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 Is not April a most delightful month? Full of promise and hope...and rain, rain, rain!
Oh, but when the rain clears, what wonders await our winter weary eyes! We may venture forth to gather a poesy of Spring flowers. Daffodil, hyacinth, tulip, welcome friends all. Discover the joy of gathering flowers in The April Garland by Kath Berry.
The April Garland: An Easter Offering By Kath Berry. Source: April 1851 Godey's Magazine
Come, dearest, lay aside your work; away with both book and needle; let us go forth into the bright sunshine of this balmiest, clearest, sweetest of April mornings. The warm, mild air, the blue sky, the odor of the early flowers, the song of the lately-returned birds, all chide us for lingering within these dull walls, and in sweetly persuasive language of their own do summon us to give them welcome as the heralds of the Spring. We will not venture yet into the woods to search for wild flowers; for, on these April days of alternating shower and sunshine, such long excursions were neither safe nor pleasant. We will defer them, trusting that May-day will usher in a warmer month than is usually granted us in this backward, northern clime, and when such lengthened rambles can be undertaken without encountering unlooked-for storms.
For the present, hie we to the garden to gather what man's stinted cultivation there offers for our acceptance. It is true that here are no great varieties; but they are precious and thrice welcome, these first blossoms, and while we enjoy their perfection, the scarcely discernible buds of the hyacinth, tulip, and star of Bethlehem , struggling above the loosened mould, shall bid us hope for more.
Look! Here are violets; and be careful as you tread, for I would not willingly see one of them crushed. They have not been idle through the long, dreary winter; for, see how they have spread themselves; at their own sweet twill, all over this large bed, not content with the narrow border on which I trained them the last summer. How brilliant they are now in the sunshine! And how meekly they lift their gold and purple heads to the light! I never look at the violet without fancying it a face, almost human in expression, which speaks to me, too, and in such appealing tones! It seems to say, “I am lowly and helpless; protect me,” and it turns its head so trustingly upwards, that I should grieve to see even one meek blossom destroyed by a careless touch or step.
Observe how carefully that skilled gardener is removing some of the plants to a more congenial spot among their floral companions of other names. Very tenderly, with his great, stout hands, does he convey his little burden to a fitter situation. I do believe that such a man is a poet; for, though he cannot frame a stanza, and may not write or even read poetry, so called, he has it in his heart. We will gather a bunch of these violets; for in a single blossom their fragrance cannot be appreciated. Fasten such a cluster in your girdle, or put it in a glass by your work-table or desk; you may forget it while your mind is on the employment of your fingers; but that most delicate of odors will float around you like an actual presence—an angel manifestation, making your labor cheerful and your thoughts pure and holy. I can but faintly describe such an emotion, though I have felt it a thousand times.
Here are the daffodils, raising their golden petals in the midst of a mass of pointed green leaves.
What! Did I hear you say that you do not admire the daffodil, it is so stiff and yellow? Slight it not, I beseech you. It is yellow, indeed, and so is often the sunset sky, both painted by the brush of Nature, that never puts on a color amiss.
Besides, the daffodil is connected with my most childish, earliest experiences of spring, and is to me ever a welcome comer. Shall I associate it in your mind with a moral lesson of deeper import? Permit me, then, to repeat some lines of one of those sweet, old English poets, addressed to this decried flower—
“Fair daffodils, we weep to see
You haste away so soon;
As yet, the early rising sun
Has not attained his noon.
Stay, stay
Until the hasting day
Has run
But to the even-song;
And, having prayed together, we
Will go with you along.”
“We have short time to stay as you,
We have as short a spring;
As quick a growth to meet decay
As you or anything.
We die
As your hours do, and dry
Away,
Like to the summer's rain;
Or, as the pearls of morning's dew,
Ne'er to be found again.”
Well, you are softened, I perceive; so we will place these which you have already picked in the nosegay that we are about to make. Do not quarrel with me, either, for calling it a “nosegay;” for I like that good old word in our mother tongue better than the newly-introduced French name of “bouquet.”
And now for some jonquils, whose delicate straw color shall be a relief to the gayer-hued daffodils. We will not confine ourselves to the fully-expanded blossoms, but will gather a few buds also, to mingle with their mature sisters, for they are so slender and droop so gracefully on the stem, besides having a deeper tint, that vanishes as they unfold, as to make them rival the first in beauty.
