"When daisies pied, and violets blue, Do paint the meadows with delight, The cuckoo then on every tree Mocks married men, for thus sings he : Cuckoo, cuckoo-O word of fear "When shepherds pipe on oaten straws, And merry larks are ploughmen's clocks; Mocks married men, for thus sings he : Cuckoo, Cuckoo, cuckoo-O word of fear Unpleasing to a married ear!" SHAKSPERE. Love's Labour's Lost. Act v, Scene 2. we can wander into the springing meadows, and hearing the cuckoo, recall those bright times, saying with the bard of Rydal Mount: We scarcely remember in the English language | realities-are daily attendants on our footsteps, any description of Spring and Winter surpassing in graphic terseness Shakspere's noble lyric above quoted; and notwithstanding the somewhat scandalous insinuation it contains, venture to think our readers will admire it as we do, and so during their April rambles, not fearing the cuckoo's cheerful cry, rather hail the returned wanderer's advent as a sure pledge of approaching bright days and summer happiness. Often and often have we listened to that invisibly ubiquitous bird amid the fields of Wensleydale, in boyhood's hours, vainly wishing for a glimpse of the merry herald, and ever disappointed, until we almost fancied in our visionary young heart some strange enchantment hung around him, and that we might hear but not behold. Whence he came and whither he went we little cared to know. He was a part and parcel of the Spring-a never-failing companion of its dewy flowers. We rejoiced to hear his songfor song it is-alone by the woodside, or on the breezy hills; and when they told us he had no mate and no home, whilst we regarded him as an unfettered, blessed citizen of the wide, wide world, perhaps our joy was not untinged with melancholy when we remembered that if like ourself he had no household cares, he must likewise be a stranger to household love. "Though babbling only to the vale, Of visionary hours. "Thrice welcome, darling of the spring! No bird, but an invisible thing A voice-a mystery. The year is now rapidly approaching its most admired season; and highly serviceable are those mild invigorating showers, mingling rain with sunshine, which render April weather so proverbially inconstant. With hundreds of blossoms Still, though time may have somewhat sobered starting up beneath our feet, and herbage sproutour early raptures, and solemn truths-griming half perceptibly, we cannot wish the genial drops away, even when they drench our raiment. Softly they sink into the deep valleys, bearing sweet nourishment. Softly they fall along hoary mountains, bedewing every tree; and when they cease for a little period, or the glowing sunbeams glint through them, joyously sing birds in tangled shaw and rocky glen, giving melodious welcome to the balmy blessings, and in extreme ecstasy carolling as if to condense a life-long energy into one glorious hour of song. Never will we blame the April showers, in thoughtlessness of heart forgetting their great mission, and like the world-wise, overlooking in an unchanging promise its certain fulfilment. As low voices of whispered comfort to weary souls panting heavily after long combat, fainting exhausted amid perfected victory, come these fattening rain-pearls into Earth's bosom, who, not indeed prostrate with hard conflict, but nevertheless weak in her awakening, hails gladly the life-supporting boon. Dwellers in level countries-heedless onesinhabitants of great cities, stunned through heart and brain by machine wheels-know not, imagine not, the beauty of April weather. To them the blue hills covered with rich purple heather robes, gemmed by thunder-riven crags, are but as minstrel tales. The song of the ascending lark, the whistle of the wheeling plover, aye, the deep, indescribable sough of the mountain-wind, are heard only in unsubstantial dreams. Lowlanders are indeed surrounded by beauty of a meeker class. They may watch the sky, listen to the birds, cull fresh flowers, and dance upon village-greens; but they do not, cannot feel the joy of the mountaineer. Woe for the citizen. The clash of factory-bells, the sullen roll of cars, blended with that inly-audible wail of overtasked humanity-widows' and orphans' groans are his serenade, in place of Spring's blessed canticle, and the mirth of the growing time. We are on the hills, breathing our own transparent air, surrounded by a thousand different things which met our infant eyes, and won our childish love; love all unaltered through maturer years. Look! a rainbow in its perfect glory spanning the valley! That magnificent arch to which so many divine uses have been assigned in the mythologies of barbarous and civilized nations; all deeply ignorant of the holy sign of a merciful covenant vouchsafed to man; yet all-led perhaps by some dim tradition brought from Shinah's plains, some faint scintillations of primeval light-regarding it as a visible union between earth and heaven. Iris, the celestial messenger, according to the Greeks and Latins, descended always on the rainbow: our Scandinavian ancestors gave to it their imaginary guardian, Heindaller. Poets have perpetually sung its beauty; painters have enriched their best pieces with its faint image; philosophers have investigated, and saints devoutly admired its mysterious splendour. "When Science from Creation's face "And yet, fair bow, no fabling dreams, "When o'er the green undeluged earth, Heaven's covenant, thou didst shine, "And when its yellow lustre smil'd The first-made anthem rang, "As fresh in yon horizon dark, As young thy beauties seem As when the eagle from the ark First sported in thy beam. "For faithful to its sacred page, Heaven still rebuilds thy span, After this splendid burst of deathless poetry, we will not add another word. It would be worse than superfluous, for a finer tribute was never rendered in any language to the glorious rainbow of APRIL. Banks of the Yore. (To be continued.) SONNET. (On seeing a Lady with a Wreath composed of the Wings of the Rose-beetle. Death haunts thy garland, lady; high he peers The stream alone danced to his minstrelsy, For noon glowed on those green mail wings; and that Think I-fancying in each bright wing lies AN APHORISM.