hand. In Great Britain, where the Spring is much earlier than with us, February is remarkable for what is termed the “runs” of moles.
Le Count, a French naturalist, records some interesting notices of the nature of moles, (an animal not very common in this cold climate,) as well as the speed at which they travel through their underground galleries. He observes, “They are very voracious, and die of hunger if kept without food for twelve hours. They commence throwing up their hillocks in the month of February, and making preparations for their summer campaign, constructing for themselves runs in various directions, to enable them to escape in case of danger; and also as a means of procuring their food. These runs communicate with one another, and unite at one point; at this centre the female establishes her head-quarters, and forms a separate habitation for her young, taking care that both shall be on a higher level than the runs, and as nearly as possible even with the ground, and any moisture that may penetrate is carried off by the runs. This dormitory, if it may be so styled, is generally placed at the foot of a wall, or near a hedge or a tree, where it has less chance of being broken in. When so placed, no external embankment gives token of its presence; but when the soil is light a large heap of earth is generally thrown over it. Being susceptible of the slightest noise or vibration of the earth, the mole, in case of surprise, at once betakes itself to its safety runs.”
We sometimes, though rarely, find the snow-drops, “fair maids of February,” as they are called, peeping through their mantle of snow, and the gentle aconite, with its
“Green leaf furling round its cup of gold,”
giving life and animation to the otherwise dank and desolate border. Leigh Hunt in describing this month says, “If February were not the precursor of Spring, it would be the least pleasant month in the whole year, November not excepted. The thaws coming so suddenly produce freshets, and a clammy moisture, which is the most disagreeable of winter sensations.