haste" and gave to David. Two hundred loaves, and two bottles of wine, and five sheep ready dressed, and five measures of parched corn, and a hundred clusters of raisins, and two hundred cakes of figs: and it is added, "Behold Nabal held a feast in his house, like the feast of a king."-SAMUEL, ch. xxv.

Such was the custom in this country in the old-fashioned days. It was a time of merrymaking the maidens, in their best attire, waited on the shearers to receive and roll up the fleeces. A feast was made, and king and queen elected; or, according to Drayton's Polyolbion, the king was pre-elected by a fortunate cir

cumstance.

The Shepherd-king,

Whose flock hath chanced that year the earliest lamb to

bring,

In his gay baldric sits at his low, grassy board,

With flawns, curds, clouted cream, and country dainties

stored;

And, while the bagpipes play, each lusty, jocund swain
Quaffs syllabubs in cans, to all upon the plain;
And to their country girls, whose nosegays they do wear;
Some roundelays do sing, the rest the burden bear.

Like most of our old festivities, however, this has, of late years, declined; yet two instances in which it has been attempted to keep it alive, on a noble scale, worthy of a country so renowned for its flocks and fleeces, will occur to the reader-those of Holkham and Woburn:

and in the wilds of Scotland, and the more rural parts of England, the ancient glory of sheep-shearing has not entirely departed. And, indeed, its picturesqueness can never depart, however its jollity may. The sheep-washing, however, which precedes the shearing, has more of rural beauty about it. As we stroll over some sunny heath or descend into some sylvan valley in this sweet month, we are apt to come upon such scenes.

We hear afar off the bleat

ing of flocks; as we approach some clear stream, we behold the sheep penned on its banks; in mid-stream stand sturdy hinds ready to receive. them as they are plunged in, one by one, and after squeezing their saturated fleeces well between their hands, and giving them one good submersion, they guide them to the opposite bank. The clear running waters, the quiet fields, the whispering fresh boughs that thicken around, and the poor dripping creatures themselves, that, after giving themselves a staggering shake, go off gladly to their pasture, form to the eye an animated and pleasant tout ensemble.

WILD FLOWERS AND THEIR ANCIENT NAMES. Amongst the most interesting wild flowers now in full bloom, are the dog-rose, the pimpernel, thyme, and white bryony. The last is one of our most elegant plants. Running up in the space of a month, over a great extent of hedge or thicket, and covering it with its long twining

Many of our

from the sim

stems, spiral tendrils, green vine-like leaves, and graceful flowers, in a beautiful style of luxuriance, it is deserving more notice than it has yet received, and seems well calculated for clothing bowers and trellis-work. wild flowers derive much interest ple and poetical names given them by our rural ancestors as the wind-flower; the snap-dragon; the shepherd's-purse; the bird's-eye; the foxglove; the blue-bell; cuckoo-flower; adder'stongue, and hart's-tongue; goldy-locks; honesty; heart's-ease; true-love; way-bread, and way-faring tree, etc. Many also bear the traces of their religious feelings; and still more remind us of the religious orders by whom they were made articles of their materia medica, or materia sancta, each flower being dedicated to that saint near whose day it happened to blow.

HOLY FLOWERS.

Woe's me-how knowledge makes forlorn;
The forest and the field are shorn

Of their old growth, the holy flowers ;

Or if they spring, they are not ours.
In ancient days the peasant saw
Them growing in the woodland shaw,
And bending to his daily toil,
Beheld them deck the leafy soil;
They sprang around his cottage door;
He saw them on the heathy moor;
Within the forest's twilight glade,
Where the wild deer its covert made;

In the green vale, remote and still,
And gleaming on the ancient hill.
The days are distant now, gone by
With the old times of minstrelsy,
When all unblest with written lore,
Were treasured up traditions hoar;
And each still lake and mountain lone
Had a wild legend of its own;
And hall, and cot, and valley-stream,
Were hallowed by the minstrel's dream.
Then musing in the woodland nook,
Each flower was as a written book,
Recalling, by memorial quaint,
The holy deed of martyred saint;
The patient faith, which, unsubdued,
Grew mightier through fire and blood.
One blossom, 'mid its leafy shade,
The virgin's purity portrayed;
And one, with cup all crimson dyed,
Spoke of a Saviour crucified :
And rich the store of holy thought
That little forest-flower brought.

Doctrine and miracle, whate'er

We draw from books, was treasured there.
Faith in the wild wood's tangled bound
A blessed heritage had found!
And Charity and Hope were seen
In the lone isle and wild ravine.
Then pilgrims in the forest brown
Slow wandering on from town to town,
Halting 'mid mosses green and dank,
Breathed each a prayer before they drank
From waters by the pathway side.
Then duly morn and even-tide,
Before those ancient crosses gray,
Now mouldering silently away,

Aged and young devoutly bent

In simple prayer, how eloquent!

For each good gift man then possessed
Demanded blessing and was blest.

What though in our pride's selfish mood,
We hold those times as dark and rude,—
Yet give we, from our wealth of mind,
Feeling more grateful or refined?
And yield we unto nature aught
Of loftier, or of holier thought,
Than they, who gave sublimest power

To the small spring and simple flower?

M. H.

June is most probably named from Juno, in honour of whom a festival was held at the beginning of the month.

An old author says, "Unto June the Saxons gave the name of Weyd-monath; because their beasts did weyd in the meadows, that is, go to feed there; and hereof a meadow is called in Teutonic, a weyd; and of weyd we retain our word wade, which we understand of going through watery places; such as meadows are wont to be." Another author says that weyd is probably derived from weyden (German), to graze or to pasture. He further adds, they call it Woed-monath, weed month, and also Medemonath, Midsomer-monath, and Brack-monath, thought to be from the breaking up of the soil, from braecan (Saxon); they also called it Lida-erra. The word Lida, or Litha, signifying in Icelandic, to move, or pass over, may imply