"When woods are green, And winds are soft and low, To lie amid some sylvan scene, Where, the long drooping boughs between, Shadows dark and sunlight sheen

Alternate come and go."

For company we need none better than a book well suited to the time, calculated to interest and amuse, not very exciting, and not at all abstruse. Perhaps a book is the best companion possible for such occasions; we may there glean the thoughts of another, without being called to the exertion of communicating our own; if it grows tiresome, or an invitation to balmy sleep be not made in vain, we can throw it by sans cérémonie, and may commence again at the place we left off, without apology or explanation for the lapse between. Surely, during the summer, there were no apologies or explanations even dreamed of in Utopia. What a waste of time, and breath, and energy, is expended on such like "old conventions of our false humanity." What mental reservations and moral deviations rendered necessary by the want of a little understood good faith!

The old adage, that "bad company is better than none," will only be readily admitted by shallow-pated triflers, the very sort of folks that to many constitute the kind of company comprehended in the phrase. But if it be difficult to bear courteously with the tediousness of "unideaed" people at other seasons, in July the infliction should be specially avoided. There is no fear of loneliness in "sylvan scenes' " to those who love to hearken to the sweet murmur of

"Birds in woodland bowers,
Voices in lonely dells,
Streams, to the listening hours

Talk in Earth's silent cells,"

while it interferes with the ideal of harmonious repose to be expected to talk as well as listen. Some congenial spirit might be found, that could rightly appreciate the abandonment to the gentle influences of the hour, and be quietly content with the privilege of doing nothing, without the slightest misgivings as to the time being well spent, and without restlessly contriving more active diversion;-who could share the enjoyment, yet interrupt not the soft serenity of time and place. But these chosen ones are so rarely found, so often

"By conflicting powers Forbidden here to meet,"

that the risk of being fretted by the presence of another more than equals the chance of being soothed.

"Leave-if thou wouldst be lonely-
Leave Nature for the crowd;
Seek there for one-one only-
With kindred mind endowed.
There, as with Nature erst
Closely thou wouldst commune,
The deep soul-music, nursed
In either heart, attune.
Heart-wearied, thou wilt own
Vainly that phantom wooed,
That thou at last hast known
What is true solitude."

Fairy palaces and Castles of Indolence abound in dreams of the dominions of the goddess Ease, to whom this month of "fervid noons 19 should certainly have been dedicated; but, however aerially built, they, with all their requirements for luxury and repose, in being constructed, speak of the necessity for shelter, for providing as it were

against the chance of change. But in the land of rest, the charmed "lotus land" that dawned upon the vision of the weary mariners, tired with ever "climbing up the climbing wave,"-the land where it seemed always afternoon, where all things always seemed the same, no tenements were required, no artificial architecture visible.

"They saw the gleaming river seaward flow
From the inner land; far off, three mountain tops,-
Three silent pinnacles of aged snow,-
Stood sunset-flushed; and, dewed with showery drops,
Up clomb the shadowy pine above the woven copse."
And while

"The charmed sunset lingered low adown
In the red west,"

and they gazed wonderingly upon the scene around them,

"The gushing of the wave

Far, far away did seem to moan and rave
On alien shores."

"They sat them down upon the yellow sand," and thought of fatherland, of wife, and child, and slave. But the spell is upon them;-that "island home"

"Is far beyond the wave;-we will no longer roam.

"There is sweet music here, that softer falls

Than petals from blown roses on the grass,
Or night-dews on still waters, between walls
Of shadowy granite in a gleaming pass;
Music that gentler on the spirit lies
Than tired eyelids upon tired eyes;

Music that brings sweet sleep down from the blissful skies.
Here are cool mosses deep;

And through the moss the ivies creep,

And in the stream the long-leaved flowers weep, And from the craggy ledge the poppies hang in sleep."

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The dreariness of the past, its continual trouble, sorrow, and unrest, contrasts with the soothing softness of the dreamy present, and rebelling against their doom of ceaseless toil, there seemeth 'no joy but calm." Doth not the folded leaf "grow green and broad, and take no care?"-the mellow summer-sweetened apple drop in the silent autumn night?-the simplest flower toillessly "live its allotted length of days?" Leaf, fruit, and flower, have rest.

"All things have rest, and ripen towards the grave In silence, ripen, fall and cease.

Give us long rest or death, dark death, or dreamful ease."

