e paradise flycatcher, the grey hornbill, and the
oriole, but these are exceptions. The birds in question do not as a
rule begin to nest until May, and their doings accordingly are
chronicled in the calendar for that month.

MAY

The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year.
_The Minstrelsy of the Woods_.

Low from the brink the waters shrink;
The deer all snuff for rain;
The panting cattle search for drink
Cracked glebe and dusty plain;
The whirlwind, like a furnace blast,
Sweeps clouds of darkening sand.
WATERFIELD, _Indian Ballads_.

Now the burning summer sun
Hath unchalleng'd empire won
And the scorching winds blow free,
Blighting every herb and tree.
R. T. H. GRIFFITH.

May in the plains of India! What unpleasant memories it recalls!
Stifling nights in which sleep comes with halting steps and departs
leaving us unrefreshed. Long, dreary days beneath the punkah in a
closed bungalow which has ceased to be enlivened by the voices of the
children and the patter of their little feet. Hot drives to office,
under a brazen sky from which the sun shines with pitiless power, in
the teeth of winds that scorch the face and fill the eyes with dust.

It is in this month of May that the European condemned to existence in
the plains echoes the cry of the psalmist: "Oh that I had wings like a
dove! for then would I fly away, and be at rest"--in the Himalayas.
There would I lie beneath the deodars and, soothed by the rustle of
their wind-caressed branches, drink in the pure cool air and listen to
the cheerful double note of the cuckoo. The country-side in the plains
presents a sorry spectacle. The gardens that had some beauty in the
cold weather now display the abomination of desolation--a waste of
shrivelled flowers, killed by the relentless sun. The spring crops
have all been cut and the whole earth is dusty brown save for a few
patches of young sugar-cane and the dust-covered verdure of the mango
topes. It is true that the gold-mohur trees and the Indian laburnums
are in full flower and the air is heavily laden with the strong scent
of the _nim_ blossoms, but the heat is so intense that the European is
able to enjoy these gifts of nature only at dawn. Nor has the ripening
jack-fruit any attractions for him. He is repelled by its overpowering
scent and sickly flavour. Fortunately the tastes of all men are