24 APRrL AWAKENING. 



The poplars have thrown out a profusion of plush 

 necklaces. The hazel bush, viewed against the 

 sun, "snatches a grace beyond the reach of art." 

 Its minute, fertile flowers, excreted from the tip 

 of the scaly, bud-like catkins, are of a rich car- 

 mine hue, and when disposed along the shoots, 

 in the midst of the pale yellow, drooping aments, 

 present to the rambler, beautiful specimens of 

 Nature's festooning. 



Long before the bough trinkets have disap- 

 peared, the concerts have begun in the lowlands. 

 The bylas peep. What a pure, delicate sound is 

 that which comes from the reeking mire! It is 

 the signal trumpet for the frog band to awake and 

 tune their instruments for the Spring jubilee. 

 The leopard frogs hear it and come out of the 

 black mud, dressed in bright green coats, faced 

 with gold and jet. As evening approaches, they 

 are marshaled along the shores of the pond, and 

 in the shallow places, to hear the call of their 

 leader. At first a few faint whistles are sounded, 

 in perfect measure, from under the green algae; 

 then the nearest members chime in and play a 

 brief overture — a kind of aquatic ditty, before 

 the real opera begins. A small glee club, in 

 front of their water-grass music-racks, sing an 

 Easter carol. Soon the band strikes up in good 

 earnest. The waters are fairly alive with chirps 

 and trills, flute and fife notes, that are as musical 



