And the cool winds feel softer, and the rain
Falls in the beaded drops of summer time.
You may hear birds at morning and at eve:
The tame dove lingers till the twilight falls,
Cooing upon the eaves, and drawing in
His beautiful bright neck; and from the hills
A murmur like the hoarseness of the sea
Tells the release of waters; and the earth
Sends up a pleasant smell, and the dry leaves
Are lifted by the grass; and so I know
That nature, with her delicate ear, hath heard
The dropping of the velvet foot of Spring."

THE Latin name for the fourth month of the | a sweet necessity to us, even as the stars in year, Aprilis, was very appropriately derived from aperio, to open or set forth. Thus, in the very signification of the word we have a brief but emphatic description of the peculiar characteristics of the month. Again are awakened

"Sweet voices in the woods,

And reed-like echoes that have long been mute."

the evening sky, and yet they are only beautiful! The stern moralist who would proscribe innocent amusement as unproductive, and the love of the merely beautiful as profitless, has the truth of his creed questioned and denied by every bud or blossom carelessly trodden beneath his feet. Despite the well-known capriciousness of April weather, the blasts of the

The gushing of waters, the rustling of the north wind, fitfully alternating with zephyrleaves stirred by the bland south wind,

"The lark's clear pipe, the cuckoo's viewless flute, Whose tones seem breathing mournfulness or glee, Even as our hearts may be,"

all have come back. Again we welcome the return of the bright flowers springing up in their fragrance, and with delicate beauty gemming the earth around us, proving, by their silent eloquence, that "poet uses" have part in the great wisdom of Nature. Who questions of the utility of their mission? Who prizes them not, in their fragile loveliness, as a most precious gift? Without them the gentler seasons of the year would be divested of their rarest charm; without them our wanderings in the forest, or by the river's brink, would be all too grave and joyless. They have become

like breezes, gusty clouds, and snow, and hail, succeeded by the warm sunshine and soft, pattering rain, that falls with such a

"Pleasant sound;

Now soft and still, like gentle dew,
Now drenching all the ground,"

a host of brave young flowers struggle upward to the light, and set at nought the chilling influences that would retard their happy reign. Among these early guests, most cherished is the violet,

"With azure eye,
Which gazes on the sky
Until its hue grows like what it beholds;"

not that it is the first floral harbinger of Spring, for already we have greeted the

"Daffodils,

That come before the swallows dare,
And take the winds of March with beauty,"

and the snowdrops,

"Which, starting from their cells, Hang each pagoda with their silver bells."

The snowdrop has already lived its brief life and withered. But violets, half hidden from the eye, giving token of their presence by a sweetness of perfume the rose itself might envy, that bloom

"With such a simple loveliness among

The common herbs of pasture, and breathe out
Their lives so unobtrusively, like hearts
Whose beatings are too gentle for the world,"
they, of all flowers, may well give rise to

"Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears."

We go out to seek violets in April, and there

comes remembrance of some chosen friend who taught us first to love them, and o'er whose "grass-grown grave" we have since wept bitterly. Or we think of those for whom in earlier years we gathered them, who then prized our companionship, who "loved us once," whose names we still hear spoken in the busy world, but from whom we are more effectually parted than if the grave rose between. Or we may sigh to think on those whom we loved once, whom newer idols have displaced, and feel rebuked by the unchanging constancy with which these simple flowers bloom on contentedly from year to year in undiminished fragrance and beauty, even where no eye may see. man's pre-eminence alone belongs that mockery of faith, having loved once!-and truly

"The mysteries of Life and Death avenge
Affections light of range;

There comes no change to justify that change,-
Whatever comes,-loved ONCE."

То

"But why the people call it so,

Nor I, nor they themselves, do know."

It is recognised as a sort of holiday in many different countries, and celebrated with similar observances. To impose on some credulous individual, and send him on a bootless errand, is a favourite piece of trickery for the day. The more trouble, the more fun.

"But 'tis a thing to be disputed,
Which is the greatest fool reputed;
The man that innocently went,
Or he that him designedly sent."

Practical jokes are of a questionable tendency at the best, and it requires a vast amount of good temper on the part of the victim to be able to appreciate the wit of the most successful and humorous hoaxer, though it may be clearly apparent to an amused looker-on. April fooleries, however, have generally little else than their absurdity to boast of. At Lisbon, people indulge in such nonsense on the Sunday and Monday before Lent. It is there noted "as very jocose to pour water on any person who passes, or throw powder in his face; but to do both is the perfection of wit." An edifying custom, truly! The Hindoos, on the 31st of March, have similar diversions at their Huli festival; all classes join eagerly in the fun of making "Huli fools." The April fool with the French is called "un poisson d'Avril," (an April fish,) but the alteration of the term is not accounted for. To send children to inquire at the bookseller's for "The Adventures of Eve's Mother," or "The History of Adam's Grandfather," or some other equally veritable chronicle, a very ancient usage. The difficulty in these days would be to find children young enough to go.

