“ All in ye Merrie Month of May ” 
although this is a common dish with the French, and I 
believe also with the Dutch, and used to appear on English 
tables in the last century (or, in order to be certain of being 
correct, let me say one hundred years ago), it seems now to 
be unknown to most English people ; at least I remember 
taking the trouble once to collect the tender leaves and mix 
an oil and vinegar salad according to an old French family 
recipe, only to find the outlandish dish looked at askance. 
Although it has lovely flowers it is of no use to pick them, 
as they wilt directly, as I found out when, on first coming 
to Scotland, I plucked them eagerly, and thought them such 
a find in the lack of flowers in early spring. In “ Hiawatha” 
there is such a pretty word-picture of the south wind, 
“ Shawondasee,” longing silently for the maid with hair like 
sunshine and, finally sighing such portentous sighs, he puffed 
her away for ever. “ Blowballs,” sometimes children call 
them ; while “ Priest’s Crown ” was an old name with their 
elders. It is unlucky to dream of a Dandelion, but why I 
do not know. The Dandelion, also, has pretensions to 
being a weather-prophet, as there is an old belief that if the 
down fly when there is no wind it means rain is coming. 
It is curious how in far-off lands even weeds attain to 
honour. I have heard a story how in some Antipodean 
flower-show a wandering Englishman was surprised to see a 
humble Dandelion in a place of honour as a distinguished 
stranger, carefully labelled Leontodon taraxacum . After 
that the unhallowed reputation of Witches’ Gowan, as a 
name it bore some time in Scotland, is scarcely worth 
noting in these sceptical days. Only it is curious how 
often yellow flowers are of an evil repute ; yet yellow, the 
primitive colour, is the first spring tint to show. “ And 
that’s food for Hugi,” or Thought. 
May 8. — A real spring day; warm and sunny. We 
spread ourselves over the woodland banks after Primroses, 
and then had tea in the Rose-garden, sitting up among the 
Hyacinths and Tulips. There was a delicious scent of new- 
mown hay, as the grass had just been mown. The sound 
of the mower sharpening his scythe is almost a lost sound 
