" Thus came the lovely spring, with a rush of blossoms

And music;

Flooding the earth with flowers and the air with melodies

Vernal".

IN THE Golden state, the advent of spring time is less gradual than on the snow-bound Atlantic shores. Early in the year, the genial sun shining upon the rain-soaked earth, calls up the fresh, young grass to re-carpet hill, meadow and wayside. The air is full of anticipation. Upon slopes exposed to the ocean breeze, flourish the wild blue iris, the lupin and the yellow pansy.

In the bustling metropolis, the stranger pauses at the street corner to purchase a bunch of fragrant Russian violets or mignonette; and * * the little birds sit on the telegraph wires, and chitter and flitter and fold their wings".

By the end of March every garden, worthy of the name, is a veritable bower; sweet with lilac-plumes, hawthorn and jasmine; beautiful with great clumps of calla-lilies, beds of velvety German pansies, variegated verbenas, and blue forget-me-nots; or gay with hyacinths, daffodils, flame-colored tulips and camellias.

First to break the rich brown soil are the crocuses, jonquils, snowdrops and lily of the valley; and these are soon followed by the cowslips, primroses and the polyanthus. Very spring-like appear the leafless, blossom laden boughs of the bridal-rose, flowering quince and double buttercup.*

The climbing rose vines, that all winter long have been battling with the elements, put forth a wild luxuriance of bloom and fragrance; from the porch roof, the wistaria flings down a multitude of graceful, drooping clusters ; while fair rosamond, gold of ophir and tea roses vie with each other in size and quality. Upon smoothly-shaven lawns, the polished leaves of the magnolia rustle in the soft spring winds, in company with the fan-palm, and the banana tree.

With the pink and white of the apple blossoms, the snow-drifts of the cherry trees, and the coral red of the quince blossoms - a fairy scene indeed - are now the fruit orchards, a short time since so bare and lifeless. In the southern part of the state, the atmosphere for miles around is filled with "the odors of a thousand weddings," from the vast orange-groves.

* Stately Easter lilies rise in season to commemorate the Ascension .

Fields of tender wheat are springing in the open country; and against a dark background of live oaks, evergreens and eucalyptus appear, in refreshing contrast, the expanding boughs of the silver poplar, flowering acacia, locusts, pussy-willow, and other deciduous trees or shrubs.

In the woods the pines are budding, and fir-tips are doffing their little brown caps, liberating the delicate fir-tassel. The madrona sheds its winter overcoat of bark ; and laurel, buckeye, elder, hazelnut and manzinita all show signs' of re-animation.

Upon the sodden forest floor, strewn with last year's leaves, the sunshine slants through on a wild tangle of undergrowth - dog-wood, waxberry bushes, blossoming blackberry vines, wormwood, sweet-briar and the beautiful but treacherous poison-oak ; while trailing ivy and grape vines twist themselves around the trunks of lofty trees, triumphantly waving from the top-most branches.

In the humid atmosphere of the booming creeks, we find the bulrush and the trillium, with hosts of sweet smelling brakes, and many tiny uncurling fronds of gold or silver-back ferns, five-finger ferns and dainty maiden-hair, and snugly lodged in crevices of neighboring rocks, the fragrant yerba-buena vine.

Emerging from the shadow of the woods, the eye is attracted by what at first appears a solid patch of sunshine, but which, upon nearer investigation, proves to be field after field of eschscholtzias, the orange-colored California poppy. Wading through the tall clover, we break off the succulent stems by the armful, or bear away the roots and all. One might fill a wagon, and they would hardly be missed. Scarcely less numerous are the shiny faces of the saucy butter-cups, and the slender stalks of the blue-bells. Here also* are acres of nodding wild-mustard and the white wild-turnip blossom; and across the emerald alfalfa fields, like a quiet lake, in the distance, are the nemophilae or baby-eyes.

To the traveler borne along by the rushing locomotive, the country seems one vast fantastic checker-board. While little black clouds chase each other over the April sky, and silence is broken only by the merry whistle of the plowman or the liquid note of the meadow-lark, darting from its hidden nest, over field and hillside the botanist may delightedly wander, tracing the mysteries of plant growth in the mariposa lily, soldier's cap, shooting star, cream-cup, monkey-flower, evening-primrose, buffalo-clover and rattle-snake grass; thus drawing nearer, day by day, to the mighty source of the humblest life.

"And nature, the old nurse,

Took the child upon her knee, Saving, here is a story-book, Thy Father has written for thee".

*********

Alameda Co., Cal. Bertha F. Herrick.