In society, the pleasures of beneficence, and the movements of compassion; in friendship, the interchange of good offices, and the balm of sympathy; in domestic life, the tenderness of conjugal affection, and the endearments of filial and parental duty; and, to crown all, in religion, the sublime enjoyments of devotion, and the blessed hopes of immortality, give an unspeakable charm to existence, and prove the divine Being who bestowed these gifts to be full of condescending kindness to his rational offspring.

How gracious, indeed, the care which has provided a remedy for our spiritual wants, and an answer for those longings and fears which look beyond our present dwelling, and make earnest inquiries of eternity! How precious that divine word which bears assurance of pardon to the sincerely repentant, and promises of peace and pardon to the sorrowful and broken-hearted; which tells of a merciful Savior, who was wounded for our transgressions, who was acquainted with our griefs, and who died that we might live! These blessings change not with the changing seasons, nor pass away with the rolling years. When the believer thinks of them, his heart overflows with gratitude; and the deep emotion which they excite finds no language more suitable for its expression than the short but emphatic exclamation of an apostle,- "Thanks be to God for his unspeakable gift!"

VICISSITUDE; a regular change, or succession of one thing to another. EXHALE; to send out, to emit as vapor or minute particles of a fluid or other substance. INTERCOURSE; connection by reciprocal dealings between persons or nations. CONSCIOUS; possessing the power or faculty of knowing one's own thoughts or mental operations. SYMPATHY; the quality of being affected by the affection of another.

A DAY IN JUNE.

TUNE; give u its long sound. CHALICE; ch like tsh. BENEATH; e long in each syllable, th flat. BEEN; bin, not ben. WARM; sound the r.

AND what is so rare as a day in June?

Then, if ever, come perfect days;
Then heaven tries the earth, if it be in tune,
And over it softly her warm ear lays;
Whether we look, or whether we listen,
We hear life murmur, or see it glisten;
Every clod feels a stir of might,

An instinct within it that reaches and towers,
And, grasping blindly above it for light,
Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers;
The flush of life may well be seen

Thrilling back over hills and valleys;
The cowslip startles in meadows green,

The buttercup catches the sun in its chalice,
And there's never a leaf or a blade too mean
To be some happy creature's palace;
The little bird sits at his door in the sun,
A-tilt like a blossom among the leaves,
And lets his illumined being o'errun

With the deluge of summer it receives;
His mate feels the eggs beneath her wings,
And the heart in her dumb breast flutters and rings;
He sings to the wide world, and she to her nest:
In the nice ear of Nature which song is the best?
Now is the high tide of the year,

And whatever of life hath ebbed away
Comes flooding back, with a ripply cheer,

Into every bare inlet, and creek, and bay;
Now the heart is so full that a drop overfills it;
We are happy now because God so wills it;

No matter how barren the past may have been,—
'Tis enough for us now that the leaves are green;
We sit in the warm shade and feel right well
How the sap creeps up and the blossoms swell;
We may shut our eyes, but we cannot help knowing
That skies are clear and grass is growing;

The breeze comes whispering in our ear,
That dandelions are blossoming near,

That maize has sprouted, that streams are flowing,
That the river is bluer than the sky,

That the robin is plastering his house hard by ;
And if the breeze kept the good news back,

For other couriers we should not lack;

We could guess it all by yon heifer's lowing, —
And hark! how clear bold chanticleer,
Warmed with the new wine of the year,
Tells all in his lusty crowing!

Joy comes, grief goes, we know not how;
Every thing is happy now,

Every thing is upward striving;

'Tis as easy now for the heart to be true
As for grass to be green or skies to be blue,-
"Tis the natural way of living:

Who knows whither the clouds have fled ?

In the unscarred heaven they leave no wake;
And the eyes forget the tears they have shed,
The heart forgets its sorrow and ache;
The soul partakes the season's youth,

And the sulphurous rifts of passion and woe
Lie deep 'neath a silence pure and smooth,

Like burnt-out craters healed with snow,

CHALICE; cup. A-TILT; leaning forward, just ready to start. CouRIERS; messengers. WAKE; a track made by some object in passing through any element, as by a ship in passing through water. RIFT; a cleft, a fissure, an opening made by riving or splitting.

THE LIFE OF A LEARNED LADY.

SURPRISE; sur like er in her, not sup. DIFFERENT; fer like er in her; ent, not unt. BELIEVE; be; give e its long sound. CERTAIN; ai like short i. GENERALLY; er as in her. COLLECTIONS; short ě, not u. JUST; short й, not ě.

You must know that I was born a genius. I cannot remember the time when I learned to read or spell. I only remember that such were my wondrous abilities, that, at the age of four years, I was always introduced among the acquaintances that visited my father, to excite their surprise by spelling all the cramp words that a ragged Johnson's Dictionary could furnish them with; and I always performed my task with applause. I have been told, too, that if I could not pronounce a word properly, I refused to pronounce it at all.

In order to foster these buds of intellect in me, my father thought it necessary to send me to a day school in the neighborhood; but, alas! I soon discovered that my governess could not read or spell half so well as myself. Of course, I laughed at her; and she soon dismissed me as wery wolatile, and such a hod kind of a girl, that she did not know what to make of me.

My father then took me under his own tuition. He instructed me in writing. He had a smattering of French, and also of Latin: how he came by it, I shall not take up your time by telling you. He taught me a little of the first, and had begun to teach me the second. I had got as far as declining via, a way; but here my progress was stopped. Whether it was that my father had determined one tongue to be enough for the daughters of Eve, and thought he had done too much by giving me two, I know not; but certain it is, I went no farther in Latin than via, a way.

I, being, as already said, a genius, should have regretted this circumstance in after life; but I have found there was y 166-248.

r. 166, 340.

no occasion. Genius and learning are two very different things. Besides, I have not an acquaintance who does not believe that I have a thorough knowledge of the Latin language, while, at the same time, I do not know enough even to make a lady a pedant. By the aid of my father's instructions, and of the books in his stall, I continued to improve in learning.

And permit me here to contradict an assertion generally made that great diffidence always accompanies superior talents; for, notwithstanding my shining abilities, I was never deficient in a becoming consciousness of them. I shall not trouble you with a catalogue of the books I had read before I was ten years old, but merely mention those in which I took the greatest delight. These were principally collections of maxims, and odd numbers of old reviews. The former made me very sententious. By perusing the latter, of which my father had a great stock, I acquired a vast deal of learning at a very small expense.

I got by heart the titles of the books criticized in them, read carefully the various extracts from them, and then pretended to have read the books themselves. By the help of a good memory, I easily got people to believe this. If any, person questioned me somewhat closely, however, I could always give a general character, by the aid of my old reviews, of any particular book mentioned; and as to this or that passage, why really I could not say that I recollected it just at that moment.

Happening, however, one day to stumble upon a criticism, which was a very favorable one, on poems by a young lady aged fourteen, I immediately resolved to commence writer, and to write in verse too; for it seemed to me that any body could write in prose, but that only a genius could write poetry. "O!" thought I, " if the reviewers praise so highly a young lady of fourteen, how much more loud will they be in their commendations of one who is only eleven!