warmth at mid-day might cheat anything into the belief that May had already arrived. Our gardens are putting on new beauty. The delicate and beloved snowdrop is the first to come, like a faithful friend who never fails us, and the crocus speedily follows. Nor has the skylark a monopoly of music, for other birds take up the glad chorus, and it will speedily become universal.

And how natural it is to rejoice in the spring-time! It is as if the world got young again, and made everything upon it renew its youth also. We cannot help feeling glad in the spring any more than we can help feeling sad in the autumn. We feel as if we must begin to sing when the birds do, and our hearts rise up to God in thankfulness and joy that the brightness is coming again. Then we have so much to hope for. It seems, indeed, as if spring-time and hope always go together. We can bear to look forward now, for surely better and brighter days are coming.

And so they are. To many, many hearts that have been sadder than winter there will come a blessing soon. Is it not always the case that sunshine follows shade, and joy succeeds to sorrow? So let all who have been spending a night of weeping look forward to a morning of joy. Into dark lives at some time or other there does come gladness, the singing of birds, and the opening of flowers.

And, besides this, the passing away of winter ought to remind us of that home where, as we are so fond of singing,

"Everlasting spring abides,

And never-withering flowers."

Who can tell but what that which is happening to us now is a hint of that spring, and that we shall before long sit down and rest beneath the tree of light?

A Bunch of Snowdrops.

ALL flowers have their mission. They have all something to say to us either in the way of rebuke, or comfort, or instruction. But perhaps there is not one of them all whose coming we welcome with such delight, and whose teachings we are so eager to understand as those of the snowdrop. No doubt it is all the dearer to us because it is the first which comes after the winter; but surely even if it came in June or July, in the common flower harvest, we could not help admiring and loving it. As it is, it has so much to say. It brings a tender message from our Father which assures us that the winter is past, and that the summer is coming. It teaches two things over and above all the others—hope and purity. It does sometimes happen in our year of life that we are afraid to hope, but that cannot be when the snowdrops are here. They tell us of possibilities of beauty, and enjoyment, and rest in the future, and they beget in us all sorts of happy dreams. We begin when the snowdrops are here to look up to our God and think not of judgment but of mercy.

It is wonderful what a bunch of snowdrops can do. A man pressed down by the cares of life once was saved by them. He was perplexed by many difficulties and bowed down with much care; he did not know what to do, and had almost resolved to give up in despair. With heavy steps and gloomy countenance he went toward his office. So depressed was he that he felt as if he hated the very sight of the place. But when he entered, he found in the dingy room a bunch of delicate snowdrops. There was none to see, and the man took them in his hands and kissed them, and let his tears fall upon them, and held them while he knelt and prayed. He felt then and ever afterward that those snowdrops were blessings sent from heaven.

We have seen the effect they have in the sick-room, too, many a time. They are better than medicine, and almost as healing. They speak of life, and youth, and spring to the weary sufferer. How beautiful they are to the tired eyes, how cool to the fevered fingers, how thankful the heart feels that the flowers are coming again.

But the snowdrop is the emblem of purity, and it should teach us to be pure also. How wonderful they look, the white drooping things coming out of the brown earth; it seems as if to be so pure they ought to grow upon high trees, not so near the ground. But it is possible to be very clean even when defilement is not far off. Is not that one of the lessons which the snowdrops teach to us who are living in the world? It is what we are, not where we are, that makes all the difference. "I pray not that Thou shouldest take them out of the world, but that Thou shouldest keep them from the evil," was the prayer of the tender Saviour who loves us so well that He would certainly ask for what is best for us. As we look at the pure blossoms that make our gardens so beautiful, can we feel that we are at all like the snowdrops? We can at least pray the old prayer, "Wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow."

Spring.

