134 MAY. 



This sweet May morning 



The children are pulling 



On every side, 



In a thousand valleys far and wide 



Fresh flowers. 



WORDSWORTH. 



We see them coming wearily into the towns 

 and villages with their pinafores full, and with 

 posies half as large as themselves. We trace 

 them in shady lanes, in the grass of far-off 

 fields by the treasures they have gathered and 

 have left behind, lured on by others still 

 brighter. As they grow up to maturity, they 

 assume, in their eyes, new characters and beau- 

 ties. Then they are strewn around them, the 

 poetry of the earth. They become invested by 

 a multitude of associations with innumerable 

 spells of power over the human heart; they 

 are to us memorials of the joys, sorrows, hopes, 

 and triumphs of our forefathers ; they are, to all 

 nations, the emblems of youth in its loveliness 

 and purity. 



The ancient Greeks, whose souls pre-emi- 

 nently sympathised with the spirit of grace 

 and beauty in every thing, were enthusiastic in 

 their love, and lavish in their use of flowers. 

 They scattered them in the porticoes of their 



