Prim little scholars are the flowers of her garden, 

 Trained to stand in rows and asking if they please*** 



GEORGE MEREDITH. 



MAY 



is the time when the hawthorns don their robes 

 of purest white, when field and meadow spread their 

 lustrous cloth of gold, when, to use Shakespeare's words, 

 " The air, this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestical 

 covering is fretted with golden fire." Of this pleasant season 

 Swinburne again sings : 



" In hawthorn-time the heart is light, 

 The world is sweet in sound and sight, 

 Glad thoughts and birds take flower and flight." 



Our Laureate, too, is very lavish in his praises of this delight- 

 ful season, and especially so of the time 



" When the hawthorn all ablow, 

 Mimics the defeated snow." 



Now are the swallows busy gathering material with which 

 to build their homes beneath our eaves. Watch them at the 

 edge of stream and pond ; with what a will they work, darting 

 to and fro from eave to stream, flashing in the sunlight, out- 

 racing the wind ! Gardens are starred with tufts of London 

 pride, their twinkling blossoms dancing merrily in the breeze ; 

 the lupins are showing colour ; no garden seems perfect with- 

 out their beautiful spikes. I do love them ! 



While reading to-day a little volume of tender verses 

 by Lizette Woodward Reese, entitled "A Handful of 



106 



