JUNE,—THE ROSES. 
Is not June another word for Roses, “Aurora’s 
sprights ?” Now all the air was perfume ;—light 
itself was rose-colored ;—birds and butterflies were 
happiest. The dragon-flies of all hues left the 
flowers in the fields to come to the garden, for 
even the roses of the meadow could not compare 
with the roses of the garden, in size, or hue, or per¬ 
fume. So luxuriantly did they grow, that their very 
stamens turned into petals. 
Roses of all climates were there, and they seemed 
to be as happy together, as the Tulips could have 
