Pealed her triumphal horn. The nitnble midge
Danced as if dancing were supremest joy,
And shook her wings in gladness. Butterflies,
Conscious of beauty, sped from flower to flower,
And flaunted in the aspect of the day
Their robes of spangled tissue, fairer far
Then ever caliph for his blushing bride
Bought with the wealth of conquered provinces.
And countless hosts of scarcely visible things
Lived and were happy in each leaf and bud,
In every crinkle of the oaken bark,

In every dew-drop trembling on the flower.
To them a world. Most beautiful were all,
Whate'er their form, their structure, or their size :
And Julian blessed them for Egeria's sake.'

While its companion picture truthfully depicts the misery which goes to make up the sum of existence, and seems, during the transition from Ignorance to Knowledge, almost a necessary element to prompt man on in his struggles for virtue and happiness.

"Behold, once more!" the radiant spirit said.

And lo! fierce war through all the woodland raged.
The emmets marched their armies to the strife,
And slew each other, as at Waterloo
Insensate men destroyed their fellow-men,
And all the ground was covered with the dead.
The hungry finch pursued the butterfly;

The hawk, down swooping from mid-air, perceived

The timid songster hidden in the boughs.

And dealt the blow of death; the spider spread

His intricate web, to snare the gnat and fly,
Proud of their finery; the beetle's jaws
Consumed whole nations for his noon-day meal;
The caterpillar crawled upon the leaf,
Among the calm, unconscious aphides,
Like Typhon 'mid the flocks of Sicily-
'Complaining man,
Gigantic horror prowled.
Whispered Egeria, "see the law of life."
The grass must wither, and the flower must fall.
The oak, whose rings mark centuries of growth,
Must perish in its season. All this life,
That sports and flutters in the breeze of heaven,
Like thee has sense of happiness and joy-
Like thee must pay the penalty of pain-
Like thee it toils to live-like thee supports
The burden of the elements, and yields
Obedience to the laws of time and
space-
And is, like thee, inheritor of death."'

For, says Egeria to her votary

NOTES ON THE MONTHS.

JULY.

THE year has now attained his manhood, and we are in midsummer; the sun is in full power, and at noon all nature is silent under his spell; even the bee hangs silent upon the flower; the mowers rest in the fields, and lay themselves down in the hot sun to sleep away the midday hour. Not a breath stirs, scarce even the sound of a wailing gnat is to be heard. The pulse of nature stands still. Glancing across the plain, you see the rarefied and glimmering air ascending from the heated earth. The trees are silent; every leaf is at rest; the most slender stem of trembling grass stands unmoved; the sea has forgot to murmur, and the very waves are still. They faintly kiss the yellow strand, as if in their sleep, and no longer leap laughingly to the shore. The tide of quiet beauty floods alike the earth, the sea, and the sky. The flowers send up their incense as before, but the birds are mute, and wait the descent of the sun before sending up their shout of song. The lark has sunk to the earth for a time, and cowers under the long grass.

The silence is broken by the muttering of distant thunder. A cloud no bigger than a man's hand rises in the west, the heat becomes more overpowering, the air more sultry, the sky is overcast, and peal after peal of Heaven's artillery resounds through the concave; cloud thunders to cloud, and the forked lightning instantly shoots in a brilliant stream from side to side of the heavens. The rain comes pouring down, and the parched earth is refreshed, and drinks in the moisture like a sponge. How delicious to walk out after a shower, and inhale the odour of the bean-fields, the aroma of the hawthorn blossom and the new-mown hay. The trees are cool and green; the crimson foxglove sparkles by the wayside; the woodbine throws aloft her trailing banners of floating green and gold; the gnats dance on the thin air under the trees, and the birds twitter and sing, though many of our most delicious songsters are, by this time, mute. The merry grasshopper keeps up a coil among the green leaves, and the noisy brook babbles under its shelving banks.

