no HILLSIDE, ROCK, AND DALE 



back like a flash to that old ivy-covered post near the 

 pathway in the wood. Once more, like a panoramic 

 scene, the pageant seems again to pass. I seem to 

 see snowdrops nodding on the ground, and the 

 celandine and primroses blooming among their 

 springtide surroundings. Violets flower and fade, 

 and the cry of the cuckoo and songs of warblers are 

 heard. Doves are cooing to their mates, and 

 swallows are twittering over blossom-covered trees. 

 Children in the meadows are making ringlets of 

 buttercups, and skylarks sing overhead. I look upon 

 the wild roses of summer and then upon fields of 

 standing corn ripening in the August sun ; the 

 woods again have a touch of autumn's painting, 

 and I seem again to be walking through the avenues 

 of bracken. But alas! A robin near suddenly 

 breaks this reverie with a plaintive little song, and 

 I see that the seasons I love so much have gone. 

 The open space in front is now becoming whiter 

 every minute, and the broken-down stalks of bracken 

 will soon be hidden by snow. Then right onward, 



v O 



with resistless power, the forces of Old Winter seem 

 to hold the land, inclosing it in icy fetters, which 

 means death to so much in the animal and vegetable 

 world. At length the time will come when once 

 again the "wind-flower" will bloom, and the prim- 

 rose flower and all living creatures will once more 

 hail the beginning again of the Pageant of the 

 Seasons with delight and song, 



