" A garden is a lovesome thing, God wot*** 



H. F. BROWN. 



JULY 



TT7ITH July the long days of 



" Summer with sweet hours " 



are born. Fresh and fair it awakens from its short slumber. 

 Over the sundawn summer garden the opal mists are spread, 

 lying calm and still, and it is here that the birth of the day 

 first becomes visible ; the wind bears the happy message to 

 the scented shadowy ways of the garden filled with dew- 

 scattered blossoms. The hollyhocks gracefully wave their 

 towering spikes, the lilies tremble with joyous emotion. The 

 morning breeze hastens its glad news, making the distant 

 poppied wheat rustle, and its breast like to a sea heaving 

 with emerald wave. Never more fair than at morn are 

 meadow and hedge -bank with the newly-opened stars of 

 mallow and musk-mallow, white and pale pink yarrow, tufted 

 purple vetch, and meadow vetchling. Everywhere is beauty : 

 each flower, each tiny drop of dew adds its loveliness ; mari- 

 golds glittering by cottage doors ; pure white lilies guarding 

 peaceful paths ; shy jasmine gathering courage, its twinkling 

 white stars wooing radiance from the dawn, lighting its heaven 

 of green leaves ; and so beauty passes through the world until 

 the hour of sundown, when the long day wanes. Over the 

 sundown meadows, fragrant with new-mown grass, the 

 swallows gather, and insects on the wing glitter like tiny 

 specks of luminous gold in the air, as they gather in clusters 

 along the river side, where now blossom the yellow flag amid 



