Camany weeds to keep the cold away;
Yet did he quake e old January, wrapped well
In mand quiver like to quell,
And blowe his nayles to warm them it he may;
For they were numbed with holding all the day
An hatchet keene, with which he felled wood,
Anf from the trees did lop the needlesse spray
Upon an huge great Earth-pot Steane he stood,
Front whose wide month there flowed forth the
Romano flood.
Spenser
DESCRIPTIVE
January is the open gate of the year, shut until
the shortest day passed, but now open to let in the
lengthening daylight, which will soon fall upon dim
patches of pale green, that show where spring is still
sleeping. Sometimes Between the hoary pillars�when the
winter is mild�a few wan snowdrops will peep out and
catch the faint sunlight which streams in coldly
through the opening gateway, like timid messengers
sent to see if Spring has yet stirred from her long
sleep.
But it is yet too early for the hardy crocus to
throw its banded gold along the pathway; and as for
the 'ratite primrose,' it sits huddled up in its
little cloak of green, or is seen peeping through its
half-closed yellow eye, as if watching the snow-flakes
as they fall. Only the red-breasted robin --his heart
filled with hope�sings his cheerful song on the naked
hawthorn spray, through which the tiny buds are
striving to break forth, like a herald proclaiming
glad tidings, and making known, far and wide, that
erelong 'the winter will be over and gone,' and the
moonlight-coloured May-blossoms once again appear.
All around, as yet, the landscape is barren and
dreary. In the early morning, the withered sedge by
the water-courses is silvered over with hoary rime;
and if you handle the frosted flag-rushes, they seem
to cut like swords. Huddled up like balls of feathers,
the fieldfares sit in the leafless hedges, as if they
had no heart to breakfast off the few hard, black,
withered berries which still dangle in the wintry
wind. Amid the cold frozen turnips, the hungry sheep
look up and bleat pitifully; and if the cry of an
early lamb falls on your ear, it makes the heart
sorrowful only to listen to it. You pass the village
churchyard, and almost shiver to think that the very
dead who lie there must be pierced by the cold, for
there is not even a crimson hip or haw to give a look
of warmth to the stark hedges, through which the bleak
wind whistles.
Around the frozen pond the cattle assemble, lowing
every now and then, as if impatient, and looking
backward for the coming of the herdsman to break the
ice. Even the nose of cherry-checked Patty looks blue,
as she issues from the snow-covered cowshed with the
smoking milk pail on her head. There is no sound of
the voices of village children in the winding
lanes�nothing but the creaking of the old carrier's
cart along the frost-bound road, and you pity the old
wife who sits peeping out between the opening of the
tilt, on her way to the neighbouring markettown. The
very dog walks under the cart in silence, as if to
avail himself of the little shelter it affords,
instead of frisking and barking beside his master, as
he does when ' the leaves are green and long.' There
is a dull, leaden look about the sky, and you have no
wish to climb the hill-top on which those gray clouds
hang gloomily. You feel sorry for the poor donkey that
stands hanging his head under the guide-post, and wish
there were flies about to make him whisk his ears, and
not leave him altogether motionless. The 'Jolly
Farmer' swings on his creaking sign before the
road-side alehouse, like the bones of a murderer in
his gibbet-irons; and instead of entering the house,
you hurry past the closed door, resolved to warm
yourself by walking quicker, for you think a glass of
ale must be but cold drink on such a morning. The old
ostler seems bent double through cold, as he stands
with his hands in his pockets, and his pitchfork
thrust into the smoking manure-heap that litters the
stable-yard.
A walk in the country on a fine frosty morning in
January gives the blood a healthy circulation, and
sets a man wondering why so many sit croodleing' over
the fire at such a season. The trees, covered with
hoar-frost, are beautiful to look upon, and the grass
bending beneath its weight seems laden with crystal;
while in the distance the hedges seem sheeted with May
blossoms, so thickly, that you might fancy there was
not room enough for a green leaf to peep out between
the bloom. Sometimes a freezing shower comes down, and
that is not quite so pleasant to be out in, for in a
few moments everything around is covered with ice�the
boughs seem as if cased in glass, the plumage of birds
is stiffened by it, and they have to give their wings
a brisk shaking before they are able to fly; as for a
bunch of red holly berries, could they but retain
their icy covering, they would make the prettiest
ornaments that could be placed on a mantel-piece.
