the farm-labourer, whom Laws of Settlement,
sharply regarded, force to  add to a hard day's
work, with the body on his master's farm,
five, six, or seven miles of daily walking to
and from the place of work, though horse
and ox are never tasked with even twenty
paces of waste labour, since no farmer can
afford to weary them to death. Parliament,
in the midst of its talk from the far East and
the far West, may find time to crush the law
that works so cruelly. The May is potential;
it is also problematical.

The Parliament which comes together as
the greatest of May Meetings, may, if it will
—I wish it may, says the nation—watch the
breath out of the body of that universal
creditor and dun, the Income Tax, close its
eyes, tie up its jaws, and dance at its wake.
It May remove all pressure of tax from
paper, the white matter of the public brain;
it May remove matter by which local ailment
is produced, and clear off the sickly humours
bred of a disturbed balance in the body
corporate between the functions of the churchman
and those of the dissenter; it May
reduce every ecclesiastical process to the
condition of straightforward dealing, and by
such a May the lawns revive so much that
bishops shall be honoured for simplicity of
dealing. It May admit Jews who are citizens
of England to the rights of citizenship.
It May admit thousands of Christians who
are citizens to the rights of citizenship, from
which they are excluded because they rent
rooms instead of living in whole houses, or
because they dwell in houses that are not
considered big enough to think in. Here are
potential Mays, which also are Mays
problematical. I come down now out of the
May-bush, which is very thick with blossom,
as you see, but the fruit of which will turn
out to be only hums, or at least haws.

I, Burnup Howell, who look forward always
to the gloomy end for which all things were
made, rejoice in the rejoicing of your great
May Meeting. People of England, it will
begin work with talk, never will cease talking,
never begin working till the end is near.
In the first May days, eloquence will
disclose the long-expected flowers, about which
M.P.s will sport even as flies. Of the flying
session let the members all sing with the
bard—

On hasty wings thy youth is flown;
Thy sun is set, thy spring is gone-
We frolic while 'tis May.

We frolic in June also while we May. O
be joyful, English people, for it is the merry
month of May, and expect nothing from your
eminent May Meeting but much talk and
much concern about the state of the far East
and about the state of the far West. You
laugh at me in Exeter Hall when in this
month I instruct you from its platform.
Behold, I make a mock at you, and bid you
rejoice in the good omen of a May Meeting
in Westminster. Ah, you say, if there were
but a sober month of Must as well as a
merry month of May, and if in the month of
Must our Parliament could meet, and if we
could say to our Parliament, O Parliament,
you Must attend to us, and not you May
attend to us; and if the imperial Parliament
thereto replied, as of necessity it would,
I Shall, instead of echoing I May, then
would the assembling of the House of
Commons be indeed as a muster of the nation's
strength. But now, O people, your elected
ones meet in the midst of May. I thrust
again and yet again that omen between your
teeth. You are elate with hope. I, Burnup
Howell, bid you hope for nothing. I talk,
you observe, only of May, and hint slightly
indeed at June. For beyond June why look?
In June the comet comes that is to bake the
earth as a pie in the oven of its fury. There
will be lamb pie in the place of the assembling
of my flock, goose pie in the places
where they congregate who stretch the neck
and hiss at me and mine, rook pie in many
haunts of commerce, pigeon pie in other
parts, calves-head pie where John Bull
the younger sleeps, fidgetty pie or stew in
boroughs, and a great hash at St. Stephen's.
Hearken to me, therefore, O people of
England, and be joyful while you May; for
when the reign of May is over, then—and no
sooner—the comet comes.

LATE IN SPRING.

THROW up the window, lest we miss
One charm of such a day as this;
I saw it dawn, and by
The tints on its unfolding scroll
I knew how softly o'er the whole
Will Beauty's picture lie.

By the clear rose-light o'er the sea,
The blue air drooping dewily
Above the kindling hill-
Spring that in Paradise had birth
Must keep to beautify the earth
Some Eden touches still.

How close to Heav'n earth seems to lie,
Thus floating in so pure a sky,
So luminous and calm!
The fancy catches on the breeze
The stray notes of its melodies,
Its breathings out of balm.

Sure, love, joy's pulses in thy breast,
'Mid Nature's buoyant bright unrest,
Must beat with quicken'd power.
For me glad thoughts are at the flood,
My cares melt down: Hope's tiniest bud
Swells out into a flower.

A few years since a day so bright
Had dawn'd, as with Hope's flutter'd light
And set in rosiest smiles.
To me, thou know'st, the last red ray
Brought one who dwelt too far away,
But tired not with the miles.

A thought of Love's dear wooing plays,
Since then, round all clear lovely days