The affections of other years, the last embraces of their wives, and their warm tears at parting, are still dear in memory. But the spirit of change hath surely wrought confusion in that little isle. "Let what is broken so remain ;" "their household hearths are cold;" their sons inherit them, their very looks were strange, and why should they return? Long labour would it be to "settle order once again;"

"Sore task to hearts worn out with many wars,

And eyes grown dim with gazing on the pilot stars."
"But propped on beds of amaranth and moly,
How sweet (while warm airs lull us, blowing lowly),
With half-dropped eyelids still,
Beneath a heaven dark and holy,

To watch the long, bright river, drawing slowly
His waters from the purple hill;

To hear the dewy echoes calling

From cave to cave through the thick-twined vine;
To hear the emerald-coloured water falling

Through many a woven acanthus-wreath divine;
Only to hear and see the far-off sparkling brine,
Only to hear were sweet, stretched out beneath the
pine."

And theirs shall be that chosen destiny, so to live on ever, hearing each other's whispered speech, eating of the lotus day by day, removed from human sympathies and sufferings," careless of mankind,” like those mighty gods

"That lie beside their nectar, and the bolts are hurled Far below them in the valleys, and the clouds are lightly curled

Round their golden houses, girdled with the gleaming world."

July was so called by Marc Antony, in honour of Julius Cæsar, who was born in this month, and who deserved the compliment of having it named after him ;—the improvement of the calendar being counted among his "better deeds of ambition." According to the old mode of reckoning, this was the fifth month instead of the seventh, and was denominated “Quintilis.”

Our Saxon forefathers, from the principal employment of the season, in simple and appropriate phrase,

"Did full rightly call

This month of July Hay-monath,' when all
The verdure of the full-clothed fields we mow,
And turn, and rake, and carry off; and so
We build it up in large and solid mows.

If it be good, as everybody knows,

To make hay while the sun shines,' we should choose Right time for all things, and no time abuse."

There is no work heavier or more fatiguing than the gathering-in of the hay-harvest, which must necessarily be attended to during the hottest days of summer. In place of the brisk activity that generally distinguishes rural occupations, we have the following truthful description of the languid weariness with which hay-making is performed:

"The swinked mower sleeps; The weary maid rakes feebly; the warm swain Pitches his load reluctant; the faint steer, Lashing his sides, draws sulkily along The slow encumbered wain in mid-day heat." During this month we have an abundant variety of flowers, many new ones now first blooming, but some of our early favourites, for a whole year, have passed away. Roses of various hues are still luxuriant.

"Roses,

Beautiful each, but different all;
One with that pure but crimson flush,
That marks a maiden's first love blush;-
One,

Pale as the snow of the funeral stone,
Another, rich as the damask dye
Of a monarch's purple drapery,
And one hath leaves like the leaves of gold
Worked on that drapery's purple fold."

"Whose snowy vases hold Each a sunny gift of gold."

The different aspects progressively presented by this splendid flower is thus delineated in the "Mirror of the Months:"-" The first, while it lies unopened among its undulating leaves, like the halcyon's egg within its floating nest; next when its snowy petals are but half expanded, and you are almost tempted to wonder what beautiful bird it is that is just taking its flight from so sweet a birth-place; and lastly, when the whole flower floats confessed, and spreading wide upon the water its pointed petals, offers its whole heart to the enamoured sun. Wordsworth says the lily

was,

"The old Egyptian emblematic mark Of joy immortal, and of pure affection." Besides her chosen garniture of flowers, another and very attractive form in which summer bestows her wealth-a form that is perhaps more universally appreciated by young and old-is displayed in the plentiful supply of different fruits that furnishes us our most delicious repasts; each and every kind so exceedingly excellent, that it were difficult to award pre-eminence to any. Cherries are, by all juveniles, considered most particularly charming.

"With thread so white, in tempting posies tied,

Scattering, like blooming maids, their glances round; With pampered look draw little eyes aside, And must be bought."

And luscious strawberries, half smothered in cream, to grown-up children are more inviting still, and must be bought. But the wholesome, homely blackberry, that boasts not the shining, smooth, plump beauty of the one, nor the exquisite flavour of the other, has yet compensating qualities that entitle it, better than either, to be regarded, 66 par excellence," as the people's fruit. Sweet and refreshing, of spontaneous growth, self-cul tured, thoroughly democratic in its tendencies, growing on hedges, where the outside barbarians may fearlessly pick, or lowly in fields where the littlest child can reach, and growing in the woods tangled up with all sorts of uncared-for bushes for

company.

humanity. Angling has been specially lauded as a resource against ennui; happily there are comparatively few, and daily growing fewer, that appreciate the extreme agreeability ascribed to this time-honoured amusement. Walton, writing commendingly of Sir Henry Wooten, provost of Eton College, because he was a " dear lover and practiser" of his favourite art, quotes, as his experience," that 'twas an employment for his idle time, which was not then idly spent, for angling was, after tedious study, a rest to his mind, a cheerer of his spirits, a diverter of sadness, a calmer of inquiet thoughts, a moderator of passions, a procurer of contentedness,”—and continues in praise of this wonderful panacea, that it begat "habits of peace and patience in those that practised it." The most singular mode of begetting habits of peace conceivable, for it seems, without exception, the meanest species of warfare that the lords of creation condescend to. Shooting the beautiful birds that unconsciously approach the remorseless marksman, has all its cruelty, but the deceptive lure, ingeniously contrived to "tempt the tenant of the brook," is additionally abominable.

