  Mine is an obstinate penchant for nature in all her [2] moods and forms, a satisfaction with whatever is hers. And what shall this be named, a weakness, or a— virtue? [5] In spring, nature like a thrifty housewife sets the earth in order; and between taking up the white carpets and putting down the green ones, her various apartments are dismally dirty. Spring is my sweetheart, whose voices are sad or glad, [10] even as the heart may be; restoring in memory the sweet rhythm of unforgotten harmonies, or touching tenderly its tearful tones. Spring passes over mountain and meadow, waking up the world; weaving the wavy grass, nursing the timid [15] spray, stirring the soft breeze; rippling all nature in ceaseless flow, with “breath all odor and cheek all bloom.” Whatever else droops, spring is gay: her little feet trip lightly on, turning up the daisies, paddling the water- cresses, rocking the oriole's cradle; challenging the sed- [20] entary shadows to activity, and the streams to race for the sea. Her dainty fingers put the fur cap on pussy-willow, paint in pink the petals of arbutus, and sweep in soft strains her Orphean lyre. “The voice of the turtle is heard in our land.” The snow-bird that tarried through [25] the storm, now chirps to the breeze; the cuckoo sounds her invisible lute, calling the feathered tribe back to their summer homes. Old robin, though stricken to the heart with winter's snow, prophesies of fair earth and sunny skies. The brooklet sings melting murmurs to merry [30] meadows; the leaves clap their hands, and the winds [1] make melody through dark pine groves. What is the anthem of human life? Has love ceased to moan over the new-made grave, and, looking upward, does it patiently pray for the per- [5] petual springtide wherein no arrow wounds the dove? Human hope and faith should join in nature's grand har- mony, and, if on minor key, make music in the heart. And man, more friendly, should call his race as gently to the springtide of Christ's dear love. St. Paul wrote, [10] “Rejoice in the Lord always.” And why not, since man's possibilities are infinite, bliss is eternal, and the conscious- ness thereof is here and now? The alders bend over the streams to shake out their tresses in the water-mirrors; let mortals bow before the [15] creator, and, looking through Love's transparency, behold man in God's own image and likeness, arranging in the beauty of holiness each budding thought. It is good to talk with our past hours, and learn what report they bear, and how they might have reported more spirit- [20] ual growth. With each returning year, higher joys, holier aims, a purer peace and diviner energy, should freshen the fragrance of being. Nature's first and last lessons teach man to be kind, and even pride should sanction what our natures need. Popularity,—what is [25] it? A mere mendicant that boasts and begs, and God denies charity. When gentle violet lifts its blue eye to heaven, and crown imperial unveils its regal splendor to the sun; when the modest grass, inhabiting the whole earth, stoops [30] meekly before the blast; when the patient corn waits on the elements to put forth its slender blade, construct the stalk, instruct the ear, and crown the full corn in the [1] ear,—then, are mortals looking up, waiting on God, and committing their way unto Him who tosses earth's mass of wonders into their hands? When downtrodden like the grass, did it make them humble, loving, obedi- [5] ent, full of good odor, and cause them to wait patiently on God for man's rich heritage,—“dominion over all the earth”? Thus abiding in Truth, the warmth and sunlight of prayer and praise and understanding will ripen the frui
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