are the common phenomena of the night, sometimes vanishing and returning in the space of a few minutes, which he assigns to the superior currents of air changing the state of the floating vapors, by which the light is refracted. Between latitude 15° of the equator, he records having observed small tinted halos around the planet Venus, the purple, orange, and violet being distinctly perceptible, which was never the case with Sirius, Canopus, or Acherner. In the northern regions solar and lunar halos are very common appearances, owing to the abundance of minute and highly crystallized spicula of ice floating in the atmosphere. The Arctic adventurers frequently mention the fall of icy particles during a clear sky and a bright sun, so small as scarcely to be visible to the naked eye, and most readily detected by their melting upon the skin. * * * * * APRIL. BY MRS. E. L. CUSHING. Hark to the silvery sound Of the soft April shower Telleth it not a pleasant tale Of bird, and bee, and flower? See, as the bright drops fall, How swell the tiny buds That gem each bare and leafless bough, Like polished agate studs. The elder by the brook, Stands in her tusseled pride And the pale willow decketh her As might beseem a bride. And round the old oak’s foot, Where in their wintry play, The winds have swept the withered leaves— See, the Hepatria! Its brown and mossy buds Greet the first breath of spring, And to her shrine, its clustered flowers, The earliest offering bring. In rocky cleft secure, The gaudy columbine Shoots forth, ere wintry snows have fled A floral wreath to twine. And many a bud lies hid Beneath the foliage pent, Waiting spring’s warm and wooing breath To deck the vernal year. When lo! sweet April comes, The wild bird hears her voice, And through the grove on glancing wing Carols, “rejoice! rejoice!” Forth from her earthy nest The timid wood-mouse steals, And the blithe squirrel on the bough Her genial influence feels. The purple hue of life Flushes the teeming earth, Above, around, beneath the feet, Joy, beauty, spring to birth! But on the distant verge Of the cerulean sky, Old Winter stands with angry frown And bids the syren fly. He waves his banner dark Raises his icy hand, And a fierce storm of sleet and hail, Obey his stern command. She feareth not his wrath, But hides her sunny face Behind a soft cloud’s fleecy fold For a brief instant’s space, Then looketh gayly forth With smile of magic power, That changeth all his icy darts To a bright diamond shower.