Next come in the blue bells, of which there are scores, and we will intersperse them unsparingly among our daffodils and jonquils. But what shall we do to obtain some green leaves? These long, verdant spikes of the daffodil are appropriate enough, and they must be plentifully bestowed on our nosegay. Still it lacks the grace which can only be supplied by the undulating outline of those leaves which we must wait for May to produce.
Do not ask me to resort to my geraniums, for I have a fancy to-day that no green-house plants shall share the honors of these children of the free air and earth. Let us search more closely, and perhaps Nature, ever bountiful and kind, will gratify our wish.
Yes, here is a treasure, and a goodly portion of it shall be secured before it is destroyed by the spade. For this trailing chickweed is a most saucy little intruder, and the careful gardener will not long suffer it to flourish. But are they not beautiful, although springing from what is only a weed, these star-like blossoms, so small and white? They are as perfect in every part as the largest, stateliest flower that grows. The long stems covered with green leaves will so well suit our purpose that we shall place them thankfully among our flowers, and, being better than our hopes, we must remain content with these; for the present not desiring anything more luxuriant. Kneel down with me to pick them, for as yet they kiss closely mother earth; and do not be troubled either at a soiled dress or these numberless little scarlet-colored insects that start up beneath our fingers. I fancy, by your shudder, that you think them too much like spiders to be admired; but let me beg you to examine one with attention, and you cannot fail to be struck with its minute but exquisite perfection. As the small creatures run off on all sides, would you not suppose that a child had broken its coral necklace, and the severed beads were scattered at our feet?
We have been so occupied with our flowers that we have not yet observed the more animated attendants of the Spring. There is a butterfly wavering among those low shrubs—most fitting visitant; and watch it now as it soars up towards Heaven in the light of this sweet season. What a proper idea of the ancients it was to make the butterfly an emblem of the immortal soul! And how thought-suggestive to see it at this time, when not only the church, but all nature, speaks of the Resurrection, which she now devoutly commemorates.
And let us listen to the varied and joyous strains of the birds. They have not all arrived in our northern clime, neither are they yet in full song. But we can distinguish the soft musical trill of our favorite sparrow, and the gay notes of the robin. Hark! What nosy chattering is that which almost drowns the sound of our voices? It proceeds from a company of blackbirds that have just alighted on yonder apple tree, and you can clearly see their sable plumage as they cluster on the leafless branches.
It is well that we have improved this hour of early sunshine; for, see, there is a cloud arising, and on my face I feel a drop of rain. Another and another; now we have an April shower. So let us hurry to the house, where we will put our flowers in a vase on the window-ledge, and on the morrow we will be up early to catch, with them, the first “vernal light” of the blessed Easter morning.
Once more in-doors, we will recall our favorite hymn on the flowers, of which, just now, the concluding verses come instinctively to my mind—
“In all places, then, and in all seasons,
Flowers expand their light and soul-like wings,
Teaching us, by the most persuasive reasons,
How akin they are to human things.
“And with child-like, credulous affection,
We behold their tender buds expand;
Emblems of our own great resurrection,
Emblems of the bright and better land.”
Seventeen Different Ways to Cook Eggs
Source: Lett's Household Magazine, 1884
Eggs à la Crême – Cut some very thin slices of bread and put them in the bottom and around the sides of a moderately deep dish. Boil twelve eggs just hard enough to slice, and place them in the dish. Cover them with a layer of grated stale bread, well peppered and salted. Make several layers. Mix a quarter of a pound of butter, a table-spoonful of flour, some chopped parsley, onion, salt, pepper, nutmeg, and a gill of cream. Mix them well and stir in a saucepan on the fire until it begins to boil; then pour it over the eggs in the dish, cover with grated bread, brown in the oven and serve hot.
Baked Eggs, Ardennes Style – Separate the whites and yolks of six eggs, putting each yolk by itself in a cup, and the whites altogether in a bowl; when all the eggs are broken, beat the whites to a stiff froth, after adding to them a saltspoonful of salt and a quarter of a saltspoonful of pepper; spread them on a buttered dish, slip the yokes on top, laying them a little apart, and bake for five minutes in a hot oven, or until they are light brown; dust pepper and salt over the top and serve them hot.
