52 IN THE DAYS OF 



The sun is in his most generous mood, 

 and over the fresh green reeds and blos- 

 soming irises which fringe the water 

 dragon-fliesinburnishedarmour of cop- 

 per and green are poised on scintillating 

 wings in the still air. Unseen warblers 

 are making merry in the tangle of bram- 

 ble and meadow-sweet ; the marsh, 

 where the homely corncrake is uttering 

 her vibrating notes, is starred with wild 

 orchises, marsh marigolds, and broad- 

 rayed daisies, and the musk and water- 

 mint fill the heavy air with a drowsy 

 fragrance. It is the time of roses, of 

 summer's prime. 



Presently, in the green shade beneath 

 a hawthorn bush, the water is dimpled 

 by something that rises to the surface. 

 At a distance it is not unlike a chip of 

 muddy, decayed wood ; but almost im- 

 mediately it splits from end to end, a 

 May-fly emerges, and, resting upon its 

 old shell and stretching out its beautiful, 



