36 



PASTORAL DAYS. 



AN APRIL DAY. 



stand transfigured in glistening beads flashing in the sunbeams. The 

 quickened earth gives forth its grateful incense, and even an enthusiastic 

 frog down in the lily-pond sends up his little vote of thanks. 



April's woods are teeming with all forms of life, if one will only look 

 for them. On every side the ferns, curled up all winter in their dormant 

 sleep, unroll their spiral sprays, and reach out for the welcome sun. The 

 spicy colt's-foot, or wild ginger, lifts its downy leaves among the mossy 

 rocks and crevices, and its homely flower just peeps above the ground, 

 and, with a lingering glance at the blushing Rue anemone close by, hangs 

 its humble head, never to look up again. High above us the eccentric 

 cottonwood-tree dangles its long speckled plumes, so silvery white. Now 

 we hear a mellow drumming sound, as some unsuspecting grouse, con- 

 cealed among the undergrowth near by, beats his resonant breast. Could 

 we but get a glimpse of him, we would see him simulate the barn-yard 

 gobbler, as with proud strut and spreading tail he disports himself upon 

 some fallen log or mossy rock. Perhaps, too, that coy mate is near, ad- 

 miring his show of gallantry, and holding a sly flirtation. 



Look at this craggy precipice of rock, lost above among the green- 

 tasselled evergreens, and trickling with crystal drops from every drooping 

 sprig of moss. How its rugged surface is painted with the mottled lich- 

 ens of every hue, here like a faint tinge of cool sage-green, and there in 

 large brown blotches of rich color ! See- the fringe of ferns that bursts 

 from the fissure across its surface. There the trillium hangs its three- 



