Vol. VII APRIL, 1844. No. 4.
pril has stolen in upon us, and deserves a welcome at our hands. In our New England climate it is not so gentle as in some other lands. It brings us no flowers, but still, the blue-bird and the robin visit us, and tell us of a thousand pleasant things that May and June will bring with them. This month has been thus described by a lively and pleasant writer.
“April,” says the author of the “Mirror of the Months,” “is Spring—the only spring month that we possess—at once the most juvenile of all the months and the most feminine, never knowing her own mind for a day together. Fickle as a fond maiden with her first lover, toying it with the young sun, till he withdraws his beams from her, and then weeping till she gets them back again. April is doubtless the sweetest month of all the year; partly because it ushers in the May, and partly for its own sake. It is to the confirmed summer, what the previous hope of joy is to the full fruition; what the boyish dream of love is to love itself. It is indeed the month of promises; and what are twenty performances compared with one promise? April, then, is worth two Mays, because it tells of May in every sigh that it breathes, and every tear that it lets fall. It is the harbinger, the herald, the promise, the foretaste of all the beauties that are to follow it.”
Dick Boldhero.
CHAPTER III.
Adventures in South America, continued.
