Rather against the grain, I engaged Phillis. I was too ill to lose time, and too ill to superintend her first start, consequently she fell into her own way of doing things, and will not now adopt any improvement on them without more exertion of authority on my part than I often feel inclined for. I put up with her—and, perhaps, she puts up with me. * * * * * After living many of my earlier years neither in town nor country, but in one of the western suburbs of London, I cannot express the pleasure with which I hailed the novelty of a real country life. To exchange a house in a row for a detached dwelling, in the midst of hills, copses, and cow-pastures, was so delightful as to afford some compensation for removing far away from many whom I dearly loved. Seven years my good husband and I shared in tranquil married happiness; and, as he had previously been a busy man in the city, the country was as new to him as to me. It is a good thing for leisurely people, of whatever age, to acquire the habit of noting down what they observe of interest, in a new position. To such a habit, we owe the rich storehouse of John Evelyn’s “Journal,” and White’s “Natural History of Selborne;” two books which, perhaps, no country but England could have produced. On going to Nutfield, I resolved to observe everything, try many an experiment, keep a note-book, and ask many questions. We obtained possession of our house at Christmas; but did not go down to it till the middle of February. In that month (as I failed not to enter in my journal) the white wagtail re-appears, the woodlark, thrush, and chaffinch begin to sing, rooks and partridges to pair, and geese to lay. Mr. Cheerlove told me that the clamorous rook, the cheerful cuckoo, the swift-darting marten, and the lively, sociable little red-breast, had been called the birds of the four seasons. We arrived at Nutfield in the rooks’ honeymoon. The first thing that struck us was the air. How cold, but how fresh it was! How clear and free from smoke the atmosphere! A thin blue mist rose from the ground, but it was but the ghost of a London fog. Then again, as Mr. Cheerlove remarked, the dirt, plentiful as it was, merely consisted of earth and water mixed together, without any abominable additions, and, compared with London mire, might even be called _clean_ dirt. The leafless condition of the trees gave us the opportunity of admiring the forms of their branches—the gradual and beautiful decrease of size and increase of delicacy between the sturdy trunks and the smallest twigs. The landscape was not destitute of green: the grass, though scanty and coarse, still retained its colour, and much of the growing wood was coated with fine moss; while the glossy laurel and cheerful holly contrasted with the sober laurustinus. Here and there, in the garden, we found a snowdrop, a hepatica, a yellow aconite, a Christmas rose, and a few sweet-scented blossoms of the alpine coltsfoot.