APRIL FLOWERS.1

1. The flowers of April are as numerous as the stars of heaven, and like the Milky Way, they make a glowing girdle round the earth. The cultivated lands are fast brightening to the magical touch of spring. On some days the sun shines brightly, the keen east wind is stilled for a season, and the honey-bees make music on the fruit walls and in the orchard, in the delusive belief that summer has really come.

2. Four good pioneers lead the way. Of these the first is the Dandelion, which as a rule takes the lead and makes a glorious show on every sandy bank and neglected spot of ground. Next comes the Daisy, dotting the grass-lands with its snow-white stars. Instantly upon the first gleam of daisies, appears the Cuckoo-flower, the appearance of which gives the signal not only for the cuckoo to sing but for the buttercups to blow. When it is first in flower, we shall find only a single buttercup here and there in the meadows, but we know that a host are coming, and very soon the pastures will be true "fields of cloth of gold."

3. There can be no need to describe any of these flowers except the cuckoo-flower, which may be easily discovered, and will never afterwards be forgotten. It is a humble but cheerful plant with conspicuous white or very pale lilac flowers. Its leaves are feather-shaped or they may be likened to a comb. You may taste them with safety and will find them pungent; and you can guess that they impart a spicy relish to the hay and help the cattle to enjoy their dry winter provender. This is the "Lady smock all silver white," in many districts renowned for the pure whiteness of its flowers and their extreme profusion in the

Adapted from Shirley Hibberd's Field Flowers, by permission of Messrs. Groombridge & Sons.

April landscape, which appears as if covered with linen put out to bleach.

4. Let us look about us and we shall see in the old hedgerows and on the skirts of woodlands the white blossoms of the sloe. This is the "black thorn" of the countryman. You may be able to sing as you go on your journey that sweet old song:

From the white-blossomed sloe,
My dear Chloë requested

A sprig her fair breast to adorn.

5. At your very feet there is a lovely blue flower. It is heavenly blue, and its handsome notched heart-shaped leaves add considerably to its beauty. What is it? A forget-me-not? No. A pimpernel? No. It is the Speedwell, the

Flower whose hedge-side gaze

Is like an infant's.

It is the loveliest of its race amongst our wildings, a perfect jewel among field flowers.

6. On the bank where the sloe is imitating a snowdrift we shall probably find the Ground Ivy. It is a lowly, much-spreading trailer, with heart-shaped leaves and deep lilac flowers. On the same bank you may look for the flowers of the Red Campion, and its near relative, the Ragged Robin, with its deeply divided petals.

7. On yonder bough the song-thrush-mute just nowis performing his toilette after having taken a refreshing dip. His nest is somewhat near, and his mate is sitting close upon her eggs. He will scarcely sing a note until the eggs are hatched, and then he will trill away as if life itself was to be a mere song. Here is a flower close by you know full well, the wild Heartsease or Pansy. Here

is another, the smallest Forget-me-not, with small, but bright blue flowers.

8. Primroses-how many a hedge-bank and burn-side is made gay with these "earliest nurslings of the spring!" They have been blooming sparingly on sheltered banks, perhaps for weeks, but now the thick tufts of their blossoms give real evidence that spring is come at last. Companions of the primrose

"Gleaming like amethysts in the dewy moss,"

the sweet-scented Violets, the most welcome flowers perhaps of an English spring, are now scattered in lavish profusion.

9. The welcome flowers are blossoming,

In joyous troops revealed;

They lift their dewy buds and bells
In garden, mead, and field.

They lurk in every sunless path
Where forest children tread;
They dot like stars the sacred turf
Which lies above the dead.

10. They sport with every playful wind
That stirs the blooming trees,
And laugh on every fragrant bush,
All full of toiling bees;

From the green marge of lake and stream,
Fresh vale and mountain sod,

They look in gentle glory forth,

The pure sweet flowers of God.

Questions on the lesson:-What is said of the number of the flowers of April? What four pioneer flowers are named? How may the cuckoo-flower be discovered? What white flower is seen on the hedgerows? Which flower is described as a jewel among field flowers? What other flowers are mentioned? Where are they found? What is said of each?

conspicuous, easily seen.

delusive, deceptive.

keen, sharp.

notched, cut into.

petal, the leaf of a flower.

pioneer, one who goes before to prepare the way.

profusion, abundance.
provender, food for beasts.
pungent, biting to the taste.
relish, agreeable taste.

sloe, the blackthorn, its fruit is
the small, sour wild plum.
toilette, operation of dressing.

MAY DAY.

1. While from the purpling east departs
The star that led the dawn,

Blithe Flora from her couch upstarts,
For May is on the lawn.

2. A quickening hope, a freshening glee, Foreran the expected power,

Whose first-drawn breath, from bush and tree,
Shakes off that pearly shower.

3. All Nature welcomes Her whose sway,
Tempers the year's extremes;
Who scattereth lustres o'er noon day,
Like morning's dewy gleams;

4. While mellow warble, sprightly trill,
The tremulous heart excite;

5.

And hums the balmy air to still
The balance of delight.

Time was, blest Power! when youths and maids

At peep of dawn would rise,

And wander forth, in forest glades

Thy birth to solemnise!

6. Though mute the song-to grace the rite
Untouched the hawthorn bough,

Thy spirit triumphs o'er the slight:
Man changes, but not thou!

7. Thy feathered lieges bill and wings
In love's disport employ;

Warmed by thy influence, creeping things
Awake to silent joy.

8. Queen art thou still for each gay plant
Where the slim wild deer roves:
And served in depths where fishes haunt
Their own mysterious groves.

9. And if, on this thy natal morn,
The pole, from which thy name
Hath not departed, stands forlorn
Of song, and dance, and game: