JULY. 
’Tis Summer — joyous Summer-time ! 
In noisy towns no more abide ; 
The earth is full of radiant things, 
Of gleaming flowers and glancing wings— 
Beauty and joy on every side. 
Mary Howitt. 
WEET Summer has now attained her perfection. 
I ’Tis burning July, month of heat and sunshine, 
of azure skies and dusty roads, of ripened hay 
and ripening corn. The fields are nigh white for har¬ 
vest. The glowing landscape shows a picture of bright¬ 
ness and warmth. At noon-time we gladly seek the 
pleasant shade of the trees, so richly clothed with 
bright foliage. We sigh for the cooling breeze, or 
freshening shower of rain. In the flower-garden the 
show on the beds is gorgeous ; the lilies “ shine in 
glory as a king;” yet the perfume of the roses and 
other flowers is fairly rivalled in the fields by the 
