BY LEAFY WAYS. 



r ~PHE fickleness of OUT English summer has ever 



been a theme for satirist and cynic, and of all 



seasons of the year June is perhaps the most inconstant. 



But when she is in her right mind she is the Queen 

 of months ; if others keep a more even temper, no 

 other wears a face so fair. And although at times she 

 is coy and wayward she is always prompt to make 

 generous atonement by moods of added sweetness. 



No other season can compare for a moment with 



' . . . . the grace, 



The golden smile of June ; 

 With bloom and sun in eve r y place, 

 And all the world in tune.' 



Untouched by the scythe of the mower shines the 

 golden glory of the meadows. 



The lanes are white with hawthorn. Wild roses 

 blossom fresh each morning along the dusty hedgerow. 

 The woodland paths are lighted with clumps of fiery 



