motes of tbe Uttgbt 



All through April the work has been in progress, 

 and now what of its completion ? Winter's car- 

 pet of sered leaves is no longer that broad and 

 brown expanse, suggesting the dead past only. 

 Where the wild March winds have worn it away 

 the arbutus glows, pearly and pink, and the linger- 

 ing snowdrifts have given place to long lines of 

 bloom as purely white as they. The rank green 

 grass has pushed aside the black mold winter left in 

 its path, and the ascending sap, that silently coursed 

 the maze of the shrubs' tangled branches, has bid- 

 den every twig to fling out a greeting banner; for 

 May, the young queen of the coming year, demands 

 all honor. Even the gnarly oaks, the stately beeches, 

 and low-bending elms, that stood, bare-armed, re- 

 sisting winter, yield to the all-pervading magic in 

 the air and renew their allegiance to the dainty 

 queen. I would there were one word that fitly 

 described May and her magic : the word is not 

 yet coined. But is this all? Have we but the 

 change from a dead brown to a living green, from 

 bare twigs to rosy blossoms, over which to grow 

 enthusiastic ? Are we to grow young again be- 

 cause the tree-tops are again in leaf and the gray 

 meadows bright as a summer's sunset ? Is it not 

 enough this day-long feasting of long-hungry 

 eyes, and scented air to breathe ? But May magic 

 works yet another marvel : sweet sounds succeed 

 to silence not absolute silence, but comparative; 

 for the touch that awakened even the old oaks has, 

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