ever I should miss that rascally sonneteer!) in any part.
Nevertheless there is something of a charm in this wintry spring,
this putting-back of the seasons. If the flower-clock must stand
still for a month or two, could it choose a better time than that of
the primroses and violets? I never remember (and for such gauds my
memory, if not very good for aught of wise or useful, may be
trusted) such an affluence of the one or such a duration of the
other. Primrosy is the epithet which this year will retain in my
recollection. Hedge, ditch, meadow, field, even the very paths and
highways, are set with them; but their chief habitat is a certain
copse, about a mile off, where they are spread like a carpet, and
where I go to visit them rather oftener than quite comports with the
dignity of a lady of mature age. I am going thither this very
afternoon, and May and her company are going too.

This Mayflower of mine is a strange animal. Instinct and imitation
make in her an approach to reason which is sometimes almost
startling. She mimics all that she sees us do, with the dexterity
of a monkey, and far more of gravity and apparent purpose; cracks
nuts and eats them; gathers currants and severs them from the stalk
with the most delicate nicety; filches and munches apples and pears;
is as dangerous in an orchard as a schoolboy; smells to flowers;
smiles at meeting; answers in a pretty lively voice when spoken to
(sad pity that the language should be unknown!) and has greatly the
advantage of us in a conversation, inasmuch as our meaning is
certainly clear to her;--all this and a thousand amusing
prettinesses (to say nothing of her canine feat of bringing her game
straight to her master's feet, and refusing to resign it to any hand
but his), does my beautiful greyhound perform untaught, by the mere
effect of imitation and sagacity. Well, May, at the end of the