The snow-drops, pure and white,
Timid blue-eyed violets,
And daffodillies bright.

She loves dear Mother Nature,
And wanders by her side;
She beckons to the birdlings
That flock from far and wide.
She wakes the baby brooklets,
Soft breezes hear her call;
She tells the little children
The sweetest tales of all.

Her brow is sometimes clouded,
And she sighs with gentle grace,
Till the sunbeams, daring lovers,
Kiss the teardrops from her face.
Well we know this dainty maiden,
For April is her name;
And we welcome her with gladness,
As the springtime comes again.



Mr. Frog's Story

Down in the garden is a pretty brook, and something funny
happened one day as I was sitting watching the tadpoles and
minnows playing tag and hide-and-goseek. All at once something
gave a jump out of the water and with a loud "kerchunk," landed