sea. If it be said, that by their high ascents into the air, they can see across the seas, yet what shall instruct or persuade them, that another land is more proper for their purpose than this? that Great Britain, for instance, should afford them better accommodation than Egypt, the Canaries, Spain, or any of the other intermediate

countries.

The progress of vegetation now proceeds rapidly. Cherry and apple trees show their blossoms. The lilac exhibits its clusters of elegant flowers; the honeysuckle twines its rich green tendrils, and its sweet scented blossoms around the cottage porch, or little bower; and the laburnum appears in graceful profusion. The stock, gilliflower, and the star anemone, are added to the garden flowers. In the meadows, the daisy is still bright; and the cowslip, the crowsfoot, and the harebell, are dotted with it over the green turf.

APRIL.

BY N. P. WILLIS.

I have found violets. April hath come on,
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.
Smell of my violets!-I found them where
The liquid south stole o'er them, on a bank

That lean'd to running water. There's to me
A daintiness about these early flowers
That touches one like poetry. They blow
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.

I love to go in the capricious days

Of April and hunt violets; when the rain
Is in the blue cups trembling, and they nod
So gracefully to the kisses of the wind.

It may
be deem'd unmanly, but the wise
Read nature like the manuscript of Heaven,
And call the flowers its poetry. Go out!
Ye spirits of habitual unrest,

And read it when the " fever of the world"
Hath made your hearts impatient, and, if life
Hath yet one spring unpoison'd, it will be
Like a beguiling music to its flow,
And you will no more wonder that I love
To hunt for violets in the April time.

SONNET TO SPRING.

66

BY D. S. L. AUTHOR of THE HARP OF INNISFAIL," ETC.
Fair, o'er the earth the spring-shrubs spread their leaves
Of opening beauty, and the perfumed sky
Smiles, with its lure of softness brilliantly!
Air, earth, sky, ocean, mountain, valley, lives
In fragrance; and the gurgling stream glides still
And mellowly along its flowered bed.

How beautiful is nature !-all, that tread
O'er nature's wide domain of vale and hill.
The brawling stream, that riots in its spray-

The sheeny sky that looks all bright and fair,

More bright than the blue heaven that's shrined there!— With all the flowers that laugh at past decay!

Oh! beautiful are earth and air, when spring

Waves o'er the world the pinions of its breathing wing!

MAY.

'Tis the sunny first of May,
She is tripping on the earth,
To the wild bird's joyous lay;
Fresh flowerets hail her birth,
And with fragrant kisses greet
The coming of her feet.

Atlantic Souvenir.

THE scenery of a May morning is particularly beautiful; a serene sky, a refreshing fragrance arising from the face of the earth, and the melody of the birds, all combine to render it inexpressibly delightful, to exhilarate the spirits, and call forth a song of grateful adoration.

Early in the month, the latest of the summer birds of passage arrive; among which are the goatsucker, or fern owl, the spotted flea-catcher, the swift, the sedge bird, and the cuckoo.

Thou monotonous bird! whom we ne'er wish away,-
Who hears thee not pleas'd at the threshold of May?

Thy advent reminds us of all that is sweet;

Which Nature benignant, now lays at our feet ;

Sweet flowers-sweet meadows-sweet birds, and their loves
Sweet sunshining mornings, and sweet shady groves ;-
Sweet smiles of the maiden-Sweet looks of the youth,
And sweet asseverations, too, prompted by truth;
Sweet promise of plenty throughout the rich dale;
And sweet the bees' humming in meadow and vale;

B b

Of the Summer's approach-of the presence of Spring,
For ever sweet Cuckoo! continue to sing.

Oh, who then, dear bird! could e'er wish thee away?
Who hears thee not pleas'd at the threshold of May?
Ornithologia, by J. Jennings.

The great diversity in character in birds, the short movements, and almost local sphere of action in some, and the ceaseless transition of others; the lonely retirement of a part, and the fearless domestication of others with man, must commonly be remarked by many; and the chief motive which probably influences much of this variety of deportment may arise from the nature of the food on which they subsist. There is one of these creatures with which we are all acquainted in his season, whose rambling nature and restless flight are always subjects of admiration, the swift (hirundo apus), which visits us about the beginning of May, and soon after, as, having no time to lose, commences preparation for its brood; that operation over, they again depart, remaining with us about fourteen or fifteen weeks: and all this period seems passed in hurry and precipitation, in unceasing action on the wing, from early morning till hidden by the shades of night, not calmly sailing on his way, but rushing and struggling through the air with unremitting haste; and such is their muscular power, violent as these exertions are, they present no diminution of celerity or lassitude of body-they seem the destined couriers of the sky, coursing for life. But these laborious progressions of the swift do not proceed from the mere pleasure resulting from a life of action; they are rendered necessary by the vagrant habits of his prey, as we generally observe him occupied in pursuit or cap

turing his victim: at one moment, perhaps, circling round us like the head of a barbed arrow, snatching up some hatch of creatures just risen from the soil; that effected, away he goes like the passing breeze, now skimming with noiseless wing the surface of the pool, then ranging high in the azure of the air.―Journal of a Naturalist.

Towards the end of the month, if a blight does not occur, the treasures of summer are almost all laid open. The grass is in its greenest beauty; the young corn has covered the more naked fields; the hedges are powdered with the snowy and sweet-scented blossoms of the hawthorn, as beautiful as myrtle-flowers; the orchard gives us trees and the most lovely flowers at once; and the hedge-banks, woods, and meadows, are sprinkled in profusion with the cowslip, the wood-roof, the orchis, the blue germander, the white anemone, the lily of the valley, the marsh-marygold, and the children's favorite, daisies and buttercups, whose colors start in an instant to our mind. The dragon-fly carries his long purple shining body along the air; the butterflies enjoy their merry day; the bees send out their colonies; the birds sing with unwearied love, while their partners are sitting; the later birds of passage arrive; the cattle enjoy the ripe and juicy herbage, and overflow with milk; most of the trees complete their foliage, filling the landscape with clumps and crowning woods that "bosom" the village steeples; the distance echoes with the cheerful bark of the dog; the ladies are abroad in their spring dresses; the farmer does little, but leisurely weed his garden, and enjoy the sight of his flowering industry; the sun stops long, and begins to let us feel him warmly;