Water excursions and water exercises at this time of the year are both delightful and invigorating. To bathe in the salt sea foam, "listening to the breakers' roar," inhaling the exhilarating sea breeze, affords the healthiest enjoyment attainable. Bathing, under any circumstances, cannot be too earnestly recommended.

"Even from the body's purity, the mind

Receives a secret sympathetic aid." Leigh Hunt, in his book of the "Months," remarks that, "The most beautiful aspects in which Venus has been painted or sculptured, have been connected with bathing; and, indeed, there is no one thing that so fully contributes to the three graces of health, beauty, and good temper;-to health, in putting the body into its best state; to beauty, in cleansing and tinting the skin; and to good temper, in rescuing the spirits from the irritability occasioned by those formidable personages, the nerves, which nothing else allays in so quick and entire a manner."

A knowledge of swimming, however important it has been demonstrated to be, is a part of education too much neglected. Little boys should learn to swim as early and as regularly as they learn to read, and for that matter, little girls too; for they occasionally fall into the water, and are quite frequently thrown in from upset pleasure-boats,— owing to unlucky squalls or unskilful navigation; and it would be decidedly advantageous if they could reach the shore by their own efforts, in place of biding the chance of being dragged in by some chivalrous rescuer of the other sex. Let swimming be but generally accredited as a ladylike accomplishment,-a finishing stroke not to be omitted in fashionable boarding-schools, &c.,-and for the one Hero we read of, waiting the adventurous Leander, we shall have countless heroines, mermaid-like, emulously performing marine miracles in their own right.

"Day of glory! welcome day!
Freedom's banners greet thy ray;
See! how cheerfully they play
With thy morning breeze,

On the rock where pilgrims kneeled,
On the heights where squadrons wheeled,
Where a tyrant's thunder pealed

O'er the trembling seas."

So commences Pierpont's ode for the Fourth of July; a day of so much interest to Americans, that it were unpardonable to omit mention of it in writing of the month when it occurs. Yet to recount the different modes of celebration, or to speak aught of the causes that led to the immortal Declaration, that is dutifully read by all patriots on this great national anniversary, were tedious as a twice-told tale.

Military processions, erst the one important feature, are fast going out of fashion. Our citizensoldiers very reasonably and seasonably prefer picnics in the woods, where, in careless groups, they may talk o'er martial exploits beneath the spreading shade of patriarchal trees, to parading in stiff unbroken rows through the dusty streets of the city, and think withal they serve their country as well.

But however difference of taste may regulate its demonstration on such occasions, there is no diminution of popular enthusiasm, no want of admiring veneration for the illustrious dead. The advocates of non-resistance, who believe implicitly in the powers of patient endurance, and moral suasion, to work out all desired changes, if they but exemplify through life the spirit of their professions, cannot fail to benefit themselves and others. Beautiful are the principles of peace, and happy that day of brotherhood when they may be universally accepted. But the time is yet far distant, when we, living in the midst of the advantages won by an armed resistance, the choicest blessings of the present bequeathed us by the stormy past, would deny the same stern vindication of their rights to the oppressed.

"If new and old, disastrous feud,
Must ever shock, like armed foes,
And this be true, till time shall close,
That principles are rained in blood;
"Not yet the wise of heart would cease
To hold his hope through shame and guilt,
But with his hand against the hilt,
Would pace the troubled land, like Peace;
"Not less, though dogs of faction bay,
Would serve his kind in deed and word,
Certain, if knowledge bring the sword,
That knowledge takes the sword away."

RETROSPECTION.

BY MRS. E. W. TOWNSEND.

THE old man raised his hoary head,
His face was full of thought:
The long passed time had come to him,
Had come with what it brought!

Light kindled in his aged eyes;

Smiles moved his withered lips; And from his spirit slowly passed

A long and dim eclipse.

Think you he feels the narrow space,
The gray walls close and dim?
No, he is bounding o'er the heath
With life in every limb.

He breathes the fresh pure morning air,
For frost has crisped the ground,
And with a clear and loud halloo
He calls his leaping hound.

And yet, before the rock and hill
An answering echo makes,
The wondrous texture of his dream
Another outline takes;

And manhood stamps his open brow-
First love! with all its bliss-
And ripe sweet lips are lifted up,
To meet his parting kiss.

