74 THROUGH GLADE AND MEAD. 
like Palmyra in the desert, nothing now remains of them 
but a name; like the baseless fabric of a dream they 
have all vanished into thin air; they cannot return. 
But in the procession of Life, which passes along 
the Summer Way in this month of July—Did not the 
Romans change the name of their fifth month, Quintilis, 
to Julius, in honor of Julius Caesar, and does not the 
very name, therefore, suggest a triumphal march?— 
we shall find the old familiar faces in the old familiar 
places. It is ever old, and yet it is ever new. It does 
not lose its charm and attractiveness for the thoughtful 
observer. It is itself constantly changing, but there is 
an element of certainty about it on which we can put a 
firm trust. In a year we hope to hear again ‘The 
Voice of the Grass” as it whispers: 
“Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere, 
By the dusty roadside, 
On the sunny hillside, 
Close by the noisy brook, 
In every shady nook, 
I come creeping, creeping everywhere.” 
When the heat of July has succeeded to the balmy 
days of June, and the green pastures are turning brown 
through the ripening of the grasses, the vernal flowers 
have mostly disappeared to give place to those of the 
