8. There is ever sunshine somewhere; and the brave man will go on his way rejoicing, content to look forward if under a cloud, not bating one jot of heart or hope if for a moment cast down: honoring his occupation, whatever it may be; rendering even rags respectable by the way he wears them; and not only being happy himself, but causing the happiness of others.

J. H. FRISWELL.

"APRIL IN THE HILLS."

I.

To-day the world is wide and fair With sunny fields of lucid air, And waters dancing everywhere; The snow is almost gone; The noon is builded high with light, And over heaven's liquid height, In steady fleets serene and white, The happy clouds go on.

II.

The channels run, the bare earth steams, And every hollow rings and gleams With jetting falls and dashing streams; The rivers burst and fill; The fields are full of little lakes, And when the romping wind awakes The water ruffles blue and shakes,

And the pines roar on the hill.

III.

The crows go by, a noisy throng; About the meadows all day long The sh.o.r.e-lark drops his brittle song; And up tihe leafless tree The nut-hatch runs, and nods, and clings; The bluebird dips with flashing wings, The robin flutes, the sparrow sings, And the swallows float and flee.

IV.

I break the spirit's cloudy bands, A wanderer in enchanted lands, I feel the sun upon my hands;

And far from care and strife The broad earth bids me forth, I rise With lifted brow and upward eyes.

I bathe my spirit in blue skies,

And taste the springs of life

V.

I feel the tumult of new birth; I waken with the wakening earth; I match the bluebird in her mirth;

And wild with wind and sun, A treasurer of immortal days, I roam the glorious world with praise, The hillsides and the woodland ways,

Till the earth and I are one.

ARCHIBALD LAMPMAN.