This is the time of year to see the beautiful
ramification of the trees, for the branches are no
longer hidden by leaves, and all the interlacings and
crossings of exquisite network are visible�those
pencilling of the sprays which too few of our artists
study. Looking nearer at the hedges, we already see
the tiny buds forming, mere specks on the stem, that
do but little more than raise the bark; yet by the aid
of a glass we can uncoil the future leaves which
summer weaves in her loom into broad green curtains.
The snails are asleep; they have glued up the doorways
of their moveable habitations; and you may see a dozen
of their houses fastened together if you probe among
the dead leaves under the hedges with your
walking-stick; while the worms have delved deep down
into the earth, beyond the reach of the frost, and
thither the mole has followed them, for he has not
much choice of food in severe frosty weather.
The woodman looks cold, though he wears his thick
hedging gloves, for at this season he clears the thick underwood, and weaves into
hurdles the smooth
hazel-wands, or any long limber twigs that form the
low thicket beneath the trees. He knows where the
primroses are peeping out, and can tell of little
bowery and sheltered hollows, where the wood-violets
will erelong appear. The ditcher looks as thoughtful
as a man digging his own grave, and takes no heed of
the pretty robin that is piping its winter song on the
withered gorse bushes with which he has just stopped
up a gap in the hedge. Poor fellow, it is hard work
for him, for the ground rings like iron when he
strikes it with his spade, yet you would rather be the
ditcher than the old man you passed a while ago,
sitting on a pad of straw and breaking stones by the
wayside, looking as if his legs were frozen.
That was the golden-crested wren which darted
across the road, and though the very smallest of our
British birds, it never leaves us, no matter how
severe the winter may be, but may be seen among the
fir-trees, or pecking about where the holly and ivy
are still green. If there is a spring-head or
water-course unfrozen, there you are pretty sure to
meet with the wag-tail�the smallest of all our walking
birds, for he marches along like a soldier, instead of
jumping, as if tied up in a sack, as most of our birds
do when on the ground. Now the blue titmouse may be
seen hanging by his claws, with his back downward,
hunting for insects in some decaying bough, or peeping
about the thatched eaves of the cottages and
outhouses, where it will pull out the straw to stir up
the insects that lie snug within the thatch.
In the hollows of trees, caverns, old buildings,
and dark out-of-the-way places, the bats hibernate,
holding on by their claws, while asleep, head
downwards, one over another, dozens together, there to
await the coming of spring, along with the insects
which will then come out of their hiding-places.
But unsightly as the bat appears to some eyes,
there is no cleaner animal living, in spite of all our
poets have written against it; for it makes a brush of
its droll-looking little head, which it pokes under
its umbrella-like wings, not leaving a cranny unswept,
and parts its hair as carefully as a ringletted
beauty. As for the insects it feeds upon, they are now
in a state of torpor; most of the butterflies and
moths are dead; those summer beauties that used to sit
like folded pea-blossoms swinging on the flowers, have
secured their eggs from the cold, to be hatched when
the primrose-coloured sky of spring throws its warm
light over the landscape. None of our clever warehouse
packers can do their work so neatly as these insects;
for, after laying their eggs in beautiful and regular
order, they fill up the interstices with a gum that
hardens like glue, and protects them in the severest
weather.
Those who wish for a good crop of fruit now hunt
among the naked branches for these eggs, which are
easily found through the dead leaves, to which they
adhere; when these are destroyed, there is no fear of
young grubs gnawing and piercing the bloom, nor can
there be a better time to hunt for these destroyers of
melting plums and juicy apples than in January. No
doubt, the soft-billed birds that remain with us all
the year round devour myriads of these eggs, and they
serve to eke out the scanty subsistence these hardy
choristers find strewn so sparingly in severe winters.
How these birds manage to live through the killing
frosts has long been a puzzle to our ablest
naturalists, and after all their research, He alone
knoweth without whose permission not a sparrow falls
to the ground.
