THE CLERK OF THE* WOODS 



A SHORT MONTH 



MAY is the shortest month in the year. 

 February is at least twice as long. For a 

 month is like a movement of a symphony; 

 and when we speak of the length of a piece 

 of music we are not thinking of the number 

 of notes in it, but of the time it takes to 

 play them. May is a scherzo, and goes like 

 the wind. Yesterday it was just beginning, 

 and to-day it is almost done. " If we could 

 only hold it back ! " an outdoor friend of 

 mine used to say. And I say so, too. At 

 the most generous calculation I cannot have 

 more than a hundred more of such months 

 to hope for, and I wish the Master's baton 

 would not hurry the tempo. But who knows ? 

 Perhaps there will be another series of con- 

 certs, in a better music hall. 



The world hereabout will never be more 