-(From the Greek of Plato.)An ordered mind is better than an unregulated one; for an ordered mind is considerate, and a considerate mind is consequently good; and its opposite, a mind which never resists any impulse, is evil.-GEORGE J. O. ALLMAN. THE WAY-SIDE BE L L. BY ELIZABETH YOUAT T. "Oh! many a winter night I've wept E. V. On the borders of a dreary wood, in the northern part of Germany, stands a little wayside chapel, the bell of which is only tolled when a funeral goes past. The tolling of a bell is always a melancholy sound; but this, although loud, and capable of being heard at a considerable distance, has a peculiarly sad and solemn cadence, as if it knew that it was never in future to speak of anything but death. In a small and pleasant cottage not far from the chapel, there lived, at the time of which we write, a young man called Paul Vanderpant. For many generations his family had occupied the same house, and tolled that same melancholy bell, at intervals few and far between ; while various legends of the now fast-decaying chapel passed from father to son, and were repeated with white lips around the midnight hearth. More than once it had chanced that the narrator was interrupted in the most interesting part of some of those wild tales, and obliged to go forth into the dark night, and certify to the living, by means of the way-side bell, that the dead were going past to their long home. The present proprietor, however, was not one to care for tales or legends: he had no belief in spirits, and used to laugh at such superstitions in a way that made the old gossips of the place shudder, and shake their heads at his temerity. If Paul Vanderpant had of late begun to entertain serious thoughts that it is not good for man to be alone, it was assuredly some other sentiment than fear which engendered them, or he would not have made choice of Gertrude Hoffman for a companion-unless, indeed, he thought with ourselves, that there is no surer charm against the power of the evil one than love for one another, and trust in God. Gertrude was the eldest child of a poor widow, who occupied an adjoining cottage. She spun and sewed, and made lace; tended and arranged the flowers which her little brother Eric sold at the neighbouring market-place; nursed and waited upon her aged mother, or romped and laughed with her young sister Lily. She was never idle, never out of spirits, and her sweet voice might be heard from morning till night singing at her wheel, or among her flowers, or as she passed fearlessly through that dreary wood where few cared to be after nightfall. Gertrude feared nothing but doing wrong. Sometimes the poor girl fancied that it might be wrong to be always thinking of Paul Vanderpant; for, dearly as she loved her own little circle, she could not but feel that he was dearer than all to her; for it is strange how soon such affections outgrow the love of kindred! And many a time has she knelt down, all alone in the little way-side chapel, and prayed to God to keep her from idols! But Paul was worthy of her, and her influence-for oh, how great is a woman's influence who loves and is beloved!-fell upon him like a blessing. Widow Hoffman had seen a great deal of trouble in her day, and although for her children's sake she still clung to life, there was a shadow upon her heart which would not suffer her ever again to enjoy it as she had once done. From this cause she had a habit of talking of the world as if it were a very sad and weary place, to all of which Gertrude listened with filial reverence and an incredulous smile. It seemed a beautiful world to her, and full of sunshine! It is a beautiful world for all; and its few days, its wilderness wanderings, make us prize the sunlight and the flowers all the more; or, better still, weans our affections from earth to that bright and far-off land, where there will be no more sighing or sorrow. Gertrude's creed was, Let us enjoy and be grateful for the present, and trust the future to Him who knoweth what is best for us, whether it be good or evil. Paul Vanderpant, as we have said, was no believer in the supernatural, or Gertrude either, although the deep reverence of her nature made his mockery appear painful, and for her sake he ceased to jest upon such themes as he had once done. "After all," said Gertrude, upon one occacasion, when the conversation chanced to turn upon this subject, "there are many things constantly happening around us, which are too well authenticated to be denied, and too strange to be explained. I certainly do not believe in ghosts, but I as certainly believe that nothing is impossible to God!" Lily, who had all a young girl's love of the marvellous and romantic, asked Paul if he had ever seen the spirit which was said to haunt the, so that he had not even sufficient strength left little way-side chapel, of which mention has be- to demand admittance at that door to which the fore been made. light burning within had providentially directed him." "No, never; and yet I have been there at all hours. But what is it like, that I may know it, in case we should ever meet?" "Like a woman, they say, dressed all in white, with her long hair floating on her shoulders." "Who says so, Lily?" "Nonsense! How provoking you are! But surely you know the legend?" "Not I," replied Paul, carelessly. "Then it was no ghost after all!" exclaimed Eric, with a disappointed air. "We might have suspected as much,” observed his sister Lily. Gertrude put her hand into her lover's, and smiled. "Did the poor man recover?" asked she. "Yes, and you will doubtless see him some day, for he never passes this way without calling." 