Yes! spring has come at last,—delicate, fresh, emerald

spring;

'And earth exulting, from her wintry tomb

Breaks forth with flowers.'

Many a lovely blossom is peeping from meadow and hedgeway;

'Bells and flowerets of a thousand hues'

are spreading their gay carpet of variegated colours,

'As if the rainbows of the fresh green spring

Had blossomed where they fell.'

The bluebell bends to every passing breeze; the speedwell

'Gleams like amethyst in the dewy grass ;'

and the celandine-the beautiful celandine-glistens like gold from out the verdant meadow; whilst the air is perfumed with the sweet odours of violets, ground-ivy, hyacinths, and many spring flowers.

'The welcome flowers are blossoming,

In joyous troops revealed;

They lift their dewy buds and bells,

In garden, mead, and field.

From the green marge of lake and stream,

Fresh vale, and mountain sod,

They look in gentle glory forth

The pure, sweet flowers of God.'

There is not, however, a sweeter or more beautiful blossom in this month than the wood-anemone (Anemone nemorosa), that droops its modest head in such abundance

alike in wood and sheltered valley. It is the windflower of our old poets,-l'herbe au vent, or wind-herb, of the French. The English name is taken from the

Greek word anemos, or wind, which was given by the ancients, why, I am unable to tell you, unless it be that ts delicate petals, so soon ruffled by the spring winds,

are often first found quivering in the fierce breezes of March. A poet has spoken of

'The coy anemone, that ne'er uncloses

Her lips until they're blown on by the wind;'

but I am more disposed to think it is to the warmth and brightness of the genial sunshine that the 'coy anemone' chooses to unclose her lips;' for, when he pours his radiant beams with fullest light and vigour on the earth,

'Then, thickly strewn in woodland bowers,
Anemones their stars unfold.'

What, my dear young friends, can be more exquisite than these fair, tinsel-looking, quivering blossoms, that nod and tremble amongst the grass, raising their slender stems, with graceful, drooping heads, amidst their triple circlet of dark, smooth, beautifully-cut leaves! The flower is white and star-shaped, delicately pencilled with purple lines; the veins of the green leaves are tinged with crimson. And thus we see even this lowly blossom the divine Hand has streaked with loveliness and beauty. Though continuing to bloom in rapid and plentiful succession, it is frail when gathered, and dies quickly; thus we are told,

'Its beauty but awhile remains;

For those light-hanging leaves, infirmly placed,

The winds, that blow on all things, quickly blast.'

There are various legends attached to the anemone.

Some poets have told us it owes its origin to Flora, the goddess of flowers and gardens, the privileged enjoyer of perpetual youth, who, jealous of the exquisite beauty of a Grecian nymph, changed her into this blossom. But the fable most commonly received is that connecting it with the death of Adonis, who was killed whilst hunting, and over whom Venus shed many tears, each tear that fell to the ground springing up a beautiful anemone. Now, my young friends may not all know that the ancient Greeks and Romans held a mythology, which is simply a collection of legends and fables, of course all fictitious, yet differing from fiction, because once believed to be an account of events that had actually taken place. Gods and goddesses were supposed to have presided over these events; and temples were raised to their memories, in which festivals were held, that often lasted for days and weeks. Now, Venus was honoured as the goddess of love and beauty, the mistress of the Graces, and queen of laughter. Adonis was her beloved favourite. He was passionately fond of hunting, and so bold and daring in the chase, that Venus, fearful lest in thus exposing himself he might one day be slain, forbade him to hunt wild beasts. But alas! Adonis, over-confident in himself, heeded not the injunction, and received a mortal injury from a wild boar. Then we are told the plentiful tears of Venus gave birth to the wood-anemone.

'The flower which sprang, as ancient fables tell,

When 'neath the wild boar's tusk Adonis fell,

The youth beloved of Venus, from whose eyes

Poured crystal tears, like raindrops from the skies.'

The elegant, silky pasque-flower (Anemone pulsatilla) may also be gathered in this month, growing on banks or chalky pastures, but is not a common plant. Its delicate purple stars of flowers are larger than the woodanemone, but do not grow so tall.

Another bright ornament of our spring meadows is that 'fragrant dweller of the lea,' the 'freckled cowslip' (Primula veris), of which the peasant-poet Clare has so beautifully written :

'Bowing adorers of the vale,

Ye cowslips delicately pale,

Upraise your loaded stems;

Unfold your cups in splendour; speak!
Who decked you with that ruddy streak,
And gilt your golden gems?'

Exquisite indeed is this softly-fragrant, pale yellow blossom, with its handsome primrose leaf, and drooping flowers, or 'nectared bells,' supported on one delicate

stem:

Cowslips wan, that hang the pensive head.'

Hasten, my young friends, search far and wide for the largest, most perfect blossoms, and let us make a cowslip ball, by nipping off the clusters from the top of the stem, and passing them upon a string. Take care to press the flowers closely together, then draw them up into a ball, and tie the string securely. What a sweet-scented toy to toss into this lovely April air!