"On the first day of April,
Hunt the gowk another mile."

The word "gowk" was frequently used for fool, as also "geck;" and the amusement referred to was called "hunting the gowk." Whoever received a missive containing the old couplet quoted above would, in obedience to its directions, forward the unwary messenger on his "wild-goose chase," Malvolio, in "Twelfth Night," says to Olivia,

"Why have you suffered me to be

We know that the return of Spring awakens melancholy associations in those learned in the deeper lore of life: but must it not be so on the return of any season, of anything we have loved and joyed in?—a repetition, yet not the same,-never to be the same, however like in outward seeming,-if a year of change and trial, a year of mingled joy and sorrow, has passed since last we hailed it? The severing of earthly ties, at best fleeting and insecure, bequeaths many a memory to fill the heart when freedom from pressing cares gives place for the indulgence of such recollections. But it matters little if it be early spring-time, or when autumn leaves are falling; there will "Alas, poor fool, how have they baffled thee!" be ever something in the present to usher back the past. The Saxons called April Oaster or Easter From time immemorial the first of April has monath, and it is said to have been the time of been entitled "All Fools' Day :" celebrating the feast of a Saxon goddess named

Made the most notorious 'geck' and 'gull' That e'er invention played on?" and she, denying having written the letter that had been made the means of cheating him, exclaims:

In

him and them for a moment in silence, and, without appearing at all overawed by their magnificence, deliberately peeled her eggs and made no reply. The giddy throng, ever charmed by novelty, and eager for the mere semblance of an adventure, press closely round her, and repeat the wish to hear

"What she had apropos to say
Of persons so superbly gay."

Tired of their pertinacity, she thus answers them:

"In troth,' quoth she, 'I'm short and plain;
Long speaking only gives me pain.
And, faith, I have ye, gentle folks,
As clear in view as whites or yolks;
So like those eggs, I can but smile,
In every cast of light and style.
Your transient colours fleet as theirs,
Your flimsiness, in spite of airs,

In substance scarce more rare or new;
Some parboiled, some par-rotten too;
Of little worth in wisdom's eye,

And thrown at last, like eggshells, by.'"

Easter. The recurrence of the Christian festival of Easter, which this year begins on the 20th of April, used to be distinguished by many peculiar pastimes. Of these the practice of "picking eggs" is still a very popular amusement with the boys of the present generation. When this originated, or what meaning was attached to it, cannot now be determined. "Paste," or "Pasch," eggs-a corruption of "Paschal"-have formed an important feature in Easter ceremonies for many centuries. There is a record of some hundreds of eggs being ordered to be dyed and ornamented for the use of the household of Edward I., during Easter week, so it is probable there were some royal games played with them. People in those days sent large dishes of eggs to the church to be consecrated by the priest for different families. The egg was very anciently regarded as a symbol by many different nations. It is typical of the world as represented by Noah and his family in the ark. Howitt's Country Year-Book, writing of the mystical signification of the egg, he says: "The Hindoos celebrated the same great event of the deluge and the ark under the fable of the god Vishnu, once in a cycle, inclosing all the world with him in an egg, and floating on the ocean of eternity till the time came to reproduce himself, and all things with him." At Moscow it is a general custom to exchange presents of ornamented eggs on Easter. In Germany they are regularly displayed in the markets a week before the holiday, hard boiled, and dyed of the brightest colours. "A favourite fiction with the Germans," again to quote from Howitt's very interesting book, "is to lay these Pasch eggs, with little sugar hares, in the gardens on Easter eve, towards dusk, among the grass and bushes, and the children are told that on this night the hares lay eggs, and they are up early in the morning to look. In some of the provinces of France, as well as in different parts of England, the children beg Pasch eggs for Easter. In the country of Bonneval, on the day preceding Easter Sunday, and during And the locks upon his pillow were floating, thin and

the first days of the week, the clerks of the different parishes, beadles, and certain artisans, go about from house to house to ask for their eggs."

There is an Easter story I remember, told in rhyme, of a party of lords and ladies of the court, who were, once upon a time, amusing themselves with "Pasch eggs;" and an old woman," her age might reckon eighty-five," -journeying by, paused on her way, and, seating herself near by, curiously observed them. One of the company-a would-be wag -brought her a parcel of variously-decorated eggs, and begged to know her opinion of the folks around her. The old woman looked at

"They heard,-they frowned;-but fled the green As if a thunderbolt had been."

THE TOKEN OF HOPE.

BY SARA H. BROWNE.

"Hast thou hope?' they asked of Knox, when he lay a-dying. He spake nothing, but raised his finger and pointed upward,-and so died."-CARLYLE.

"HAST thou the hope of glory, which all thy steps hath led,

Through many a hard encounter, to this thy dying bed? Which nerved thee for the conflict, which armed thee for the fight,

And shone with steady starbeam upon thy darkest night?"

Grim in his deep death-anguish the stern old champion lay,