JULY bursts forth in all its panoply of splen- 

 dour, and the fields are covered with a cloth of 

 gold ; the corn-flower and the poppy deck the 

 pattern, and brocade each bank with modest yet 

 most curious harmony, each vying who shall 

 best display the great Inventor, Author, and 

 Designer of it all. Her breath is perfumed as 

 Arabian wind, that scents each bough it passes, 

 turning our barren heaths to beds of roses. The 

 birds sing sweet hosannas on the loftiest trees ; 

 the early lark triumphant greets the day, then 

 yields her vespers to the nightingale, whose 

 grateful bosom swells to pour the lay ; and listen, 

 how it warbles there ! 



Then shall the song of man be backward in 

 its praise, and yield to the unreflecting throng 



