we,

like it, choose a shady retreat, and meditate by the side of living waters; choosing that good part which shall not be taken away from us, we shall one day be distinguished; and to us will the glad words be addressed, "Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world;" for "not many wise men after the flesh, not many mighty, not many noble, are called;" but, "Blessed are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of Heaven."

Juur.

It is said,

'Beauty hideth everywhere, that Reason's child may seek her, And having found the gem of price, may set it in God's crown." *

and thou, all-perfect June! more radiant than thy younger Sister May, though divested of the changeful witchery, that makes her memory so pleasant to us, how rich in beauty art thou; the sun high up amid the blue of heaven; the birds singing in the trees; the butterfly sporting from flower to flower; the earth arrayed in her brightest garb; all is green, fresh, and unfaded; all is ripening to perfection in the sunlight of June; and while gazing on such a scene, stern realities are forgotten, and we dream awhile of the land

"Where one eternal Summer reigns;

where there shall be no night, "no need of the sun, neither of the moon to shine upon it;"-but quickly, too

* Martin Farquhar Tupper, Esq., D.C.L., F.R.S.

quickly, the sweet dream passes away; e'en the gay butterfly recalls us to earth, for as it roves from blossom to blossom, as in search of some yet untasted sweet, it is a striking emblem of ourselves-our restless, unquiet minds-our oft-changing desires-our constant longing after change-our aiming at what, in this world, we cannot attain and when, at some future period we look back to our glimpse of heaven, and recall the scene which opened it to our mind's eye-we feel

""Twas one of those dreams, that by music are brought, Like a light Summer haze, o'er the poet's warm thought, When, lost in the future, his soul wanders on,

And all of this life, but its sweetness is gone."

The flowers of June are the most beautiful in Flora's garland--the peerless rose, our loved national flower, expands her delicately tinted petals, and blooms as brightly 'neath the sky of the land, of which she is the unrivalled emblem, as beneath the sunny skies which canopy the vale of Cashmere, and perfumes the shady glades of Old England, as sweetly as the arbours of the Aspen-trees, which deck the little isles of the Persian lake; and buds and blossoms as freely here, as in the land where

The bulbul chants through many an hour,

The praises of his favourite flower.

and 'tis in June, if we wander toward the margin of a lake, we shall see the water-lily, its large green leaves

* Moore.
F

bearing up the pure white blossom; and this "Lady of the Lake" wins our thoughts from reflections on her own beauty, and wafts them to Scotland; to the "airy point," on which the Knight of Snowdoun stood, gazing on the scene below;

"Where, gleaming with the setting sun,
One burnish'd sheet of living gold,
Loch-Katrine lay beneath him rolled;
In all her length far winding lay,
With promontory, creek, and bay,
And islands that, empurpled bright,
Floated amid the livelier light;

And mountains, that like giants stand,
To sentinel enchanted land." *

Where Ellen Douglas, the lovely "Naiad of the strand," the sweet Scottish "Lady of the Lake," shot in her light shallop "from underneath the aged oak," and, resting upon her oar, stood in all her youthful beauty before Fitz-James. Oh! how much of what makes life delightful, do owe to those, who live not to themselves alone; who suffer not to be buried with them in the tomb, the gems that adorn the noble temple of the mind; but in the world of literature unfold their banners, emblazoned with constellations of high thoughts and bright ideas, and leave them floating in the atmosphere of praise, to enlighten and delight others, and as undisputed evidences of the powers of the human mind.

Quitting the Lake and its associations, let us in the leafy month, which ushers in the longest day; permits no darkness to hide her beauties, and, with seeming

*Sir Walter Scott, Bart.

reluctance, allows soft twilight to shadow her for a brief space, after bathing in the dews of evening-let us enter yon old wood. For many a year have those forest trees been growing in strength, and shading the green moss which covers the ground beneath them so thickly, that no footfall breaks the spell which the scene and the silence works. 'Tis like enchanted ground; and as we gaze up a long avenue, which the thick foliage of June has darkened, but deepened in solemn beauty, we are reminded of some lofty Cathedral aisle; the wind murmuring among the trees recalls the pealing of the organ, and a devotional feeling of adoration is aroused; and, when a ray of sunlight penetrates the gloom, and falls upon the mossy carpet of the forest, how pleasing is the contrast, between it and the Cathedral aisle, even though the sun's rays are reflected from the rich colouring of some antique window; for they fall but upon the cold stone floor, or monumental tablet; while in the wood they rest upon living memorials of our Father's bounty; and we feel, how superior are the creations of God to the works of Man. We cease to wonder that the Druids should worship in the woods; the clear light of Revelation shone not, in their days, on our happy island, showing them that God dwelleth above the heavens, throned in the light no mortal can approach unto; and when they looked upward at the mighty oak, and saw it was the goodliest tree of the forest, the best and the strongest their little island brought forth, it was a noble thought to assign their unseen Deity a home among its branches, and go forth in their white robes to worship him beneath the blue sky.