Vegetation is now at its height, the woods are thick with foliage, and, even at midday, a cool twilight may be found under their branches. The hedges are thick, and green, and full of flowers; the convolvulus has climbed and twined itself in all directions, enwreathing the hawthorn stems and the growing corn and the long grass, exhaling its delicious scent. The briony, too, winds its glossy trails around everything it comes near. Flowers grow profusely in the woods, under the hedges, in the fields, and along the wayside. The blue speedwell still lingers in July, and is loath to take farewell of summer; the dazzling pimpernel keeps time with its scarlet flowers: the tall wood-betony opens its rose-hued blossoms to the sun. Scabiouses, blue-bells, centuary, and wild roses, are out too, in full beauty, and the heath is now spread with its rich carpet of crimson.

Out-of-doors, the haymakers are at work, and sunburnt men and women toil through the long day in the fields; they are all out and at work; not a hand can be spared during haymaking weather. The mower sweeps the long grass to the earth, and after him come lads and lasses tossing it about in the sunshine. Many a joke rings from out the hay-field, while the work goes on until the late evening. Tinkling teams are heard bearing their loads of new-made hay into the rick-yard; you can scent the fragrance as they pass you in the lanes, and in good weather this work goes on under the light of the moon, for the farmer fears the sudden summer rain, and puts off nothing till to-morrow that can be done to-day.

The earth gives promise of her abundance in other respects. The green wheat begins to grow paler from day to day; the horned barley already rusties in the

breeze; the rye ripens fast; and the oats grow plump and pendulous. In our gardens the fruits are fast reaching perfection; all esculent plants are in full use; the rich juicy black currant is ripe, and the gooseberries are full almost to bursting. Ripe strawberries nestle under every leaf, and currants hang in long strips from their slender boughs.

Now is the season for bathing, whether in river or ocean. How delicious is a plunge in this thirsty weather! We almost envy the sheep-washers, up to their middle in the running stream, scouring the sheep; and the occupation of the waterman now seems cool and pleasant. But it is by the sea side that the luxury of the season is to be enjoyed; there you have a glorious expanse of water to cool your aching eyes. To watch the white sails of the passing vessels, stroll along the rocks on the beach, feel the cool breath of the sea fanning your cheeks, or plunge beneath a bounding wave, is, perhaps, the most delicious of all the luxuries of July-surpassing even that other more stomachic delicacy of "strawberries smothered in cream."

Sunrise and sunset are both fine in July; indeed, we can scarcely decide which is the more beautiful. The mornings are clear and warm; the lark still greets the sun with his morning song, though for the rest of the day he is mute. From a mountain top, from Skiddaw, Roseberry Topping, Snowdon, or finer still, Ben Nevis, the sight of the orb of day rising up from his chambers in the east is glorious. Even from any part of the line of our eastern sea coast it is a fine sight. It is still and dark, when a soft streak of purple upon the distant sea-line heralds his coming. Slowly a streaming pencil of golden light glitters and breaks along the sea, and the first blink of dawn has come. Everything about you is still undefined, but gradually the edge of the glorious orb comes into sight, "heaving his shoulder over the rim o' the world; gems are straightway hung on every flower and shrub at your feet; the landscape comes out in its glorious light and shade; and a line of burnished gold lies across the sea up to the sun's disk. The fleecy fogs lying in the valleys melt away, and the green earth again lies before you in all its ravishing beauty.

Sunset in July is no less brilliant. Along the western sky the glow becomes richer and deeper as the sun goes down to his rest. White fleecy clouds, tipped with a golden carmine, hover o'er him, crowding around to catch his gaze as he sinks. The hills assume a deep violet hue, and the distant peaks are tipt with gold. The fleecy clouds have now stretched out into bars of rosy red, through which the descending sun's edge peeps with mellowed light, sending its streamers still up into the sky. Rich streams of gold play upon the waters, becoming fainter and fainter. He has now dipt under the edge of the earth, and still the warm clouds linger about his setting. The blackbird makes his farewell song; the distant mountain peaks disappear; twilight steals over the flowers; and the great, old stars come out, and shine silently into the sea.

