WINTER relaxing its hold, has already allowd us a foretaste of spring. As I write, yesterday afternoons softness and brightness, (after the morning fog, which gave it a better setting, by contrast,) showd Chestnut streetsay between Broad and Fourthto more advantage in its various asides, and all its stores, and gay-dressd crowds generally, than for three months past. I took a walk there between one and two. Doubtless, there were plenty of hard-up folks along the pavements, but nine-tenths of the myriad-moving human panorama to all appearance seemd flush, well-fed, and fully-provided. At all events it was good to be on Chestnut street yesterday. The peddlers on the sidewalk(sleeve-buttons, three for five cents)the handsome little fellow with canary-bird whistlesthe cane men, toy men, toothpick menthe old woman squatted in a heap on the cold stone flags, with her basket of matches, pins and tapethe young negro mother, sitting, begging, with her two little coffee-colord twins on her lapthe beauty of the crammd conservatory of rare flowers, flaunting reds, yellows, snowy lilies, incredible orchids, at the Baldwin mansion near Twelfth streetthe show of fine poultry, beef, fish, at the restaurantsthe china stores, with glass and statuettesthe luscious tropical fruitsthe street cars plodding along, with their tintinnabulating bellsthe fat, cab-looking, rapidly driven one-horse vehicles of the post-office, squeezd full of coming or going letter-carriers, so healthy and handsome and manly-looking, in their gray uniformsthe costly books, pictures, curiosities, in the windowsthe gigantic policemen at most of the cornerswill all be readily rememberd and recognized as features of this principal avenue of Philadelphia. Chestnut street, I have discoverd, is not without individuality, and its own points, even when compared with the great promenade-streets of other cities. I have never been in Europe, but acquired years familiar experience with New Yorks, (perhaps the worlds,) great thoroughfare, Broadway, and possess to some extent a personal and saunterers knowledge of St. Charles street in New Orleans, Tremont street in Boston, and the broad trottoirs of Pennsylvania avenue in Washington. Of course it is a pity that Chestnut were not two or three times wider; but the street, any fine day, shows vividness, motion, variety, not easily to be surpassd. (Sparkling eyes, human faces, magnetism, welldressd women, ambulating to and frowith lots of fine things in the windowsare they not about the same, the civilized world over?)
A few days ago one of the six-story clothing stores along here had the space inside its plate-glass show-window partitiond into a little corral, and litterd deeply with rich clover and hay, (I could smell the odor outside,) on which reposed two magnificent fat sheep, full-sized but youngthe handsomest creatures of the kind I ever saw. I stoppd long and long, with the crowd, to view themone lying down chewing the cud, and one standing up, looking out, with dense-fringed patient eyes. Their wool, of a clear tawny color, with streaks of glistening blackaltogether a queer sight amidst that crowded promenade of dandies, dollars and drygoods.