In “The Months,” by Mr. Leigh Hunt, he remarks that “if February were not the precursor of spring, it would be the least pleasant season of the year, November not excepted. The thaws now take place; and a clammy mixture of moisture and cold succeeds, which is the most disagreeable of wintry sensations.” Yet so variable is our climate, that the February of 1825 broke in upon the inhabitants of the metropolis with a day or two of piercing cold, and realized a delightful description of January sparkled from the same pen. “What can be more delicately beautiful than the spectacle which sometimes salutes the eye at the breakfast-room window, occasioned by the hoar-frost dew? If a jeweller had come to dress every plant over night, to surprise an Eastern sultan, he could not produce any thing like the ‘pearly drops,’ or the ‘silvery plumage.’ An ordinary bed of greens, to those who are not at the mercy of their own vulgar associations, will sometimes look crisp and corrugated emerald, powdered with diamonds.” THE SEASON. Sunk in the vale, whose concave depth receives The waters draining from these shelvy banks When the shower beats, yon pool with pallid gleam Betrays its icy covering. From the glade Issuing in pensive file, and moving slow, The cattle, all unwitting of the change, To quench their customary thirst advance. With wondering stare and fruitless search they trace The solid margin: now bend low the head In act to drink; now with fastidious nose Snuffing the marble floor, and breathing loud, From the cold touch withdraw. Awhile they stand In disappointment mute; with ponderous feet Then bruise the surface: to each stroke the woods Reply; forth gushes the imprisoned wave. ~February 1.~ _St. Ignatius._ _St. Pionius_, A. D. 250. _St. Bridget._ _St. Kinnia._ _St. Sigebert II._ _King._ _St. Bridget._