The name of this month is derived from the verb aperire, which signifies to open, because seeds germi- 
nate, and at this season flowers begin to blow ; yet Macrobius affirms that it is derived from a Greek word 
signifying aphrilis, or descended from Venus, or born of the scum of the sea, because Romulus dedicated the 
month to Venus. This may be the real derivation; the former is the most natural. 
“April,” says the author of the Mirror of the Months “is spring — the only spring month that we 
possess — the most juvenile of the months, and most feminine — the sweetest month of all the year ; partly 
because it ushers in the May, and partly for its own sake, so far as any thing can be valuable without re- 
ference to any thing else. It is worth two May’s, because it tells tales of May in every sigh that it breathes, 
and every tear that it lets fall. It is the harbinger, the herald, the promise, the prophecy, the foretaste of 
all the beauties that are to follow it — of all, and more — of all the delights of summer, and all the ‘pride, 
pomp, and circumstance of glorious autumn.’ It is fraught with beauties that no other month can bring 
before us, and 
1 It bears a glass which shews us many more.’ 
Its life is one sweet alternation of smiles and sighs and tears, and tears and sighs and smiles, till it is 
consummated at last in the open laughter of May.” 
By the same hand we are directed to observe, “ what a sweet flush of new green has started up to the 
face of this meadow ! And the new-born daisies that stud it here and there, give it the look of an emerald 
sky, powdered with snowy stars. In making our way to yonder hedgerow, which divides the meadow from 
the little copse that lines one side of it, let us not take the shortest way, but keep to the little footpath; for 
the young grass is as yet too tender to bear being trod upon ; and the young lambs themselves, while they 
go cropping its crisp points, let the sweet daisies alone, as if they loved to look upon a sight as pretty and 
as innocent as themselves.” It is further remarked that “the great charm of this month, both in the open 
country and the garden, is undoubtedly the infinite green which pervades it every where, and which we had 
best gaze our fill at while we may, as it lasts but a little while, — changing in a few weeks into an endless 
variety of shades and tints, that are equivalent to as many different colours. It is this, and the budding forth 
of every living member of the vegetable world, after its long winter death, that in fact constitutes the spring; 
and the sight of which affects us in the manner it does, from various causes — chiefly moral and associated 
ones ; but one of which is unquestionably physical : I mean the sight of so much tender green after the eye 
has been condemned to look for months and months on the mere negation of all colour, which prevails in 
winter in our climate. The eye feels cheered, cherished, and regaled by this colour, as the tongue does by 
a quick and pleasant taste, after having long palated nothing but tasteless and insipid things. — This is the 
principal charm of spring, no doubt. But another, and one that is scarcely second to this, is the bright flush 
of blossoms that prevails over and almost hides every thing else in the fruit-garden and orchard. What ex- 
quisite differences and distinctions and resemblances there are between all the various blossoms of the fruit- 
trees ; and no less in their general effect than in their separate details ! The almond-blossom, which comes 
first of all, and while the tree is quite bare of leaves, is of a bright blush-rose colour; and when they are 
fully blown, the tree, if it has been kept to a compact head, instead of being permitted to struggle, looks 
like one huge rose, magnified by some fairy magic, to deck the bosom of some fair giantess. The various 
kinds of plum follow, the blossoms of which are snow-white, and as full and clustering as those of the 
almond. The peach and nectarine, which are now full blown, are unlike either of the above ; and their 
sweet effect, as if growing out of the hard bare wall, or the rough wooden paling, is peculiarly pretty. They 
are of a deep blush colour, and of a delicate bell shape, the lips, however, divided, and turning backward, to 
expose the interior to the cherishing sun. But perhaps the bloom that is richest and most promising in its 
general appearance is that of the cherry, clasping its white honours all round the long straight branches, 
from heel to point, and not letting a leaf or a bit of stem be seen, except the three or four leaves that come 
as a green finish at the extremity of each branch. The other blossoms, of the pears, and (loveliest of all) 
the apples, do not come in perfection till next month.” 
