April, 1888.

MIDSUMMER DAYS AND MIDSUMMER NIGHTS.

Soon, with pomp of golden days and silver nights, the dying Summer will wave the world farewell; but the precious time is still with us, and we cherish the glad moments gleefully.  When the dawn swirls up in the splendid sky, it is as though one gladsome procession of hours had begun to move.  The breeze sighs cool and low, the trees rustle with vast whisperings, and the conquering sun shoots his level volleys from rim to rim of the world.  The birds are very, very busy, and they take no thought of the grim time coming, when the iron ground will be swept by chill winds and the sad trees will quiver mournfully in the biting air.  A riot of life is in progress, and it seems as if the sense of pure joy banished the very thought of pain and foreboding from all living things.  The sleepy afternoons glide away, the sun droops, and the quiet, coloured evening falls solemnly.  Then comes the hush of the huge and thoughtful night; the wan stars wash the dust with silver, and the brave day is over.  Alas, for those who are pent in populous cities throughout this glorious time!  We who are out in the free air may cast a kindly thought on the fate of those to whom “holiday” must be as a word in an unknown tongue.  Some of us are happy amid the shade of mighty hills:  some of us fare toward the Land of the Midnight Sun, where the golden light steeps all the air by night as well as day; some of us rest beside the sea, where the loud wind, large and free, blows the long surges out in sounding bars and thrills us with fresh fierce pleasure; some of us are able to wander in glowing lanes where the tender roses star the hedges and the murmur of innumerable bees falls softly on the senses.  Let us thankfully take the good that is vouchsafed to us, and let those of us who can lend a helping hand do something towards giving the poor and needy a brief taste of the happiness that we freely enjoy.

I do not want to dwell on ugly thoughts; and yet it seems selfish to refrain from speaking of the fate of the poor who are packed in crowded quarters during this bright holiday season.  For them the midsummer days and midsummer nights are a term of tribulation.  The hot street reeks with pungent odours, the faint airs that wander in the scorching alleys at noonday strike on the fevered face like wafts from some furnace, and the cruel nights are hard to endure save when a cool shower has fallen.  If you wander in London byways, you find that the people are fairly driven from their houses after a blistering summer day, and they sit in the streets till early morning.  They are not at all depressed; on the contrary, the dark hours are passed in reckless merriment, and I have often known the men to rest quite contentedly on the pavement till the dawn came and the time of departure for labour was near.  Even the young children remain out of doors, and their shrill treble mingles with the coarse rattle of noisy choruses.  Some