The ears of rye become visible in this month, bursting through their long flag-like sheaths: the spring corn has broken from the loose earth, and waves in the wind down the long furrows like immense sheets of green silk. The sap begins to flow through the trees, and the woodman is busied in stripping the bark from their long trunks. No one unacquainted with woodscenery can imagine the rich odour that arises from a newlyfelled tree;—the green boughs resign their breath with a sweet fragrance-they die

"In the odour of sanctity."

I dislike to see these ancient druids prostrated, these

"Green-robed senators of mighty woods,"

as Keats has happily called them. It is a sad sight to see their beautiful branches scattered around the gigantic bole which, like an affectionate parent, had so long nurtured them; and the crimson chips showered in every direction, as if staining the tender grass; while all their "budding honours" look withered and mournful, and will never again shelter the gentle dove or the lute-tongued nightingale! Still the iron trunk has its glory, and will bear the dreaded thunder of Britain over stormy seas, and growl defiance in the face of our enemies, nor remember its quiet home in the green forest.

How beautiful appears an old English park, with its long lines of moss-covered walls extending for miles, built of small bricks, and upheld against the crumbling finger of Time by massy buttresses! We look through the huge iron gates that swing upon the tall stone pillars, each crowned with a couchant greyhound, and see the long carriage-path, overhung with its noble rows of elms, with here and there a sunbeam bursting through the branches and making the yellow gravel glitter like gold. Farther down is seen an old fountain pouring its clear stream into a large conch-shell of granite, while a stony Triton bends above it, as if for ever listening to the music-making waters. We hear the low murmuring, and the air around us

feels cooler at the sound, as if we felt the silver spray playing upon our cheek. Above the dead-eyed Triton, round whose brow the green ivy has twined, stands a peacock with his gorgeous train expanded, screaming at intervals, and drowning the fountain's sound. We see the ancient oaks rearing their gnarled arms over the hills and valleys, and extending their shadows to the fern and gorse, and golden broom, standing with their burnished helmets in the sunlight. Occasionally we catch a glimpse of some stately swan arching its silver neck and scudding along the broad lake, just descried by the straggling beam that sleeps upon its surface, glinting between the trees above the tall rushes that skirt its margin. Herds of deer are also scattered in picturesque positions, some lifting up their antlered heads and browsing upon the young branches that fall within their reach, while others lie upon the cool grass beneath the deep umbrage of old trees, or are trooping through the open glades at full speed, now glancing by some winding avenue, then bounding over some distant hillock, and anon lost in the far-off thicket.

We hear the cawing of rooks as they hover round their airy city, buried in the rich foliage of the elms. The soft coo of the ringdove comes upon the whispering wind that sweeps lazily by us laden with the perfume of the woodbine, which floated on with that mourning sound. The lowing of kine reaches üs from some rich pasture hidden from our sight by the clustering beeches; we see the long-eared hare nestling on her seat in a tuft of high grass, or the rabbit hopping across some footpath, and hastening to its burrow in the sandbank by the young plantation; and the hawk wheeling above the summit of the gnarled hawthorn, or poising himself over his prey, and then dropping like a plummet from our sight; while the heron wafts herself above the tops of the tall pines, now seen for a moment sweeping over a sea of branches, then vanishing in the distance, or alighting by the still lakes in quest of food. We see portions of the old Hall through the openings of the trees; here a

turret arises, towering above the topmost bough of a large oak; there a stack of chimneys are seen, the blue smoke curling in fantastic wreaths between the foliage; while glimpses of lawns and shrubberies, and grey pillars, and glittering windows, and the cackling of hens, and the gabbling of ducks, and the deep baying of the mastiff, and the low bleating of some pet lamb, tell us that wealth, and happiness, and beauty, with all pleasant sights and sounds, are embosomed among the tall trees.

"There, plunged amid the shadows brown,
Imagination lays him down,

Attentive, in his airy mood,
To every murmur of the wood;
The bee in yonder flowery nook,
The chidings of the headlong brook,
The green leaf shivering in the gale,
The warbling hills, the lowing vale,
The distant woodman's echoing stroke,

The thunder of the falling oak."