Eggs with Burnt Butter – Break half a dozen eggs, putting each one in a cup to keep them entire; put four tablespoonfuls of butter in a frying pan and brown it over the fire, slip the eggs into the hot butter and cook them to the desired degree; then take them up with a skimmer, lay them on toast and set the dish containing them where they will keep hot. Pour half a cup of vinegar into the butter, let it boil up once, pour it over the eggs and serve them hot.
Scotch Eggs – One cut of lean, cooked ham, cut very fine; six hard-boiled eggs. Cook one-third of a cup of stale bread-crumbs in one third of a cup of milk to a smooth paste, and mix it with the ham. Add one-half a teaspoonful of mixed mustard, one half a saltspoonful of cayenne, and one raw egg. Mix well. Remove the shells from the boiled eggs and cover each with the mixture. Fry in hot fat for two minutes, drain and serve hot or cold.
Eggs à la Neige – Put into a saucepan a pint of milk, two dessert-spoonfuls of orange-flower water, and two ounces of sugar, and let them boil; take six eggs, beat the whites to a froth and put it into the boiling milk by spoonfuls; stir the whole about with a skimmer; when done take the cooked frothed whites out and arrange on a dish; thicken the milk over the fire with the beaten yolks, and pour all over the frothed whites and serve.
Savoury Eggs – Boil any number of eggs hard, and when cold take the yokes and beat them smooth, with an equal number of anchovies, a little catsup, and a piece of butter. Add some lemon-juice and a little cayenne pepper. With this composition fill the whites of the eggs, and cut off the small ends so as to stand them up. Essence of anchovy will do as well as the fish. Grated ham or smoked beef may also be used.
Fried Eggs with Pickles – Put enough butter, lard, or ham-fat in a hot frying-pan to entirely cover the bottom, break in as many eggs as it will hold, dust them with pepper and salt, cook them to the required degree, and put them on a hot dish; meanwhile chop a large pickle finely and put it into the frying-pan for one minute after the eggs have been taken up, then put it on them serve them at once.
Fricasseed Eggs – Boil six eggs five minutes. Lay them in cold water. Peel them and dredge them with flour. Beat one raw egg light and dip the hard eggs in it. Roll them in bread crumbs, seasoned with pepper, salt, and grated nutmeg; cover the eggs will with this and let them dry. Fry them in boiling fat and serve them with any rich, well-seasoned gravy and garnish of parsley.
Eggs Convent Fashion – Boil four eggs ten minutes and put in cold water. Melt an ounce of butter and fry an onion cut into very thin slices; add a teaspoonful of flour, half a pint of milk, half a teaspoonful of flour, half a pint of milk, half a teaspoonful of salt, a quarter teaspoonful of pepper, and when nicely done add the flour eggs cut crossways into six pieces; toss them up and serve hot on toast.
Whites of Eggs à la Crême – Beat the whites of twelve eggs with four teaspoonfuls of rose-water with a little grated lemon-peel, nutmeg and powdered sugar. Put them in four moulds and boil for half an hour. When cold place in a dish and serve for supper with a sauce made of a half a pint of cream, a gill of wine, and half the juice of an orange sweetened.
Baked Omelet – Boil one pint of milk. Beat six eggs thoroughly, the yokes and whites separately. Put half a teaspoonful of salt, and butter half the size of an egg, into the boiling milk; stir this into the beaten eggs and turn all into a deep dish to bake. Bake ten minutes in a quick oven. It should be a delicate brown. Serve while hot.
Eggs with Cheese – Put four ounces of grated cheese, a piece of butter as large as a walnut, some chopped parsley and chives, nutmeg, and half a glass of wine; boil until the cheese is melted, continually stirring; add six eggs, beat them up and stew them altogether gently; serve on a dish garnished with fried slices of bread.
Eggs in Marinade – Poach six eggs nicely, trim them and serve with a sauce made as follows: three spoonfuls of water, a gill of white gravy, a spoonful of vinegar, a little pepper and salt, yolks of two eggs; stir these in a stewpan till they begin to thicken, but not boil, and pour them over the six eggs. Serve cold with a garnish of parsley.
