you; the town-butterflies, white, blue, and gold, 'wheel and shine' and
flutter from shop to shop, suddenly resurgent from their winter
wardrobes as from a chrysalis; bright eyes flash and flirt along the
merry, jostling street, while the sun pours out his golden wine
overhead, splashing it about from gilded domes and bright-faced
windows--and ever are the voices at the corners and the crossings
calling out the sweet flower-names of the spring!

* * * * *

But here in the country it is still all rain and iron. I am tired of
waiting for this slow-moving provincial spring. Let us to the town to
meet the spring--for:

They've taken all the spring from the country to the town--
Like the butter and the eggs, and the milk from the cow;
And if you want a primrose, you write to London now,
And if you need a nightingale, well,--Whiteley sends it down.




THE GREAT MERRY-GO-ROUND


In an age curious of new pleasures, the merry-go-round seems still to
maintain its ancient popularity. I was the other day the delighted,
indeed the fascinated, spectator of one in full swing in an old
Thames-side town. It was a very superior example, with a central musical
engine of extraordinary splendour, and horses that actually curveted, as