There is no better time than during a walk in
January to get a good view of the
mosses that grow on and around the trees, for at
this season they stand boldly out in all their
beautiful colourings, falling on the eye in masses of
rich red, silver-gray, umbered brown, and gaudy
orange; while the yellow moss is almost as dazzling as
sunshine, and the green the most beautiful that
gladdens the earth. In some places, we see it fitted
together like exquisite mosaic work, in others it
hangs down like graceful fringe, while the green looks
like fairy trees, springing from a cushion of yielding
satin. The screw moss is very curiously formed; it
grows plentifully on old walls, and looks like
dark-green flossy velvet. Now, if closely examined, a
number of slender stems will be found springing from
this soft bed, crowned with what botanists call the
fruit. On this is a cap, just like that found on the
unblown and well-known eschscholtzia; when this
extinguisher-shaped cap is thrown off (it may be
lifted off) a beautiful tuft of twisted hairs will be
found beneath, compressed at the neck, and forming
just such a brush as one can imagine the fairies use
to sweep out the pollen from the flowers. Place this
beautiful moss in water, and this brush will uncoil
itself, if left above the surface, and release the
seed within.
Another of the scale mosses is equally curious, and
if brought into a warm room, with a drop of water
applied to the seed-vessel, it will burst open and
throw out a little puff of dust; and this dust, when
examined by a powerful glass, will be found to consist
of links of little chains, not unlike the spring of a
watch. But the most beautiful of all is the 'silver'
cup moss, the silvery cup of which is shaped like a
nest, while the sporules inside look like eggs, such
as a bird no larger than a gnat might build to breed
in. This moss is commonly found on decayed wood.
Sometimes, while hunting for curious mosses, at the
stems of aged trees, we have aroused the little
dormouse from his wintry sleep, as he lay coiled up,
like a ball, in his snug burrow, where his store of
pro-vision was hoarded; for, unlike the fabled ant, he
does lay in a stock for this dark season, which the
ant does not.
Snow in the streets is very different from snow in
the country, for there it no sooner falls than it
begins to make more dirt, and is at once trampled into
mud by a thousand passing feet on the pavement, while
in the roadway the horses and vehicles work it into
'slush,' which. only a brisk shower of rain can clear
away. In the country snow is really white; there is
none of that gray dirty look about it, which is seen
in localities that neighbour upon town, but it lies on
the fields, as Milton says, like
'A wintry veil of maiden white.'
The embankments look like stately terraces formed
of the purest marble, and the hills in the distance
are scarcely distinguishable from the fleecy clouds
that crown their summits; while the wild open moors
and hedgeless commons look like a sea of foam, whose
waves were suddenly frozen into ridgy rest, the buried
bushes only skewing like loftier crests. Vehicles pass
along the scarcely distinguishable road with a
strange, dull, muffled sound, like objects moving
before the eye in a dream, so much do we miss the
gritty and grinding noise which the wheels make in the
dust of summer. What a different aspect the landscape
presents when viewed from some neighbouring eminence!
But for a few prominent landmarks, we should hardly
know it was the same scene that we looked upon in
summer; where the hedges then stretched like green
walls across the country, we see but whitened
barriers; for the only dark object that now catches
the eye is the river that goes rolling between its
powdered banks. The appearance of the village, too, is
altered; the picturesque thatched roofs of the
cottages have vanished, and but for the smoke that
curls above the scene, you might fancy that all the
inhabitants had fled, for neither flocks nor herds are
seen or heard bleating and lowing from the fields, and
all out-of-door employment has ceased. You hear the
ringing of the blacksmith's hammer, and as you return
when the day darkens, will see the light of his forge
fall with a crimson glare across the snow-covered
road. Even the striking of the church clock falls upon
the ear with a deadened sound, and the report of the
sportsman's gun dies away as soon as heard, leaving no
prolonged echo behind.
While watching the snow fall, you can almost fancy
that the flakes are white blossoms shaken from a land
of flowers that lies somewhere above the sky; those
that touch the river are gone in an instant, while
some, as they fall slantways, unite together before
they touch. the earth: Science has seized upon and
pictured the fantastic shapes the falling snow-flakes
assume, and they are ' beautiful exceedingly.' Not
less so is frost-work, which may be seen without
stirring abroad on the window-panes; what a mingling
of fern leaves and foliage of every shape, rare
network and elfin embroidery, does this silent worker
place before the eye, such as no pattern-drawer ever
yet seized upon, although
A thing of beauty is a joy for ever.'�Keats.
The farmer must attend to his cattle during this
'dead season,' for they require feeding early and
late; and it is his business to put all the meat he
can on their backs, so that they may weigh heavy, and
realise a good price in the market. For this purpose,
he must be active in cutting swedes and mangel-wurzel.
