Many of the Poet’s darlings have depai’ted with the early 
Spring-time. Snowdrops, Primroses, Violets, Dadodils, Cow- 
slqts, and Hawthorn have passed away; though the latter 
sometimes lingers among us, as if to show that May and June 
may live together. And when the last snowy blossoms fall 
winnowing down and wither, the hedges are decked with new 
chaplets of luscious Honeysuckles, which, in shady spots, where 
the sun’s loving kisses have not called a blush upon their deli¬ 
cate complexions, are pale lined; but when free to catch 
his meny glances, they are brightly tinged with red. The 
Eglantine, too, or Wild Rose, stretches forth its thorny, arched 
branches across many a narrow lane, turning it into a natural 
arcade; and though the verdant canopy is not always lofty 
enough for an uncrouchable six foot cavalier to pass under, 
who would not carefully avoid deranging the beautiful bower ? 
gemmed, as it is, with the “ quaint enamelled eyes” of the 
fair roses, whose soft petals are scarcely painted, but slightly 
tinged with the most delicate pink, not positive enough to seem 
the colour of the flower, but like a blush or reflected glow, 
and redolent of an odour as appropriate to their own fragile 
beauty, as is a soft sweet voice to the lovely and fairy-like 
fonn of a young and gentle maiden. 
There are many kinds of the wilding Rosebriar, and the 
colour varies in the different species from pearly white to deep 
crimson, but those I have most frequently gathered in my 
own fair county of Warwick, have been the light pink, though 
the pure white are also abundant in many situations. 
How truly delicious is a quiet shady lane in Summer! I 