LOVE OF POWER.

The pursuits and inclinations of mankind all tend to the acquisition of power; if not to that of predominant rule and sway, at least to the power of self-control and independent action. It is sought for and fought for, in every manner and by every means; in riches, in rank, in station, in knowledge; by fame, by open bravery and boldness, by artful cunning and submission, by pen, by sword, by trumpet, and by tool. But power, however pursued and obtained, is the coveted possession of man, and the cherished and aspiring object of his ambition; for the powerless are without influence or regard, and have no weight or voice in the world's affairs. But there is always a place reserved in the world for him who is in possession of power.

EIGHTEEN!

At eighteen, the true narrative of life is yet to be commenced. Before that time we sit listening to a tale, a marvellous fiction; delightful sometimes, and sad sometimes; almost always unreal. Before that time, our world is heroic; its inhabitants half-divine or semidemon; its scenes are dream-scenes; darker woods and stranger hills; brighter skies, more dangerous waters, sweeter flowers, more tempting fruits; wider plains, drearier deserts, sunnier fields than are found in nature overspread our enchanted globe. What a moon we gaze on before that time! How the trembling of our hearts at her aspect bears witness to its unutterable beauty! As to our sun, it is a burning heaven-the world of gods. At that time-at eighteen, drawing near the confines of illusive, void dreams, Elf-land lies before us, the shores of reality rise in front. These shores are yet distant: they look so blue, soft, gentle, we long to reach them. In sunshine we see a greenness beneath the azure as of spring meadows; we catch glimpses of silver lines, and imagine the roll of living waters. Could we but reach this land, we think to hunger and thirst no more; whereas many a wilderness, and often the flood of Death, or some stream of sorrow, as cold and almost as black as Death, is to be crossed ere true bliss can be tasted. Every joy that life gives must be earned ere it is secured; and how hardly earned, those only know who have wrestled for great prizes. The heart's blood must grace with red beads the brow of the combatant, before the wreath of victory rustles over it. At eighteen, we are not aware of this. Hope, when she smiles on us, and promises happiness to-morrow, is implicitly believed. Love, when he comes wandering like a lost angel at our door, is at once admitted, welcomed, embraced; his quiver is not seen; if his arrows penetrate, their wound is like a thrill of new life; there are no fears of poison, none of the barb which no leech's hand can extract; that perilous passion-no agony ever in some of its phases, with many one agony throughout-is believed to be an unqualified good. In short, at eighteen the school of experience is to be entered, and her humble, crushing, grinding, but yet purifying and invigorating lessons are yet to be learnt. Alas, experience! No other mentor has so wasted and frozen a face as yours: none wears a robe so black: none bears a rod so heavy: none, with hand so inexorable, draws the novice so sternly to his task, and forces him with an authority so resistless to its acquirement. It is by your instructions alone that man or woman can ever find a safe track through life's wilds; without it, how they stumble, how they stray! on what forbidden ground do they intrude! down what dread declivities are they hurled !—Shirley.

COOL MALIGNITY.

It is not temper, as exhibited in the shape of violent passion, that has the most pernicious influence on human conduct and happiness; it is temper, under the shape of cool, deliberate spite, and secret rancour, that is most to be guarded against. "It is the taunting word whose meaning kills." The speech intended to mortify one's self-love, or wound our tenderest affections, it is temper under this garb that is most hateful and most pernicious; when inflicting a series of petty injuries with a mild and placid face, then is temper the most hideous and disgusting. The violence of passion, when over, often subsides into affectionate repentance, and is easily disarmed of its offensive power; but nothing ever disarms the other sort of temper. In domestic life, it is to one's mind what a horse-hair shirt is to the body; and, like the spikes of an iron girdle, whenever it moves it lacerates and tears one to pieces.

