IN BOOKLAND.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXIV, Issue 19762, 8 October 1927, Page 4 (Supplement)

IN BOOKLAND.

WELCOME TO SPRING. " Hie forth, green foresters, to the gay woods, Where the willows have donned their soft yellow hoods; Where loudly the lark and the misselthrush sing Their songs of glad welcome and greeting to spring. Now with these songsters, come, let ns awake The quick, gladsome echoes in dell and in brake, Welcome, a thousand times welcome, dear sun; Winter's cold glooms and black frosts now are done." —From " The Snowman," Hans Anderson's Fairy Tales. (Sent by L>. Gngg, Whenuapai, Upper Harbour, Auckland). daybreak. " Dawn was breaking, and the trees and bushes, dimly revealed y in the grey light seemed to await the awakening touch of the sun. A grey web of dew frosted every leaf-blade on the lawns and bushes, and below, the sea, a broad, waveless sheet of dulled silver, whispered to the beach in tiny lines of foam. in the east rippled lines of faint rose-colour barred the horizon, and a fan of dafxodilcold spread upward, until, from some unseen source of glory, tiny Hecks of cloud caught fire and blushed, floating there like rosy feathers in a gulf of limitless blue.—From " Patricia Pat." Isabel Maude Peaeocke. (Sent by Phyllis Bellingham, 36, Gladstone Road, Parnell). THE FOREST. " Purple and crimson and scarlet, like the curtains of God's tabernacle, the rejoicing trees sank into the valley in showers of light, every separate leaf quivering with buoyant an. burning life; each as it turned to reflect or to transmit the sunbeam, first a torch and then an emerald. Far up into the recesses of the valley the green vistas arched like the hollows of mighty waves of some crystalline sea, v»,m the arbutas flowers dashed alon,cr their flanks for foam and _________ — silver flakes of orange spray, tossed into the air around them breaking over the grey walls of rock into a thousand separate stars " —From "Modern Painters." by John Ruskin (Sent by Alice Hirst, Kauri, Kamo). THE OLD TOWS'. " Pleasantly the old town stands there, beneath the soft Italian sky, fanned day and night by the fresh ocean breeze which forbids alike the keen winter frosts and the fierce thunder heats of the midlands." C. Kingsley. (Sent by Olive Gilmore, Hill Road, Manurewa). THE SILENT MAS. "He was a very silent man by custom. All day he hung round the cove, or upon the cliffs, with a brass telescore. All evening he sat in a corner of the parlour next to the fire, and drank rum and water very strong. Mostly he would not speak when spoken to; only look up sudden and fierce, and blow through his nose like a fog horn, and we and the people who came about our louse soon learned to let him be.—From " Treasure Island," by R. L. Stevenson. (Sent by "Moonbeam," Hamilton).