Baked Eggs and Cheese – Lay some thin slices of cheese on a buttered flat baking dish, break as many eggs on the cheese as the dish will hold in a single layer, dust them with salt and pepper, put a small bit of butter on each one, and bake them to the required degree in a hot oven.
Eggs with Brown Butter – Melt a piece of butter in a frying-pan, and when it has ceased bubbling put in some beaten eggs, seasoned with pepper and salt, pass a red-hot iron—a hot poker, for example—over them to fry the yolk, and then pour over a spoonful of hot vinegar and serve.
Eggs in Cases – Make eight cases of writing-paper and butter the insides. Mix some butter with half a handful of bread crumbs, parsley, chives, cloves of garlic chopped up, salt and pepper. Put this in each case, and break an egg in. Put each on a gridiron over a gentle fire.
Eggs à la Tripe – Boil some onions with a good lump of butter very gently. When done add some salt, a spoonful of flour, a cup of cream or milk, and a piece of sugar the size of a hazel-nut. Let them simmer. Put in some hard-boiled eggs cut in quarters, and serve hot.
Baked Eggs – Put half an ounce of butter in a small tin pan, break four eggs in it, keeping the yokes whole, salt and butter and pepper them and bake in oven. They will take about six minutes. 
Easter-Eggs by H. B. B. W.
A little chicken, seven weeks old,
Looking at eggs in crimson and gold,
Painted with flowers, on either side,
And in golden letters, “Easter-tide.”
“Ah”, said the chicken, “when I am old,
I shall lay eggs in crimson and gold.”
One glad spring morning the church bells rang,
And happy carols the children sang;
But by her nest in a loft, alone,
Stood the little chicken, now full grown.
”Alas!” she cackled, in great dismay,
“I have laid white eggs on Easter-day.”
A dainty maiden—so I am told—
Sat painting eggs in crimson and gold;
She painted flowers on either side,
And in golden letters, “Easter-tide.”
“Oh,” said the hen, “now I understand—
Easter-eggs must be finished by hand.”
 The Natural Easter Cross
Source: The Popular Art Instructor, 1888
Tip: Replace the wood used in this project with Styrofoam, which can be found in the floral and basketry section of your local craft store.
The Natural Easter Cross is in imitation of rough granite, supposed to be placed in the open ground, which, at the Easter season, is adorned with those lovely spring blossoms that would naturally be found blooming around and upon it in the early spring, while the ice and snow still cover the earth during some of those cold days which visit us after the early flowers have commenced to bloom. The cross should, if possible, be quite large, from eighteen to twenty-one inches high. Fasten it to a solid block of wood; then arrange stones around it in imitation of a natural wayside cross. The wood is then painted with three coats of granite-colored paint, varnished and heavily sanded, and cut in imitation of irregular stones. The stones around the base are dipped in melted wax of the same color as the cross. The next step is to form the ice and snow: Take a quantity of pure wax, and melt it to the consistency of thick cream; then, with a small ladle, take up some of the wax and proceed to imitate the ice, which has frozen upon the cross, and dripped down in long pendant icicles. This is done by pouring the wax over the arms and allowing it to drip slowly, one coat upon another, until the proper length and thickness are given to each icicle. (See illustration.) The wax must not become too cool, or it will form into lumps, though in some places the rippled appearance natural to ice looks well. A portion is also poured upon the top, and a little upon the stones. When cold, the wax portion is varnished with a very thin coat of Demar, and, before this is dry, is thickly sprinkled with diamond powder. The flowers suitable for this cross are two clumps of Violets, a few Snowdrops, and the ever lovely trailing Arbutus with its gorgeous leaves and delicate pink blossoms, forms the chief adornment, and is arranged to cluster thickly around the base, peeping out from the snow and ice about the stones, and fastened up around the body with long sprays, falling over the arms in long, graceful garlands. All these flowers should be made from wax.