A gentle hand lies warm in his-
Close to his side she clings-
Oh yes! the past has come to him,
Has come with what it brings!
But even while the blissful thrill
Is trembling thro' his soul;
So real, it seems a living joy,

Onward the shadows roll.

And struggling in the race of life,

With lines upon his brow,

He meets the thousand cares and snares
Which throng around him now.

With broader views and higher aims,
For God, and brother man;
Defying sin, unmasking fraud,

As only brave men can;
Calmly he speaks the holy truth,
Upholds the glorious right—
Opposing with his single hand,

The force of lawless might.

Pride tempts him, and he heeds her not, Sloth sings her lulling song;

But firmly he resists the power

Which custom lends to wrong.

Scorn points her finger at his path,

Malice with ready sneer,

Scans word and deed, and with her taunt
Besets his patient ear.

He tastes the bitter-feels the sting-
But in the darkest hour,

The stainless past comes back to him—
Comes back, with healing power.
Well may he smile-the good old man!
For while his daylight shone,
He bravely did the work of time
And made the past his own.

Soon will he close his weary eyes,
In life's declining sun,
But in his heart, before he dies,
His heaven hath begun.

Keep watch and ward on all thy ways;
For well the poet sings
Who says the past comes back to us,
Comes back-with what it brings!

JULIA.

A SKETCH OF ANCIENT ROME.

BY MARGARET JUNKIN.

"THOU art weary, perhaps," said the young Antonius to his companion, a pensive girl who languidly reclined upon one of the rich couches that lined the spacious apartment," thou art weary, for thou seemest to have lost thy relish for the story of the old Greek; shall I amuse thee with one of the Idyls of Theocritus, or with the sterner music of some of our own poets? Or wilt thou leave this too-heavily scented atmosphere and this glare of artificial light, and seek with me our accustomed seat beside the fountain? The moon

light is making a pavement of brightest mosaics beneath the avenue of limes and olives, such as the lapidary Sylvius might imitate in vain. And dost thou not hear the cool plash of the water! Come, my Julia, thou art drooping to-night-the sweet air will revive thee;" and the youth pushed aside, as he spoke, the scroll from which he had been reading. The movement aroused the maiden from the revery into which she had fallen, and she started up, with an evident desire to disguise her abstraction.

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"What! leaving me so soon, Antonius? I thought thou hadst never tired of thy noble old Grecian." Nay, sweet, thou art the weary one. I wager thee a dozen oboli thou hast not heard one word of that fine passage to which I have been directing thy attention. What aileth thee of late? Thou wert not wont to be an inattentive listener. And thou hast been so thoughtful, too. I fear my old rival, Clito, has been plying thee again. If so, or if thou hast any anxiety, confess it to me; it shall be sub rosa;'" and he playfully pointed, as he spoke, to the rose carved in the centre of the ceiling of the apartment, which, with the Romans, indicated silence, and was a sort of pledge, that whatever was uttered beneath it should be regarded as confidential.

Nay, Antonius," said Julia, rising," thy jealousy may slumber; Clito troubles me not. It is not the hour for supper yet, for Hesperus has just lighted his pharos, so thy friend will not expect thee this hour."

“I did not think of going,” rejoined the youth, "that was thine own fancy;-I was only asking thee to go to the garden. The dews will distil from the flowers an aroma far sweeter than these scented lamps are pouring forth. Come, thou shalt then tell me why thine eyes are less glad than they were wont to be;" and he wound his arm winningly around the slender waist of the maiden.

Julia raised her eyes trustingly towards her companion, and, having called a slave to throw her stola over her shoulders, they passed together from the lighted chamber, and were soon hid beneath the overhanging limes of the garden.

"Thou wilt smile, perhaps, Antonius," said Julia, as she sat down upon the edge of the great basin, in the centre of which marble dolphins were spouting innumerable columns of water, "thou wilt smile when I reveal the cause of my seeming disquiet, or haply chide me as a weakminded girl. Thou rememberest our many conversations at my father's villa, and how nearly thou hadst won me over to the belief that our whole system of religion, while it answers an excellent end in acting as a check upon the vulgar, and should therefore be countenanced, is only a cunning fable, unworthy the credence of reasoning beings. Thou mayest remember how I told thee that thy Platonic theory was a cheerless one, because it removed us so far from the principle of all good, and gave us nothing to revere or worship. The obscurity and mysticism of the doctrines of the Academic sect puzzled me, and I could find nothing certain on which to repose my belief. With my thoughts much occupied with the subject of our discourse, I returned to the city again, and not long after, heard something of a new philosophy which has fastened itself strangely upon my mind. As I lay one evening in a dreamy revery, with my maidens