Without this care, the farmer cannot keep pace with
his neighbours. He gets rid of his saleable stock as
soon as he can; he says, he 'likes to see fresh faces
in his fields.' It is a pleasant sight to see the
well-fed, clean-looking cattle in the straw-yard, or
sniffing about the great barn-doors, where the
thresher is at work, waiting for the straw he will
throw out. It is a marvel that the poultry escape from
those great heavy hoofs; as for a game-cock, he will
make a dash at the head of an ox, as if he cared not a
straw for his horns; and as for sucking pigs, they are
farrowed to be killed.
The teams are also now busy taking the farm produce
to market, for this is the season when corn, hay, and
straw realise a good price; and a wagon piled high
with clean white turnips, or laden with. greens or
carrots, has a pleasant look moving through the wintry
landscape, as it conjures up before the hungry
pedestrian visions of boiled beef and mutton, which a
walk in frosty weather gives a hearty man a good
appetite to enjoy. Manure can also be carted better to
the fields during a frost than at any other time, for
the ground is hard, and the wheels make but little
impression on rough fallow lands. Let a thaw come, and
few persons, unless they have lived in the country,
can know the state the roads are in that lead to some
of our out-of-the-way villages in the clayey
districts. A foot-passenger, to get on at all, must
scramble through some gap in the hedge, and make his
way by trespassing on the fields. In the lane, the
horses are knee-deep in mire every step they take; and
as for the wain, it is nearly buried up to the axles
in places where the water has lodged. In vain does the
wagoner keep whipping or patting his strong well-fed
horses, or clapping his broad shoulder to the miry
wheels: all is of no avail; he must either go home for
more horses, or bring half-a-dozen men from the farm
to dig out his wagon. It's of no use grumbling, for
perhaps his master is one of the surveyors of the
highways.
The gorse, furze, whin, or
'fuzz'� country people sometimes calling it by the
latter name�is often in flower all the year round,
though the great golden-bellied baskets it hangs out
in summer are now nearly closed, and of a pale
yellowish green. Although its spikes are as sharp as
spears, and there is no cutting out a golden branch
without wearing thick gloves, still it is one of the
most beautiful of our wayside shrubs, and we hardly
wonder at Linnaeus falling on his knees
in admiration
the first time he saw it. Many a time have we cut a
branch in January, put it in water, and placed it in a
warm room, when in two or three days all its golden
lamps have lighted up, and where it stood it seemed to
'make sunshine in the shady place.'
Where gorse grows abundantly, and bees have ready
access to the bloom, there the finest-coloured and
sweetest honey is produced. In a very mild season, we
have seen, under sheltered hedges that face the south,
the celandine in flower in January. Even when not in
bloom, its large bright green leaves give a spring
look to the barren embankments; but when out, its
clear yellow star-shaped flowers catch the eye sooner
than the primrose, through their deep golden hue.
Country children call it the
hedge buttercup, and their little hearts leap with
delight when they see it springing up from among the
dead leaves of winter.
The common red or dead
nettle may also occasionally be found in flower.
Let those who would throw it aside as an unsightly
weed, examine the bloom through a glass, and they will
be amazed at its extreme loveliness; such ruby tints
as it shows, imbedded in the softest bloom, never
graced the rounded arm of beauty. The
blue periwinkle is
another beautiful flower that diadems the brow of
January when the season is warm. It must be looked for
in sheltered situations, for it is not at all a common
wild-flower: once seen, it can never be mistaken, for
the twisted bud before opening resembles the blue
convolvulus. Nor must the common
chickweed be overlooked, with its chaste white
star-shaped flowers, which shew as early as the
snowdrops. The large broad-leaved mouse-ear chickweed
flowers later, and will be sought for in vain in
January, though it sheds its seed and flowers
frequently six times during the summer. Many other
flowers we might name, though they are more likely to
be found in bloom next month.
Many rare birds visit us occasionally in winter,
which never make their appearance on our island at any
other season. Some are only seen once now and then in
the course of several years, and how they find their
way hither at all, so far from their natural haunts,
is somewhat of a mystery. Many birds come late in the
autumn, and take their departure early in spring.