66 Supposing that you had sat still," said Lily, and feared to open the door! I am sure I should.” "I hope not," answered Paul Vanderpant; "for then the poor old man must certainly have perished with the cold: as Gertrude says, we should fear nothing but God!" Lily smiled, and remained silent, for she well knew that whatever Gertrude said, or thought, or did, was sure to be right in the eyes of Paul; and the young girl wondered, if ever she had a lover-a possibility which she often seriously contemplated-whether it would be the same, and whether it would ever be "as Lily says!" Time enough, sweet Lily. Thou art little more than a child as yet, although thou wouldst toss thy pretty head, and curl thy small rosy lips, if any one were to venture to tell thee so. "She is said," continued Lily, without heeding his incredulous smile, "to have been the only daughter of a proud and wealthy baron, who wanted to force her into a marriage with" one whom she never could have loved, even if she had not been, as she was-secretly betrothed to a brave young knight, with no fortune but his sword. To avoid this hateful marriage, the lovers fled away one moonlight night; but somehow the baron got to hear of it, and burning with rage, set spurs to his horse, and overtook them just opposite the little way-side chapel, in which the lady sougnt refuge. She was kneeling and praying before the altar, when her stern father entered hastily, with his sword drawn and covered with blood; and she knew by that, as well as by the expression of his countenance, that all was over. For a moment the old baron was startled by a wild and thrilling shriek, and when he advanced, after a pause, and lifted her from the ground where she had fallen, he found Assisted by her mother and sister, Gertrude that she was dead: her heart had broken! The spun all her own household linen, and arranged body of the young knight is said to have been her simple wardrobe against the now fast apsecretly interred somewhere within the precincts proaching period which had been fixed upon for of the chapel; while that of his betrothed was their wedding to take place. It was so delightful conveyed back to the splendid burial-place of to think that she was not to be separated from her ancestors; but every night her spirit comes her family, but could see them every day as to weep over the lonely grave of her murdered usual, and go in and out the old cottage, and aslover!" certain that her mother had everything com"And did you really never hear or see any-fortable, and put Lily in the way of doing many thing?" asked the little Eric of Paul Vanderpant, as his sister concluded her narrative. "Yes, I remember now. One night I was sitting all alone in my little cottage, when I distinctly heard three deep groans, succeeded by a heavy fall without." "And what did you do?" asked the boy, creeping closer to him, and fixing his large eyes eagerly upon his countenance. I got up directly and opened the door; but there was nothing to be seen, although to be sure the night was very dark. I had, however, no sooner resumed my seat, than the groaning was repeated in somewhat fainter accents." 66 How frightened you must have been," said Lily. "I was startled, I confess; and this time I took the lamp with me; but when I opened the door, there came a sudden gust of wind and blew it out, so that I was no better off than before. In stepping over the threshold I stumbled against something which lay prostrate on the ground, and another heavy groan succeeded. It was a poor wandering pedlar who had lost his way, and was half frozen to death with the cold; things which would seem strange to her at first; for the active and busy Gertrude had been hitherto the presiding spirit of her cheerful home. There were one or two little articles, however, which Gertrude wanted to complete her trousseau, and which could not be procured nearer than the market-town of S, situated at the extremity of the wood about five miles off; but she knew the path well, having been that way many times before. Accordingly, one fine morning, Gertrude started for S--, accompanied by Lily, who, as their mother appeared unusually well, and Eric had promised not to leave her, asked permission to go with her sister; for there was nothing that Lily enjoyed more than going to S--, which, small as the town was, seemed to her like another world. Paul Vanderpant prophesied that there would be a heavy fall of snow before night; but it certainly did not look like it then. It was agreed, however, that, in case he should be right, the sisters were to sleep at the house of a distant relative, who resided in the town; and Paul was to come over the following morning and fetch them home. He would have been glad to accom pany them could he have found time; but, if the truth must be told, even Gertrude was not very sorry that he did not; for she had, as we