tufts of a modest verdure, which, by and by, will be long and glossy leaves. The dog-wood pitches his broad, white tent, in the edge of the forest; the dandelions lie along the hillocks, like stars in a sky of green; and the wild cherry, growing in all the hedge-rows, without other culture than God's, lifts up to Him, thankfully, its tremulous white fingers,
Amid all this, come the rich rains of spring. The affections of a boy grow up with tears to water them; and the year blooms with showers. But the clouds hover over an April sky, timidly like shadows upon innocence. The showers come gently, and drop daintily to the earth, with now and then a glimpse of Sunshine to make the drops bright like so many tears of joy.
The rain of winter is cold, and it comes in bitter scuds that blind you; but the rain of April steals upon you coyly, half reluc tantly, yet lovingly like the steps of a bride to the Altar.
It does not gather like the storm-clouds of winter, grey and heavy along the horizon, and creep with subtle and insensible approaches (like age) to the very zenith; but there are a score of white-winged swimmers afloat, that your eye has chased, as you lay fatigued with the delicious lan-
