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Mavtime ! Beloved of poets, when the beauty of the young 

 year is at its gayest and brightest ; when breezes are soft, and 

 skies are blue ; and when everywhere around us is the 

 sweetness and fragrance of flowering bush and tree. 



Our garden shows glorious masses of colour. Mauve 



and white lilac ; rhododendrons ; azaleas ; the lovely syringa 



throws its perfume around ; the laburnum's yellow tassels 



(or gold rain, as the Germans aptly term it) are mingling 



with the rosy ma\'. 



Tlie lawn, studded with [jink-tipped daisies, is at once the despair of 



the gardener and the delight of ourselves. But even the beauties of the 



garden, alluring as they are, cannot keep us at home on this bright May 



morning, when the voice of wild Nature is calling — 



" When maytlies haunt the willow. 

 When may-buds tempt the bee." 



Many of our favourite field paths and grassy lanes, impassable 

 during the winter months, are accessible once more ; still rather heavy 

 walking, perhaps ; but who thinks of such a trivial incoi:venience when 

 one is out " a-maying " .' 



You must, I am afraid, put up with muddy boots if you go for a 

 spring ramble with me ! Indeed, it has always been a proverb in our 

 family that, if ever I led an excursion, or showed a newly-discovered 

 footpath, it was certain to lead the unlucky person who was rash enough 

 to follow my guidance, into the muddiest, stickiest spot to be found for 

 miles round ; and certainly I must confess the accusation is not entirely 

 without foundation ! Do not some of our most beautiful wild plants 

 choose the boggiest situations for their homes ? And I was always so 

 anxious to seek them out, and show them to my friends, that I fear I 

 had very little consideration for the appearance of the latter ! I knew 



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