Out of Doors
Source: Arthur's Home Magazine, 1868
What child does not remember the search, in early April, for the first flowers of spring? First, the long, dreary waiting through the stormy month of March; the impatience at rains which, it seemed, never would cease their “drip-dripping evermore;” the high, cold, gusty winds of the old “lion” threatening destruction to all the stout trees of the forest; the dreary, dirty patches of snow still clinging to sheltered nooks in the hillsides; and then the delight when all was passed, and there succeeded a calm, bright sunny day, heralding the first of April. Away to the woods, then, over wet leaves, under dripping trees, searching among stones, in warm little crevices, for the delicate blue flowers which, in northern climes, are the first to make their appearance above the ground. Perhaps we did not find any upon the first day of our search; it may be just a dainty blue bud peeped out from its brown calyx enough to promise that the beautiful blossoms would come ere long. It was sufficient. The tender plant was plucked by the stem and borne home in triumph. It was the first flower of spring, and a rare treasure. Who does not remember the exhilaration of such days, when the sunshine of the coming summer seemed to penetrate into every part and fibre of the youthful body—when it seemed as though the bounding heart was far too big for the little frame that held it?
Children are naturally little savages. They love out door life. They rejoice in the freedom of air and sunshine. It is meat and drink to them. They would rather play out in the open fields than dine on choicest luxuries and be confined indoors. That child is unhealthy either in body or mind—most likely both—who would mope in the house instead of frolicking with its mates on the lawn.
It is not right, then, to seek to attract them to the house in pleasant, summer weather. Send them out—provide games for them; the ball, the hoop, the jumping rope. Give them a basin of soap-suds and pipes, and let them blow bubbles. Our hearts are always with the little ones in their out-door sports. Two or three little games we have found in a late children's book of amusements—some of them new to us, and it may be to our little friends of the “ Home Circle .”
A round of merry little ones take a feather; if that is not to be had, a ball of thistle-down, and toss is into the air, keeping it up by their breath. Each child hastens to blow it to her neighbor, lest it should fall on her dress or on the ground at her side, when she would be obliged to pay a forfeit.
They must not blow too violently, or it will fly so high that it will be difficult to reach; neither must they send it outside the circle, or it will be almost impossible to get it back again. It is great fun for children to keep their light, downy play-fellow afloat upon the summer air. They dance round, of course, very frequently in pursuit of it, but they must not let go each other's hands or break the circle to catch it in its descent.
A flower-pot is filled with sand or earth; a little stick with a flag is placed in it. Every child playing has to remove a little sand from the pot with a stick, without upsetting the flag, crying at the same time, “Take care!” The one who upsets the flag pays a forfeit.
It becomes an anxious matter when the sand has been removed several times.
Blind Man's Buff is a good game on a large lawn; but as at all times it is attended with some risk, we advise our little readers to play it in a safer way, thus:
Pointer's Buff. – A little girl is blinded carefully with a handkerchief, and a wand or stick is put into her hand. The rest take hands and dance round her. When she waves her wand they stop; she touches the one nearest to her with hit, and says, “Who is this?” The little girl touched answers, in a voice as unlike her own as possible, “It is I.” If the blindfolded child guesses rightly by the voice who it is, the two exchange places. The little girl who is caught becomes “blind,” and the player in the centre resigns her want and joins the dancing circle. 
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Miss Mary's Gazette, Content and Images © 2004 Mary B. Welsch
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334. Bonnets. The making of silk, crape, velvet, and other fancy bonnets gives employment to many females, and has long been one of the few employments open to women in the United States. Most proprietors of millinery establishments make a handsome profit on their goods, but some of the girls employed receive but a scanty pittance. The cruelty exercised by some milliners and dress makers toward those in their employ, by requiring of them too long and severe application, is very great. Many girls suffer, as the effects, diseases of the spine and eyes.
The milliner girls of New York are said to be good looking.
D., on Broadway, says his girls spend all they make on dress. He has two forewomen, to each of whom he pays $500 a year. They never save a cent. He had one to whom he paid $1,000, but she never laid by a dollar. Women, he thinks, have not as much originality of thought as men. They seldom invent. He would give $1,000 a year to a woman that would think for him, and originate styles, and combine and arrange the trimmings of his bonnets with taste. He walks on Broadway, and studies the fashion of bonnets; but none of his women ever do. (Perhaps they have no time.) Women, he thinks, never acquire such proficiency as men. They advance to a certain degree in the art, and ever after are stationary. He thinks it is partly because the majority look forward to marrying, and partly because they are so constituted that they are not susceptible of acquiring the highest degree of excellence. (I fear that D. does not consider that women have not had as much time nor so many opportunities for improving themselves as men, nor have they as much to stimulate them.) He pays women from $3 to $8 per week.