have said, several little purchases to make, and men are sadly in the way upon these occasions. Lily laughed merrily, as she stood warmly equipped for their long walk, and with the early sunlight glittering upon her bright, golden hair. "Be sure that you bring the sledge, Paul," she exclaimed; "for the snow will certainly be too deep to admit of our walking back!" "We shall see," replied Paul Vanderpant, good-humouredly. "I would lay you any wager we are home tonight," persisted Lily. "I hope so, if it be without danger. But Gertrude, dearest, you will be careful, for my sake." Gertrude answered in a low voice; and joining her sister a few moments afterwards, they passed into the thick wood, and were soon out of sight; although their merry voices, and Lily's clear ringing laugh, lingered in the air for several moments, and then died gradually away. Notwithstanding that they are constantly together, it is astonishing how many things sisters always have to talk about, especially when it happens, as in the present case, that one is on the eve of marriage. What bright plans were arranged! What fairy hopes of future | happiness! How the real and the ideal mingled together in their thoughts and words, which, wander as they would, ever came back to the one theme. How Lily talked and laughed, and praised Paul Vanderpant; and how Gertrude blushed and listened, and loved her for that praise. The time passed away so quickly, they could scarcely believe that they had indeed come to the termination of that dreary wood, and were entering into the little market-town of S. Neither had they perceived how the beauty of the morning had passed away, and the atmosphere gradually darkened and thickened around them. Gertrude's simple purchases were soon made much sooner than Lily quite approved of; for she would fain have lingered twice as long, looking at the smart ribbons and laces; but as her sister said, of what use was it, since they could not afford to buy any? They next went to visit the relative before mentioned, who received them with a hearty welcome. "I think that we shall have some snow," said she, as they sat at dinner. 66 "It does look like it now, to be sure," observed Lily. 'How Paul will triumph to find that he was right, after all!” "Do you think that the snow will be much?" asked Gertrude. "Not until after sunset." "And we should be home by then." "If you wish to return to-night," said their hostess, "I would advise your losing no time about it." "Let us go," exclaimed Lily, "if it is only to tease Paul. I do not believe that it will snowat least not before we reach home; and we will walk fast, as we did this morning," Gertrude was also desirous of returning, for she well knew that her mother would be fancying all sorts of improbable things, and have no rest, if they did not come, although they tarried at her own request. Accordingly the sisters took a hasty leave of their kind relative, and commenced their journey homeward. The cold was intense, and a sharp easterly wind came full in their faces, sometimes in such violent gusts as almost to beat them back again, while the withered branches of the trees creaked and groaned as they bent beneath the blast. "This is anything but pleasant," said Lily, as she paused a moment to recover breath and wrap the folds of her cloak closer around her. "But at any rate there is no snow, and we shall yet laugh at Paul for a false prophet!" As she spoke, a large white snow-flake drifted before her eyes, and whirled round and round as if in mockery. Gertrude smiled as she pointed to it; but there was a weight on her heart, and she almost wished that they had not ventured. But it was too late to think of that now, since it was as near to proceed as to retrace their steps; and no alternative remained but to walk on as quickly as possible. Every moment the sky seemed to grow darker and darker, while the snow fell fast and silently. In an incredibly short space of time the ground and the trees were all whitened over, while the sharp driving sleet almost blinded them. Ger-. trude soon discovered that they had missed the right path, but knew not how to regain it; and they wandered about for hours, until the night came on and found them completely bewildered in the mazes of that dreary wood. At length poor Lily began to lose all hope, and sinking down upon the snow, declared that she felt too tired to go any further. It was in vain that Gertrude endeavoured to arouse and cheer her : the cold had seized upon her, and a fatal lethargy was fast stealing over her senses. "Oh, Lily!" exclaimed her sister, "do try and get up. It does not snow quite so hard now, and perhaps we may be able to find the path. We cannot be so very far from home: at any rate, it will be warmer walking about." "What were you saying about home, sister? for your voice sounds a great way off, and I feel so sleepy. I do not think that I shall ever see home again." “Hush, dearest! only try and rouse yourself. Lily speak to me! Lily! Lily!" There was no answer. "If she sleeps now," murmured Gertrude, "she will wake no more. Oh God, be merciful! Save her-save us both! My poor mother! My dear Paul!" And the girl lifted up her clasped hands and wept. She took off her warm cloak and spread it over Lily-there was nothing else that she could do. God alone could help them. "His will be done!" said Gertrude. And as she knelt and prayed, a strange calm came over her, and her heart was filled with a sweet trust. "He knoweth best," thought she. "He will comfort them. And yet, if it were His will to spare us a little longer, we |