Others remain with us all the year round, as the
thrush and blackbird, which often commence singing in
January. Wrens, larks, and many other small birds
never leave our country. Flocks of wild-geese and
other water-fowl, also visit our reedy marshes and
sheltered lakes in winter; far up the sky their wild
cries may be heard in the silence of midnight, as they
arrive. Rooks now return from the neighbouring woods,
where they have mostly wintered, to their nest-trees;
while the smaller birds, which drew near to our
habitation during the depth of winter, begin to
disappear. Those that require insect food, go and
forage among the grass and bushes; others retreat to
the sides of stagnant pools, where, during the brief
intervals of sunshine, gnats are now found. Others
hunt in old walls, or among decayed trees, where
insects are hidden in a dormant state, or are snugly
ensconced in their warm cocoons, awaiting the first
warm touch of spring, when, in the words of Solomon, 'the flowers appear on the
earth . . and the voice of
the turtle is heard in our land.'
HISTORY OF JANUARY
It is very appropriate that this should be the
first month of the year, as far as the northern
hemisphere is concerned; since, its beginning being
near the winter solstice, the year is thus made to
present a complete series of the seasonal changes and
operations, including equally the first movements of
spring, and the death of all annual vegetation in the
frozen arms of winter. Yet the earliest calendars, as
the Jewish, the Egyptian, and Greek, did not place the
commencement of the year at this point. It was not
done till the formation of the Roman calendar, usually
attributed to the second king,
Numa Pompilius, whose
reign is set down as terminating anno 672
B.C
. Numa,
it is said, having decreed that the year should
commence now, added two new months to the ten into
which the year had previously been divided, calling
the first Januarius, in honour of Janus, the deity
supposed to preside over doors (Lat. janua, a door),
who might very naturally be presumed also to have
something to do with the opening of the year.
Although, however, there was a general popular
regard to the 1st of January as the
beginning of the
year, the ancient Jewish year, which opened with the
25th of March, continued long to have a legal position
in Christian countries. In England, it was not till
1752 that the 1st of January became
the initial day of
the legal, as it had long been of the popular year.
Before that time, it was customary to set down dates
between the 1st of January and the
24th of March
inclusive, thus: January 30th, 1648-9: meaning, that
popularly the year was 1649, but legally 1648. In
Scotland, this desirable change was made by a decree
of James VI in privy council, in the year 1600. It was
effected in France in 1564; in Holland, Protestant
Germany, and Russia, in 1700; and in Sweden in 1753.
According to Verstegan, in his curious book The
Restitution of Decayed Intelligence (4 to, 1628),
our Saxon ancestors originally called this month Wolf
montt� that is, Wolf-month�' because people were wont
always in that month to be more in danger to be
devoured of wolves than in any season else of the
year, for that, through the extremity of cold and
snow, those ravenous creatures could not find beasts
sufficient to feed upon.' Subsequently, the month was
named by the same people Aefter-Yule�that is, After
Christmas. It is rather odd that we should have
abandoned the Saxon names of the months, while
retaining those of the days of the week.
CHARACTERISTICS OF JANUARY
The deity Janus was represented by the Romans as a
man with two faces, one looking backwards, the other
forwards, implying that he stood between the old and
the new year, with a regard to both. To this
circumstance the English poet Cotton alludes in the
following lines:
Hark, the cock crows, and yon bright star
Tells us, the day himself's not far;
And see where, breaking from the night,
He gilds the western hills with light.
With him old Janus sloth appear,
Peeping into the future year,
With such a look as seems to say,
The prospect is not good that way.
Thus do we rise ill sights to see,
And 'gainst ourselves to prophesy;
When the prophetic fear of things
A more tormenting mischief brings,
More full of soul-tormenting gall
Than direst mischiefs can befall.
But stay! but stay! Methinks my sight,
Better informed by clearer light,
Discerns sereneness in that brow,
That all contracted seemed but now.
His reversed face may shew distaste,
And frown upon the ills are past;
But that which this way looks is clear,
And smiles upon the new-born year.'
In the quaint drawings which illuminate the
Catholic missals in the middle ages, January is
represented by 'the figure of a man clad in white, as
the type of the snow usually on the ground at that
season, and blowing on his fingers as descriptive of
the cold; under his left arm he holds a billet of
wood, and near him stands the figure of the sign
Aquarius, into which watery emblem in the zodiac the
sun enters on the 19th of this month.'�Brady.
January is notedly, in our northern hemisphere, the
coldest month in the year. The country people in
England state the fact in their usual strong way:
'Janiveer Freeze the pot upon the fier.'