THE fool, by pomposity of speech, striveth to be counted wise, and the wise, for holiday and pleasance, playeth with the fool's best bauble.

OUR "ANGEL SIDE."

It has been the fashion, time out of mind, to dwell upon the evil tendencies of humanity, and to dilate upon the proneness of all the sons and daughters of man to do wrong in preference to right. There would almost seem to be a special faculty, powerfully developed, having for its express object the exaggerating of all the dark shadows with which life is chequered; and the result has been the belief of many glaring doctrines, the production of almost universal distrust and suspicion, and a widespread want of faith in the improveability of our fellow

men.

It is this sort of feeling which has prompted a great majority of the wars, which has built frowning fortresses upon towering mountains, which has converted peaceful labourers into armed soldiers, thirsting for the lives of those who never did them wrong, which has made fertile fields scenes of wholesale slaughter, that has prompted all the selfishness and hard-heartedness which dim the bright sun of civilizing commerce, and which has sanctioned revengeful punishment, instead of reformatory discipline.

There has been no lack of hero worship among us. There have always been voices enough to sing the praises of the great and famous; to elevate them almost to the position of demigods. But while they bow the knee to the possessor of recognised fame, and celebrate ovations in praise of those, around whose heads the circlet of glory glitters, they have run into the opposite extreme with regard to those who sin against society, or inflict injury upon its members. Perhaps this is the result of the tendency to take extreme views of either good or evil, but the effect it produces is to unduly elevate some, while it as unduly debases others. We would not willingly pluck a single laurel from the brow of the philanthropist, the poet, the philosopher, or even the warrior -honour to whom honour is due. Howard, visiting the prisons of Europe, and mitigating the sufferings of the wretches who there found an involuntary home; Shakspere giving a voice to the universal poetry of nature; Newton developing the law of gravitation, and opening the great laws which regulate the universe, or any one of the many great warriors who have conscientiously and bravely performed what (most wrongly we think) they

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looked upon as a sacred duty, are worthy of admiration from their fellow men. But it might benefit us, and increase our humility and our sympathy for even the most depraved of our fellows, to think that the best among us can be nothing more than man, while the worst cannot be degraded into anything less-that the most virtuous have their vices, and the most vicious their virtues-that a common chain binds all within its magic circle that there is, indeed, in the depths of all hearts the touch of nature, which makes all men, from the monarch to the peasant, from the sage to the savage, from the saint to the deepest-dyed criminal akin-that no man, till he shuffles off this mortal coil, can divest himself of the duties of relationship to all the human family, and that the highest, purest, holiest, sincerest recognition of that natural tie springs out of, and is sanctioned and rendered sacred, not by the vices which all have, and by which they are allied to evil, but by the virtues which we feel are equally common to all, when leaving the gloom we turn to the brightness or the "angel side" of humanity.

Good and evil, like plants of earthly growth, increase by culture; but in order that they may be cultivated they must be discerned and recognised. The great system under which evil has grown up is one which takes note mainly, if not entirely, of the defects and frailties of humanity, which is intended to repress vices rather than to cultivate virtues, and hence has grown up the practice of imprisoning instead of teaching-of punishing instead of preventing-of relying upon force rather than upon affection-of appealing to fear, the lowest and most degrading of man's attributes, instead of to love, the highest and most ennobling of his qualities-in order to prevent vice and crime. Few people seem to have thought that it is better to create truth than to punish error. There has been a want of perception of the fact, that good and evil may be compared to two spheres, spreading over and occupying the whole surface of the human mind; that as one is expanded the other is necessarily decreased, and that the true way to diminish the sphere of evil is by good gentle agencies-by high and holy teaching-by forbearance, patience, and charity, to extend the sphere of good. From this not being generally understood, the attempt has been hitherto to govern men through their vices, instead of their virtues-through their passions instead of their affections; the "angel side" of humanity