But then Spring loses a little from this equalising dispensation.

It is not the resurrection from death and the grave as it is in America.
Children are not waiting here at the sepulchre of the season, as with us, watching and listening for its little Bluebird angel to warble from the first budding tree top, "_It is risen_!" They do not come running home with happy eyes, dancing for joy, and shouting through the half open door, "O, mother, Spring has come! We've heard the Bluebird! Hurrah! Spring has come.

We saw the Phebee on the top of the saw-mill!" Here Spring makes no sensation; takes no sudden leap into the seat of Winter, but comes in gently, like the law of primogeniture or the British Constitution.

It is slow and decorous in its movements.

It is conservative, treats its predecessor with much deference, and makes no sudden and radical changes in the face of things.