They even insist that the cold rather increases
than decreases during the course of the month,
notwithstanding the return of the sun from the Tropic
of Capricorn, remarking:
'As the day lengthens, The cold strengthens:'
or, as it is given in Germany, where the same idea
prevails:
Wenn die Tage beginnen zu langen,
Dann komrn erst der Winter gegangen '
the fact being, we suppose, that it only does so in
some instances, while those of an opposite character
pass unnoticed.
In the middle of the month, the sun at London is
only 8h. 20m., at Edinburgh, 7h. 34m., above the
horizon. There is a liability to severe and lasting
frosts, and to heavy falls of snow. Vegetation lies
dead, and it is usually 'sore times' for the animal
creation; the farmer has his bestial, including the
sheep, if he keeps any, much upon his hands for
artificial supplies. The birds of the field and wood,
reduced to great extremities, come nearer to the
residences of men, in the hope of picking up a little
food. The robin is especially remarkable for this
forced familiarity. In unusually severe seasons, many
birds perish of cold and hunger, and consequently,
when the spring comes on, there is a marked diminution
of that burst of sylvan song which usually makes the
season so cheerful.
When frost occurs without a snow-fall�what is
called in the north a black frost�the ground, wholly
without protection, becomes hard for several inches
deep. In Canada, it is sometimes frozen three feet
down, so that any sort of building not founded
considerably deeper, is sure to be dislodged at the
next thaw. Even a macadamised road will be broken up
and wholly ruined from this cause. In our country, and
on the continent of Europe, a snowless frost gives the
means of several amusements, which the rural people
are enabled with good conscience to indulge in, as
being thrown off from all more serious employments by
the state of the ground.
'Now in the Netherlands, and where the Rhine
Branched out in many a long canal, extends,
From every province swarming, void of care,
Batavia rushes forth; and as they sweep,
On sounding skates, a thousand different ways
In circling poise, swift as the winds along,
The then gay land is maddened all to joy.
Nor less the northern courts, wide o'er the snow,
Pour a new pomp. Eager, on rapid sleds,
Their vigorous youth in bold contention wheel
The long-resounding course. Meantime to raise
The manly strife, with highly blooming charms
Flushed by the season, Scandinavia's dames,
Or Russia's buxom daughters, glow around.'
Thomson.
In Holland, the peasantry, male and female, take
advantage of the state of the waters to come to market
on skates, often bearing most part of a hundredweight
on their heads; yet proceeding at the rate of ten
miles an hour for two or three hours at a stretch.
In England, skating is on such. occasions a
favourite amusement; nor do the boys fail to improve
the time by forming slides on lake, on pond, yea, even
on the public highways, notwithstanding the frowns of
old gentlemen and the threatenings of policemen. All
of these amusements prevail during dry frost in
Scotland, with one more, as yet little known in the
south. It bears the name of Curling,
and very much resembles bowls in its general
arrangements, only with the specialty of fiat stones
to slide along the ice, instead of bowls to roll along
the grass. Two parties are ranged in contention
against each other, each man provided with a pair of
handled stones and a broom, and having crampets on his
feet to enable him to take a firm hold of the glassy
surface. They play against each other, to have as many
stones as possible lying near a fixed point, or tee,
at the end of the course.
When a player happens to impel his stone weakly,
his associates sweep before it to favour its advance.
A skip, or leader, stands at the tee, broom in hand,
to guide the players of his party as to what they
should attempt; whether to try to get through a
certain open channel amongst the cluster of stones
guarding the tee, or perhaps to come smashing among
them, in the hope of producing rearrangements more
favourable to his side. Incessant vociferation,
frequent changes of fortune, the excitation of a
healthy physical exercise, and the general feeling of
socialty evoked, all contribute to render curling one
of the most delightful of amusements. It is further
remarkable that, in a small community, the curling
rink is usually surrounded by persons of all
classes�the laird, the minister, and the provost,
being all hail-fellow-well-met on this occasion with
the tailors, shoemakers, and weavers, who at other
times never meet them without a reverent vailing of
the beaver. Very often a plain dinner of boiled beef
with greens concludes the merry-meeting. There is a
Caledonian Curling Club in Scotland, embracing the
highest names in the land, and having scores of
provincial societies affiliated to it. They possess an
artificial pond in Strathallan, near the line of the
Scottish Central Railway, and thither sometimes
converge for one days contention representatives from
clubs scattered over fully a hundred and fifty miles
of country.
