of it is that almost every woman is young, if ever
she were young, in June. For her the roses bloom,
and the red clover. It is a pity the month is
so short. It is as full of vigor as of beauty.
The energy of the year is not yet spent; indeed, the
world is opening on all sides; the school-girl is
about to graduate into liberty; and the young man
is panting to kick or row his way into female adoration
and general notoriety. The young men have made
no mistake about the kind of education that is popular
with women. The women like prowess and the manly
virtues of pluck and endurance. The world has
not changed in this respect. It was so with the
Greeks; it was so when youth rode in tournaments and
unhorsed each other for the love of a lady. June
is the knightly month. On many a field of gold
and green the heroes will kick their way into fame;
and bands of young women, in white, with their diplomas
in their hands, star-eyed mathematicians and linguists,
will come out to smile upon the victors in that exhibition
of strength that women most admire. No, the world
is not decaying or losing its juvenility. The
motto still is, “Love, and may the best man
win!” How jocund and immortal is woman!
Now, in a hundred schools and colleges, will stand
up the solemn, well-intentioned man before a row of
pretty girls, and tell them about Womanhood and its
Duties, and they will listen just as shyly as if they
were getting news, and needed to be instructed by a
man on a subject which has engaged their entire attention
since they were five years old. In the light
of science and experience the conceit of men is something
curious. And in June! the most blossoming, riant,
feminine time of the year. The month itself is
a liberal education to him who is not insensible to
beauty and the strong sweet promise of life. The
streams run clear then, as they do not in April; the
sky is high and transparent; the world seems so large
and fresh and inviting. Our houses, which six
months in the year in these latitudes are fortifications
of defense, are open now, and the breath of life flows
through them. Even over the city the sky is benign,
and all the country is a heavenly exhibition.
May was sweet and capricious. This is the maidenhood
deliciousness of the year. If you were to bisect
the heart of a true poet, you would find written therein
June.