JUNE. 
If each month of the year were to receive a name ac¬ 
cording to the predominant state of vegetation at that 
period, all would agree in designating June the month 
of flowers. June certainly is the month for Roses, but 
for most other flowers it is simply a month of condi¬ 
tional promises. The season will do its part, providing 
we do ours. Vegetation at this period is in its most ac¬ 
tive state ; it is now the foundation is laid for an abund¬ 
ance of flowers and fruits ; the superstructure depends 
upon our hearts and our hands, the former to conceive, 
and the latter to execute the plans necessary to the per¬ 
fect development of the beautiful. June is the month 
for the purest delight in Nature, and has the longest 
days for pure enjoyment. No month is so rich in Na¬ 
ture’s bounties, all of which are as free as the air we 
breathe. Every one that has a garden, however small 
it may be, has a constant fund of enjoyment; in it 
should be found true happines, as far as the outer world 
can give it. Fortunately it is by no means necessary to 
be the owner of a flower-garden, to enjoy flowers ; the 
Apple-orchard to enjoy Apple-blossoms ; the farm to 
enjoy farming. The enjoyment does not depend entirely 
upon the possession of the one or the other, but in the 
love for them. It is wisely ordered that there cannot 
be a monopoly of the beautiful. A man may own the 
mountain-side, its trees, shrubs and flowering-plants ; 
he may own the Apple-orchard, the extreme of the 
beautiful when in flower; he may own the growing- 
grass and grain, the vale with its myriad of lovely 
flowers, but he cannot own or control their beauty. 
That is free to all, the greatest owner being the one that 
derives the greatest enjoyment from it. Whoever is deaf 
to June, insensible to her promise and delights, is to be 
pitied, and it is in vain to appeal to him to become the 
best gardener or the best man. The generous promises 
and opportunities of this beautiful month are more 
worthily expressed in the following lines, by James 
Russell Lowell, in the “Vision of Sir Launfal,” than in 
any other words in verse or prose : 
“There is no price set on the lavish summer. 
And June may be had by the poorest comer. 
“ And what is so rare as a day in June ? 
Then, if ever, come perfect days ; 
Then Heaven tries the earth if it be in tune, 
And over it softly, her warm ear lays ; 
Whether we look, or whether we listen, 
We hear life murmur, or see it glisten ; 
Every clod feels a stir ef might, 
An instinct within it, that reaches and towers, 
And, grasping blindly above it for light, 
Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers ; 
The flush of life may well be seen 
Thrilling back over hills and valleys ; 
The Cowslip startles in meadows green. 
The Buttercup catches the sun in its chalice, 
And there’s never a leaf or a blade too mean 
To be some happy creature’s palace ; 
The little bird sits at his door in the sun, 
Atilt like a blossom among the leaves, 
And let his illumined being o’errun 
With the deluge of summer it receives ; 
His mate feels the eggs beneath her wings, 
And the heart in her dumb breast flutters and sings ; 
He sings to the wide world, and she to her nest— 
In the nice ear of Nature, which song is the best ? 
Now is the high-tide of the year; 
And whatever of life has ebbed away, 
Comes flooding back, with a riply cheer, 
Into every bare inlet, and creek, and bay ; 
Now the heart is so full that a drop overfills it, 
We are happy now, because God so wills it; 
No matter how barren the past may have been, 
’Tis enough for us now that the leaves are green. 
We sit in the warm shade and feel right well 
How the sap creeps up, and the blossoms swell ; 
We may shut our eyes, but we cannot help knowing 
The skies are clear, and Grass is growing ; 
The breeze comes whispering in our ear, 
The Dandelions are blossoming near, 
The Maize has sprouted, that streams are flowing 
That the river is bluer than the sky, 
That the robin is plastering his house hard by ; 
And if the breeze kept the good news back, 
For other couriers we should not lack— 
We could guess it all bv yon hiefer’s lowing ; 
And hark ! how clear bold chanticleer, 
Warmed with the new wind of the year, 
Tells all in his lusty crowing. 
“ Joy comes, grief goes, we know not how ; 
Everything is happy now— 
Everything is upward striving ; 
’Tis as easy now for the heart to be true, 
As for Grass to be green, or skies to be blue— 
’Tis the natural way of living. 
It is not important that we should learn to cultivate 
flowers; the important work is to cultivate a love for 
them, then they will care for themselves; for love will 
make anything grow with which it comes in contact. 
How often do we hear the remark that some persons 
have a knack of making all kinds of plants grow, even 
in the most unfavorable circumstances. This is mainly 
owing to the magnetic attraction existing between such 
persons and their plants. The plants seem to know 
that they are loved, that they are household treasures, 
that every new leaf and flower is as welcome as the new 
words and expanding thoughts of a baby to its mother. 
Apparently conscious of this, they do their utmost, and 
in places least adapted for successful house culture of 
plants, we often find specimens that would do credit to 
any greenhouse. 
The love of flowers makes us grow in true manliness, 
quite as much as it does the plants in their beauty and 
strength. Their effect upon character is beautifully 
stated by Shirley Hibbard as follows: 
“Come with me thou toiler in the dusky city; shake 
off the cloud from thy brow; forget for a while the 
pence and shillings for which thou hast sold thy soul; 
and I will lead thee under green forest trees, over soft 
mossy hillocks, and beside cool running brooks, where 
the water-flags play with each other and look at their 
own merry faces in the glassy stream. Come to the 
thick brake and lie down upon the grass, till thou hast 
forgotten all the cares of life. Doth not thy heart now 
throb with emotions of thankfulness to God, for making 
the earth so fair, so redolent of beauty and joys for 
ever? The soul must be fed; we must have inspiration 
from stars, and sunbeams, and flowers, and not be al¬ 
ways chewing corn. We must hear the voice of God 
in the elements, in the winds and the waves, the rat¬ 
tling of the thunder, and the howling of the storm. We 
