which is so appreciative of the honeysuckle that we quote it :

"When the honeysuckle first puts forth its leaves the landscape is looking dreary. The thorns, with bronzed stems, hang dripping with rain-drops; the dark leaves of the dark-leaved privet glisten near the red twigs of the cornel; while perchance some bough of the yellow osier seems like a golden rod, or some catkin of willow or hazel gives a little brightness to the scene. Brown leaves, with an occasional yellow spray, hang on the youngling oaks, and the rich crimson. leaf or stem of the bramble winds among them. But the honeysuckle leaf has about it the hopes and associations of spring-time. It is the herald of thousands of green leaves, which shall quiver on the stem and resound to the pattering rain-drops of April, and be brightened by April rainbows. Its spray is to the foliage like the daisy to the flowers and the robin to the birds the first, and therefore the fairest of its clan."

Not less welcome than its leaves in the spring are the full ripe blossoms of its luxuriant summer dress.

Then we entered upon a heavily-timbered lawn, where the sleek, red cattle stood rejoicing in the damp coolness, scarce troubling themselves to move off the gravel path out of our way.

As the trees opened out, we came in sight of Roses

bower, and well it deserved its name. Originally it had been an old farm-house, and it had been added to here and there by buildings of various styles of architecture, until it had assumed a delightfully quaint and rambling look. Along the two principal sides of the house ran a verandah, supported by wooden pillars, and along the top of the verandah and these pillars roses red, roses white, and roses yellow grew in the greatest profusion, and with the happiest effect of colour.

Near one part of the house a large wild cherry-tree grew on the shaven lawn, the red fruit trembling multitudinous among the leaves. On the left part of the house a lime-tree flung its sheltering branches over one end of the croquet-lawn, and to the right stretched the flower-gardens, resplendent in colour, and behind all were dark firs that hid the outbuildings beyond. It was a fair scene, but its greatest beauty was that it was home.

The home of one's childhood has a sacred charm about it that is never wholly effaced, even by the comforts of the new home a man forms when he marries and settles down. Happy are they who have thus two homes, and both of them pleasant ones; and pleasant is the time when the offshoot can spare its tenants for a visit to the older home.

There in the doorway stood the mother, her hands quivering with the tenderness of the welcome she had

ready for her first-born, who to her was a boy still, notwithstanding he had married a wife and had a household of his own. Father, mother, brothers, sisters, well it is when nothing occurs during the many months of absence, and through the hurry of the selfish turmoil of increasing cares, to mar your loving welcome, or dim your fond and admiring glances with aught but the mist of glad tearlets. Well may a man strive his utmost to deserve the pride you feel in him and his achievements.

Well, we were at home, and maternal solicitude suggested something to eat, and a most prolonged and charming lunch it was, with much gossip and laughter, while the rain-drops fell from the eaves on to the carpet of rose-petals, which the showers had scattered on the lawn, and the scent of Gloire de Dijon and Marshal Niel tickled our nostrils gratefully.

Then we wandered out and about, despite of the wet under foot, visiting and making friends with the cattle, the horses, and the dogs, and pacing the garden walks, duly admiring the gardener's chefs-d'œuvre, startling the cushat from the ivied tree at the end of the kitchengarden; getting wet through with the sudden showers; changing twice and getting a mighty appetite for dinner; and afterwards enjoying a cosy chat in the Pater's sanctum, a room that opened with glass doors on to the verandah. So we looked out westward over the undulating meadows and copses to the blue border hills that

now stood out sharp and clear, and then receded and were blurred with a yellow curtain of rain. The purple rain-clouds grew ragged and golden at the edges, the gloaming crept up from the weather-gleam, and the night fell peaceful and soundless, save for the recurrent grating cry of a corncrake in the long grass of the hayfield, and the scream of the whirling swifts.

II. UP WITH THE LARK.

THE window of our bedroom was left open, and the cool night air, fresh from the rain-wet woods, filled the chamber, so that our sleep was healthy, and therefore dreamless and light. At four o'clock the next morning we were broad awake, and looking out westward over the fair country. The fields were silver-grey with innumerable rain-drops, but the clouds had gone away to the northward, and a grey-blue sky and hazy weathergleam foretold the coming of a hot day. The breeze came in gentle puffs, bringing to one's nostrils the fragrance of the roses, and the heavier and richer odour of the meadow-sweet, which, in the meadow yonder, shook its cream-white clusters over the ripening hay.

The sparrows twittered and chirruped with great industry on the eaves, and the starlings preened themselves on the dovecote.

About two hundred yards from the house was a pool, small in size and shallow, but full of carp, which were at all times most difficult to catch. One side of the pool was bounded by the lane, and on the other was a field containing a savage white bull, the terror of all trespassing anglers. All day long the country urchins sat on the lane side of the pool and fished for small carp of two or three inches in length, and their persistent efforts effectually frightened the bigger fish, so that none could be caught on ordinary occasions. The previous evening, a younger brother named Herbert, a lad of seventeen, had arranged with us that we should try for them early in the morning, and hence it was that we dressed hastily and "anyhow" (oh, the delight of being able to dress "anyhow!"), and left our room with the intention of waking Herbert. Our quarters were in a portion of the house separated from the rest of the house by a distinct staircase and doors, and when past these, we had no clear idea where his room lay. So we went prospecting, creeping stealthily with stockinged feet, lest we should rouse the house, and yet it seemed to us that every oaken plank we stepped upon had a loud and distinctive creak. Listening at one door we heard a dual sound of