MAY, 



Lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone. 

 The flowers appear on the earth : the time of the singing of birds is 

 come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land. 



SONG OF SOLOMON, ii. 11, 12. 



HOWEVER the festivities with which our ancestors 

 hailed the opening of this month may have sunk into 

 neglect, Nature has not forsaken her festivities. She 

 still scatters flowers, and revels in dews, she still 

 loves her leafy garniture, and the bursts of unop- 

 pressive sunshine ; for, though we moderns may 

 abandon the customs of our forefathers, and may 

 even deny to May those joyous attributes with 

 which they delighted to invest her; though we 

 complain of cold winds, dull days, and frosty 

 nights, cutting down flower and leaf, and have 

 them too, yet May is a gladsome month withal. 

 Vegetation has made a proud progress, it has be- 

 come deep, lavish, and luxuriant ; and nothing can 

 be more delightful than the tender green of the 

 young hawthorn leaves. Primroses still scatter 

 their million of pale stars over shady banks, and 

 among the mossy roots of hazels; and, once more, 

 11* 