When the low temperature of January is attended
with a heavy snow-fall, as it often is, the ground
receives a certain degree of protection, and is so far
benefited for tillage in spring. But a load of snow is
also productive of many serious inconveniences and
dangers, and to none more than to the farmer,
especially if he be at all concerned in store-farming.
In Scotland, once every few years, there is a
snow-fall of considerable depth, threatening entire
destruction to sheep-stock. On one such occasion, in
1795, the snow was drifted in some hollows of the
hills to the depth of a hundred feet. In 1772, there
was a similar fall. At such times, the shepherd is
ex-posed to frightful hardships and dangers, in trying
to rescue some part of his charge. James Hogg tells us
that, in the first-mentioned of these storms,
seventeen shepherds perished in the southern district
of Scotland, besides about thirty who, carried home
insensible, were with difficulty recovered. At the
same time, many farmers lost hundreds of their sheep.
SNOW CRYSTAL
For the uninstructed mind, the fall of snow is a
very common-place affair. To the thoughtless
schoolboy, making up a handful of it into a missile,
wherewith to surprise his friend passing on the other
side of the way; to the labouring man plodding his way
through it with pain and difficulty; to the
agriculturist, who hails it as a comfortable wrappage
for the ground during a portion of the dead season of
the year, it is but a white cold substance, and
nothing more. Even the eye of weather-wisdom could but
distinguish that snow sometimes fell in broad flakes,
and sometimes was of a powdery consistence;
peculiarities from which certain inferences were drawn
as to the severity and probable length of the storm.
In the view of modern science, under favour of the
microscope, snow is one of the most beautiful things
in the museum of nature; each particle, when duly
magnified, shewing a surprising regularity of figure,
but various ac-cording to the degree of frost by which
the snow has been produced. In the Book of Job, 'the
treasures of the snow' are spoken of; and after one
has seen the particles in this way, he is fully
disposed to allow the justice of the expression.
The indefatigable Arctic voyager, Scoresby, was the
first to observe the forms of snow particles, and for
a time it was supposed that they assumed these
remarkable figures in the polar regions alone. It was,
however, ascertained by Mr. James Glaisher, secretary
of the British Meteorological Society, that, in the
cold weather which marked the beginning of 1855, the
same and even more complicated figures were presented
in England.
In consistence, a snow particle is laminar, or
flaky, and it is when we look at it in its breadth
that the figure appears. With certain exceptions,
which probably will be in time explained away, the
figure is stellar�a star of six arms or points,
forming of course angles of 60 degrees. And sometimes
the figure is composed merely of six spiculae meeting
at a point in this regular way. It more frequently
happens, however, that the spiculae arms of the figure
are feathered with other and smaller spiculae, all
meeting their respective stems at an angle of 60
degrees, or loaded with hexagonal prisms, all of which
have of course the same angles. It is in obedience to
a law governing the crystallisation of water, that
this angle of 60 degrees everywhere prevails in the
figures of snow particles, with the slight and
probably only apparent exceptions which have been
alluded to. But while there is thus a unity in the
presiding law, the results are of infinite variety,
probably no two particles being ever precisely alike.
It is to be observed that there is a tendency to one
style of figure at any particular time of a snow-fall,
in obedience to the degree of the temperature or some
other condition of the atmosphere; yet within the
range of this style, or general character, the minute
differences may be described as end-less. A very
complicated form will even go through a series of
minor changes as it melts on the object-glass of the
observer; passing from themore complicated to the
less, till it ends, perhaps, as a simple star of six
points, just before becoming water.
The engraving on the preceding page represents a
selection of figures from ninety-six given by Dr.
Scoresby in his work on the Arctic Regions. It
includes, as will be observed, certain triangular and
other figures of apparently exceptional character. In
a brochure issued by Mr. Glaisher, and quoted below,' a
hundred and fifty-one figures are presented, many of
them paragons of geometrical beauty, and all
calculated further to illustrate this interesting
subject.
PROVERBS
REGARDING JANUARY
If the grass grows in Janiveer,
It grows the worse for 't all the year.
A January spring Is worth naething.
Under water dearth, ow bread.
March in Janiveer,
January in March, I fear
If January calends be summerly gay,
'Twill be winterly weather till the calends of
May.
The blackest month in all the year
Is the month of Janiveer.
January 1st
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