ison
is left at home to mount guard in their stronghold at the grove, while
the rest roam abroad to enjoy the fine weather. About sunset the
garrison gives notice of their return; their faint cawing will be
heard from a great distance, and they will be seen far off like a
sable cloud, and then nearer and nearer, until they all come soaring
home. Then they perform several grand circuits in the air over the
Hall and garden, wheeling closer and closer until they gradually
settle down, when a prodigious cawing takes place, as though they were
relating their day's adventures.

I like at such times to walk about these dusky groves, and hear the
various sounds of these airy people roosted so high above me. As the
gloom increases, their conversation subsides, and they seem to be
gradually dropping asleep; but every now and then there is a querulous
note, as if some one was quarrelling for a pillow, or a little more of
the blanket. It is late in the evening before they completely sink to
repose, and then their old anchorite neighbour, the owl, begins his
lonely hooting from his bachelor's-hall in the wood.

MAY-DAY.

It is the choice time of the year,
For the violets now appear;
Now the rose receives its birth,
And pretty primrose decks the earth.
Then to the May-pole come away,
For it is now a holiday.

--_Acteon and Diana_.

As I was lying in bed this morning, enjoying one of those half dreams,
half reveries, which are so pleasant in the country, when the birds
are singing about the window, and the sunbeams peeping through the
curtains, I was roused by the sound of music. On going down-stairs I
found a number of villagers, dressed in their holiday clothes, bearing
a pole ornamented with garlands and ribands, and accompanied by the
village band of music, under the direction of the tailor, the pale
fellow who plays on the clarionet. They had all sprigs of hawthorn,
or, as it is called, "the May," in their hats, and had brought green
branches and flowers to decorate the Hall door and windows. They had
come to give notice that the May-pole was reared on the green, and to
invite the household to witness the sports. The Hall, according to
custom, became a scene of hurry and delighted confusion. The servants
were all agog with May and music; and there was no keeping either the
tongues or the feet of the maids quiet, who were anticipating the
sports of the green and the evening dance.

I repaired t