THE 



VOL. VIII.] 



aPKIL, 1885. 



[No. 4. 



THE SNOWBALLS. 



The Snowballs. At that word, how 

 are the fountains of memory's great 

 deep broken up, and visions of days 

 long, oh, how long gone by, come wel- 

 ling in like a flood. Thex'e they are, 

 those grand old shrubs. It is early 

 summer, and the large white balls are 

 blending with the lingering Lilac's 

 rosy purple. Their overarching canopy 

 shades a rustic seat. There the child- 

 ren are, as of yore, wreathing gathered 

 flowers. Perched among the branches, 

 a glossy black-squirrel is watching with 

 eager interest every movement. Now 

 bounding xipon the shoulder of his 

 young mistress, he rubs his head coax- 

 ingly against her cheek, then plunges 

 into her pocket to bring out a nut or 

 sugar-plum for his comfort. 



But thus it could not always be. The 

 brother leaves the home so bi-ight and 

 sunny, and on the rustic seat carves for 

 those remaining the words of the old 

 Latin poet : 

 ' ' Forsan' et hoec olim meminisse juvabit. " 



It may be in after days these shall be re- 

 membered with joy. 



Aye, with joy. A sobered joy, for a 

 minor chord is sounding through all the 

 music of bygone days. Where now is 



the home made attractive with Flora's 

 brightest gems 1 Where now those 

 merry peals of childhood's laughter 1 

 Whei-e those children] The echoes 

 answer, pealing through the corridors, 

 memory's corridors, faintly and more 

 faintly dying to a whisper, "Where?" 

 But the Snowball. Yes, the Snow- 

 ball ; yet is there any need to write of 

 it ? Is it not, gentle reader, even as 

 your eyes trace these words, palpable to 

 sight? An old familiar friend, into 

 whose ear you have whispered pro- 

 foundest seci'ets ; upon which you have 

 looked in each returning season with 

 friendly interest and ever increasing 

 pleasure ; so wrought into your life's 

 morning hours, and into your noontide's 

 brightness, that it has become a part of 

 your very being 1 Yet it may be that 

 an added pleasure will be given to be 

 reminded that it is a near relative of 

 the twining Woodbine that covers your 

 lattice ; of the rosy pink Honeysuckle, 

 whose bright flowers make the lawn so 

 cheery in summer, and whose ruddy 

 berries brighten the autumnal days ; 

 and of the pretty pure white Snow- 

 berry, heightening the beauty of their 

 common cousin, the Redberried Elder, 

 by the harmony of contrast 1 Yes, our 