Who would wish to live without flowers? Where would the poet fly for his images of beauty if they were to perish for ever? Are they not the emblems of loveliness and innocencethe living types of all that is pleasing and graceful? We compare young lips to the rose, and the white brow to the radiant lily; the winning eye gathers its glow from the violet, and the sweet voice is like a breeze kissing its way through the flowers. We hang delicate blossoms on the silken ringlets of the young bride, and strew her path with the fragrant bells, when she leaves the church. We place them around the marble face of the dead in the narrow coffin, and they become symbols of our affections pleasures remembered and hopes faded, wishes flown, and scenes cherished the more that they can never return. Still we look to the far-off spring in other valleys-to the eternal summer beyond the grave, when the flowers which have faded shall again bloom in starry fields, where no rude winter can intrude. They come upon us in spring like the

recollections of a dream, which hovered above us in sleep peopled with shadowy beauties, and purple delights, fancybroidered. Sweet flowers! that bring before our eyes scenes of childhood-faces remembered in youth, when Love was a stranger to himself! The mossy bank by the wayside, where we so often sat for hours drinking in the beauty of the primroses with our eyes; the sheltered glen, darkly green, filled with the perfume of violets, that shone in their intense blue like another sky spread upon the earth; the laughter of merry voices; the sweet song of the maiden-the downcast eye, the spreading blush, the kiss ashamed at its own sound,—are all brought back to the memory by a flower. Listen to Milton's beautiful description of flowers and cool green shades.

And again,

Of thickest covert was inwoven shade
Laurel and myrtle, and what higher grew

Of firm and fragrant leaf; on either side
Acanthus, and each odorous bushy shrub,

Fenced up the verdant wall; each beauteous flower,

Iris all hues, roses, and jessamin,

Rear'd high their flourish'd heads between, and wrought

Mosaic; under foot the violet,

Crocus, and hyacinth, with rich inlay

Broider'd the ground, more colour'd than with stone

Of costliest emblem."

"Here in close recess,

With flowers, garlands, and sweet-smelling herbs,
Espoused Eve deck'd first her nuptial bed."

"Veil'd in a cloud of fragrance, where she stood,

Half spied, so thick the roses blushing round

About her glow'd, oft stooping to support

Each flower of slender stalk, whose head, though gay
Carnation, purple, azure, or speck'd with gold,
Hung drooping unstain'd; them she upstays
Gently with myrtle band, mindless the while
Herself, though fairest unsupported flower."
"Flowers worthy of Paradise, which not nice Art
In beds and curious knots, but Nature boon

Pour'd forth profuse on hill, and dale, and plain,
Both where the morning sun first warmly smote
The open field, and where the unpierced shade
Imbrown'd the noontide bowers: thus was this place
A happy rural seat of various view;

Groves whose rich trees wept odorous gum and balm ;
Others, whose fruit, burnish'd with golden rind,
Hung amiable, Hesperian fables true,

If true, here only, and of delicious taste :
Betwixt them lawns, or level downs, and flocks
Grazing the tender herb, were interposed,

Or palmy hillock; or the flowery lap

Of some irriguous valley spread her store,

Flowers of all hue, and without thorn the rose."

Gentle reader, we have catered for thee through many a goodly volume-have turned over wearily many a page, extracting like the bee the honey from them. Fain would we tempt thee into the country: yea! if thou livest in the metropolis, we would fain allure thee to visit its suburbs at this season of the year, for there thou wilt find much to delight thee. Hearken to old Bergerac while he gives thee a rural description, which we slightly modernise.

"At the door of the house you meet with a walk with fine avenues, in figure like a star. The oaks that compose it make one with ecstasy admire the height of their tops, raising one's eyes from the root to the column, then precipitating them down again. One doubts whether the earth bears them, and whether or no they carry not the earth at their roots: you would think that their proud heads are forced to bend under the weight of the heavenly globes, which burden they with groaning support; their arms stretched towards heaven, embracing it, seem to beg of the stars their influences altogether pure, and to receive them before they have at all lost their innocence in the bed of the elements. There on every side the flowers, having had no other gardener but Nature, send a sharp breath, that quickens and satisfies the smell. The sweet innocence of