It is not often that we are all satisfied together, and find that there really is absolutely nothing to grumble at, but even that extraordinary thing does happen when the spring comes. Everybody welcomes that visitor; greeting hands are held out, and smiles are lavished upon it, and every one is ready to believe that he has found a friend. Whether it will indeed prove so or not, of course remains to be seen. But in the meanwhile we have no doubts, and we meet the new-comer with every possible manifestation of joy.

And that in itself is a good thing. It is a boon worth having, even though its only result be that it makes us more good-humoured and hopeful-that it infects us with its hilarity, and makes us genial and pleasant. Of course in the winter there is some excuse for ill-temper. Snarling is a good accompaniment to east winds, and frowns do not look very inappropriate to fog; but when the spring, with its wonderful sunshine, fills the whole earth, it is

enough to make us ashamed of our disagreeable selves, and anxious to put off sad-coloured garments of every kind. Even the children grow brighter when they go forth to gather heaps of buttercups and daisies, and as for the old people they almost grow young again, for why should not they also have a spring-time? Indeed, old and young and middle-aged almost unconsciously join in the general gladness, and with songs of thankfulness and trust swell the harmony of the world.

And these are two of the lessons which the spring should especially teach, thankfulness and trust. Has not the winter once more been smiled away from our land? Has not our Father kept His promise? Are not flowers scattered in bountiful profusion where a short time ago was only barrenness? And if all this has come to usand how much more only our own hearts and He may know-surely our songs should be the loudest and sweetest of them all. In the Hallelujah chorus of the spring-time no voice should be silent; the doxology of nature should be sung by all nations.

And, as for trust, how can we help having that? Do we not find how powerful and how faithful is our God and Father? Do we not see how much He can and will do for us? The sunlight of spring should make us ashamed of all doubt, and teach us to be willing to say with all our hearts, "Thy will be done."

Spring time, which is the earth's resurrection day, should always make us calm and hopeful with reference to the morning which shall break for us after the sleep of death. Once assured that we too shall rise again in the gladness of that everlasting spring, what can possibly sadden us? Supposing there are passing clouds and hidden sorrows, they are only for the present. That spring will not know them. And soon we shall be in the land of unfading flowers.

May we all grow glad and strong in the enjoyment of this, and the anticipation of that spring.

"Azure skies in the far-off heights,

Forest-deeps with your shady glooms,
Golden meadow lands bathed in light,

Hedges heavy with hawthorn blooms,
God is your guest on these happy days,
And ye write on a myriad leaves His praise.

"There is a joy in the world to-day:
Happy children with laughing eyes
And way-worn pilgrims turn to pray,

And take the rapture in glad surprise.
A new light rests upon hearth and home,
And earth is happy, for God has come."

Spring Sadness.

MUCH is said and sung about the joy of spring. It is supposed to be a very bright and happy time, with blue skies and carpets of flowers and perfect harmony, with no such things as rough winds and cold days and pelting rains. One who should say that he did not love the spring would be looked upon very curiously, as a most extraordinary person. Beautiful warm hopeful spring is clever at winning hearts, and young and old are alike loving and leal to her. She is fully appreciated by the many whom she charms, and they are never weary of praising her. They long for her coming and rejoice at the signs of her near approach and go forth to meet her with eager footsteps and eyes full of welcome. It is as natural to love the spring as it is to love youth and beauty anywhere, and we can no more help wishing for it than for the absent friend whose very coming is the signal for pain and sorrow and regret to steal away, leaving us to the love which is the rest of life.

And yet there is such a thing as spring sadness, and it is pretty widely felt. We cannot but see, as we take our walks among men and women in this mirthful, musical time, that there are bowed heads, and sorrowful faces, and spiritless steps. The spring, with all its hilarity, cannot lift the burden from stooping shoulders, nor relieve the weary heart. The little blue-eyed flowers smile up to many who could not smile back again to them. Often, indeed, the spring makes large demands upon the endurance of the sorrowful, for it seems so unsympathetic, so mocking in its brightness. The light is positively blinding