THE QUEEN OF MAY. 
127 
sills, constantly closes its flowers about four o’clock, 
and such a regular “goto-bed,” as it is called in 
the country, is no bad emblem of Repose. The 
Convolvulus and the Briony both twine contrary 
ways, one to the sun, and the other from it; nor 
can these positions be changed ; attempt to alter 
them, and in a few hours, they will either resume 
their former spiral course, or begin to wither, and 
soon die. Something very beautiful might be 
woven out of this fact, and a new legend added 
to our wildflowers; and had I not given the pre- 
feience in this group to the May, and occupied 
my space with a description of its sweetness and 
beauty, I should have wandered wherever fancy had 
led me, in pursuit of some old-world love-story con¬ 
nected with the Convolvulus. 
Few know that there is a beautiful fragrant 
Yellow Tulip, which grows wild in our own pastoral 
England, and which may often be found in full 
flower, in the warm beds of chalk-pits, about the 
end of April, or early in May. It gives pleasure 
to me, a true lover as I am of my own country, 
to know, that we are neither indebted to Turks 
nor turbans for the origin of this splendid wild- 
flower, which was, no doubt, more plentiful in the 
days of our old Elizabethan poets, and which is 
mentioned in Ben Jonson’s “Pan’s Anniversary” 
by the very name it still bears. The gaudy Tulip 
