ntry, the early explorers seemed to find only horror in its woods and waterfalls.
Josselyn, in 1672, could only describe the summer splendor of the White Mountain region as dauntingly terrible, being full of rocky hills, as thick as molehills in a meadow, and full of infinite thick woods.
Father Hennepin spoke of Niagara, in the narrative still quoted in the guide-books, as a frightful cataract; and honest John Adams could find no better name than horrid chasm for the picturesque gulf at Egg Rock, where he first saw the sea-anemone.
But we are lingering too long, perhaps, with this sweet April of smiles and tears.
It needs only to add, that all her traditions are beautiful.
Ovid says well, that she was not named from aperire, to open, as some have thought, but from Aphrodite, goddess of beauty.
April holds Easter-time, St. George's Day, and the Eve of St. Mark's. She has not, like her sister May in Germany, been transformed to a verb and made a synonyme for joy,—Deine Seele ma