DKVOTRC TO AO-RtCTJLTITRE, HOKTICULTITKE, AifD KTNDHED ABTS. 



m^Y SERIES. 



Boston, May, ISvl, 



VOL. v.— x\0. 5 



R, P. EATON & CO., pLr.r.tsHERs, 

 Officie, 34 Merchants' lio\\\ 



MONTHr.Y. 



S. FLETCHKlt, \ EoiTORS. 



MAY, AND MAY REYEI^BIES. 



"Violets, blue viok-ts— 

 Meekly around the door-stone springiug, 

 A Uttlg rose la the liUtice clinging, 



Or o'er the door; 

 Are ever -whispering some graceful tViing 

 As the foot ou the tbreshold is wandering 

 Carelessly o'er." 



£. Barnard Thorp. 



y-os thi-s pleas- 

 ant motit-h of 

 May, how ma- 

 ny fine pro.se 

 articles and im- 

 pressive poems 

 have been writ- 

 ten. Xo other 

 moiith stirs up 

 within us such 

 feelings of joy 

 as this. Not 

 because, as a 

 vrhole, it exceeds all the others, but because 

 it has some days reminding us of the joyous 

 realizations of -which Milton and Thomson, 

 and other of the gyand poets have so siveetly 

 sung, or of the Elysian fields which nestle 

 under the mountains on the northern shores of 

 the Mediterranean sea, where the invalid 

 breathes soft and dry airs, while listening to 

 the ever restless and surging waters. Those 

 bright days call up the descriptions by' travel- 

 lers of the charming Mentonian amphitheatre 

 at the head of the gulf of Genoa, where invalids 

 and travellers are glad to rest under the lemon 

 and olive-clad hills of the lonelvtown, Mentone. 



Such days are transient, it is true, but they 

 impress every feeling heart -with an undcfinablc 

 sense of Joy which no lapse of time can eradi- 

 cate. Like the life of a good man, the month 

 of Ma^ is not all sunshine and sparkling with 

 gems, but has it<s clouds and storms and nip- 

 ping frosts i and it is altogether more beautiful 

 from the very coiitra.-sts which these chaiH^es 

 afford. 



A charming and instructive English writer, 

 in speaking of the seasons, says, ' ' Spring is 

 with us once more, pacing the earth in all the 

 primal pomp of her beauty, with flowers and 

 soft airs, and the songs of birds evervwhere 

 about her, and tlie blue sky and the bright 

 clouds above. But tbere is one tiling wanting 

 to give that completeness to her advent which 

 belonged to it in the olden times, and without 

 which it is like a beautiful flower without scent, 

 or a beautiful face without a soul. The voice 

 of man is no longer hea,rd hailing her ap- 

 proach as site hastens to bless him ; and his 

 choral symphonies no longer meet and bless 

 hei- in return — bless her by letting her behold 

 and hear the happiness that she comes to create. 

 The soft songs of women are no longer blend- 

 ed with her breath as it whispers amono- the 

 new leaves ; their slender feet no longer trace 

 her footsteps in the fields and woods and way- 

 side copses, or dance delighted measures round 

 the flowery offerings that she prompted their 

 lovers to place before them on the village 

 green. Even the little children themselves 



