This morning, when I first caught sight of the unfamiliar whitened world, I could not help wishing that we had snow oftener, that English winters were more wintry. How delightful it would be, I thought, to have months of clean snow and a landscape sparkling with frost instead of innumerable grey featureless days of rain and raw winds. I began to envy my friends in such places as the Eastern States of America and Canada, who can count upon a solid winter every year and know that the snow will arrive by a certain date and will remain, without degenerating into black slush, until Spring is close at hand. To have snow and frost and yet a clear sunny sky and air as crisp as a biscuit – this seemed to me happiness indeed. And then I saw that it would never do for us. We should be sick of it in a week. After the first day, the magic would be gone and there would be nothing left but the unchanging glare of the day and the bitter cruel nights. It is not the snow itself, the sight of the blanketed world, that is so enchanting, but the first coming of the snow, the sudden and silent change. Out of the relations, for ever shifting and unanticipated, of wind and water comes a magical event. Who would change this state of things for a steadily recurring round, an earth governed by the calendar? It has been well said that while other countries have a climate, we alone in England have weather. There is nothing duller than climate, which can be converted into a topic only by scientists and hypochondriacs. But weather is our earth’s Cleopatra, and it is not to be wondered at that we, who must share her gigantic moods, should be for ever talking about her. Once we were settled in America, Siberia, Australia, where there is nothing but a steady pact between climate and the calendar, we should regret her very naughtinesses, her willful pranks, her gusts of rage, and sudden tears. Waking in a morning would no longer be an adventure. Our weather may be fickle, but it is no more fickle than we are, and only matches our inconstancy with her changes. Sun, wind, snow, rain, how welcome they are at first and how soon we grow weary of them! If this snow lasts a week, I shall be heartily sick of it and glad to speed its going. But its coming has been an event. Today has had a quality, an atmosphere, quite different from that of yesterday, and I have moved through it feeling a slightly different person, as if I were staying with new friends or had suddenly arrived in Norway. A man might easily spend five hundred pounds trying to break the crust of indifference in his mind, and yet feel less than I did this morning.考生如果怕自己錯過考試報名時間和考試時間的話，可以 免費預約短信提醒，屆時會以短信的方式提醒大家報名和考試時間。

所以今天早上我初次望見這個不很常見的銀白世界時，我不禁衷心希望這里的雪能多下幾場，這樣我們英國的冬天才能更增添幾分冬天味道。我想，如果我們這里經常是個冰雪積月、霜華璀璨的景象，而不是像現在這種苦雨凄風永無盡期的陰沉而乏特色的日子，那該多么令人喜悅啊!我于是羨慕起我那些居住在美國東部各州和加拿大的友人來了，他們那里年年都能指望上一個像樣的冬天，都能說得出降雪的準確日期，并能保證，直至大地春回之前，那里的雪絕無退化為黑色泥漿的可能。既有霜雪，又有晴朗溫煦的天空，而且空氣又非常涼爽清新——這在我看來實在是很大的快樂。但馬上我又覺得這樣還是不行。不消一周人們就會對它感到厭煩。甚至一兩天后魔力便會消失，剩下的唯有白晝那種永無變化的耀眼陽光與刺骨嚴寒和凄涼的夜晚。看來真正迷人的地方并不在雪的本身，不在這個冰雪覆蓋的景象，而在它的初降，在這突然而靜悄的變化。正是從風風雨雨這類變幻無常和難以預期的關系之中才會出現這種以降雪為奇跡的情形。誰又肯把眼前這般景色拿去換上一個永遠周而復始的單調局面，一個全由年歷來控制的大地。有一句說的好，別的國家都有氣候，唯有英國才有天氣。其實天下再沒有比氣候更枯燥乏味的了，或許只有科學家和疑病癥患者才會把它當作話題。但是天氣卻是我們這塊土地上的克里奧佩特拉，因而毫不奇怪，人們?yōu)樗薮笄榫w變化所左右，總不免要對她竊竊私議。假如一旦我們定居于亞美利加、西伯利亞或澳大利亞――而那里氣候與年歷之間早已有成約在先，我們即使僅僅因為失去她的調皮，她的胡鬧，她的狂忿盛怒與涕泣漣漣也會深感遺憾。那時早晨醒來將不再成其為一種歷險。我們的天氣也許有點反復無常，但我們自己也未必比它好多少，實際上我們的反復與她的無常恰好相配。談起日、風、雪、雨，它們起初是多么受人歡迎，但是曾幾何時，我們便對它們產生厭倦。如果這場雪下上一周，我肯定會對它厭煩得要死，巴不得它能早些離開才好。但它的降臨卻是一件大事。今天這一天即具有著一種風味，一種氣氛，全然不同于昨天，而我活動其中，也使我感到自己與此前略有不同，恍如與新朋相晤，又恍如忽抵挪威。一個人盡可以為了打破一下心頭的郁結而所費不貲，但論及感受，恐仍不如我今日午前感受之深。

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