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Our gardens and fields are now decorated with the beauties of spring, and every region presents the most delightful aspect. June is the most enchanting season in the year. Insensible enough to all the beauties of nature must that person be, who prefers the drowsy influence of bed, and the confined limits of a gloomy chamber, to the freshness and brilliancy of a June morning. From the first hour of dawn, to the last gleam of returning day, all is exhilerating and joyous. Long before the sun rises, or the eastern sky has become red with its approach, I hear the lyric lark, the messenger of the morning, with his loud shrill voice, soaring as he sings, thus giving his early notice to the rest of the tuneful nations. Forth they come, each to pour forth his offering of praise. What a contrast this to the long unbroken silence of winter! The return of the birds is among the surest harbingers of spring. It is pleasing to see the robin, which, shy and suspicious, has ranged the deepest woods for the bitter berries of winter, now returning to us, to renew his summer acquaintance, to build again his nest on the elm at the door, and again to gather crumbs beneath our windows.

How delightful at this season is a country life; but rural retirement, to be fully enjoyed, requires the exercise of much more mental activity than is ,commonly supposed. Men of heavy, sensual natures, only sleep away existence in such situations.

The luxury of sunshine and green fields, can no more than any other luxury, yield a long delight of itself; and when the senses have once become acquainted with its sweetness, and the flowers and the singing of birds are no longer a novelty, the wilderness, to such people, is as well without roses as with. The beauty of country solitude lies, like the sweetest flowers, wrapped up in leafy glens, and in paths that are hidden from careless eyes; beneath the

long grass of lonely meadows, and old frowning rocks and ancient trees. To be discovered, it must be looked for with the eye of all the senses ; in the still morning and the stiller night; in the face and in spite of the biting winter blast, as well as when the summer comes in at our doors and windows to call us forth.--New Monthly Magazine.

The lovely and talented authoress of the following song, when she wrote it, must have been impressed with similar feelings to the above.

NATIVE HOME.
A SONG, BY MISS EMMA ROBERTS.
Upon the Ganges' regal stream,

The sun's bright splendors rest,
And gorgeously the noon-tide beam

Reposes on its breast :
But in a small secluded nook,

Beyond the western sea,
There rippling glides a narrow brook,

That's dearer far to me.

The lory perches on my hand,

Caressing to be fed,
And spreads its plumes at my command,

And stoops its purple head;
But where the robin, humble guest,

Comes flying from the tree,
Which bears its unpretending nest,

Alas! I'd rather be.

The fire-fly flashes through the sky,

A meteor rich and bright;
And the wide space around, on high,

Gleams with its emerald light;
Thongh glory tracks that shooting star,

And bright its splendors shine,
The glow-worm's lamp is dearer far

To this sad heart of mine.
Throughout the summer year, the flowers

In all the flush of bloom,
Clustering around the forest bowers,
Exhale their rich perfume.

Bb

The daisy, and the primrose pale,

Though scentless they may be,
That gem a far, far distant vale,

Are much more prized by me.

The lotus ope's its chalices,

Upon the tank's broad lake,
Where India's stately palaces

Their ample mirrors make:
But reckless of each tower and dome,

The splendid and the grand,
I languish for a cottage home

Within my native land.
Benares.

Forget me Not, 1830. During this month the gardens assume the most pleasing appearance of any period in the year. The plants now in flower are too numerous to specify; the principal, however, are the moss Provence rose, (rosa muscusa;) double yellow rose, (rosa sulphurea;) yellow rose, (rosa lutea;) guelder rose, (viburnum opulus;) doubtful poppy, (papaver dubium ;) early red poppy, (papaver argemone ;) maiden pink, (dianthus deltoides ;) garden pink, (dianthus hortensis ;) Indian pink, (dianthus sinensis;) sensitive plant, (mimosa sensitiva;) dwarf larkspur, (delphinium Ajacis;) sweet William, (dianthus barbatus;) sword lily, (gladiolus communis;) Turk’s-cap lily, (lilium pomponium ;) orange lily, (lilium bulbeférum;) white lily, (lilium candidum.) TO A LILY FLOWERING BY MOON-LIGHT.

0, why, thou lily pale,
Lovest thou to blossom in the wan moon-light,
And shed thy rich perfume upon the night?

When all thy sisterhood,

In silken cowl and hood,
Screen their soft faces from the sickly gale?
Fair horned Cynthia woos thy modest flower,

And with her beaming lips

Thy kisses cold she sips,
For thou art aye her only paramour;
What time she nightly quits her starry bower,

Trick'd in celestial light

And silver crescent bright.
Oh! ask thy vestal queen

If she will then advise,

Where in the blessed skies

That maiden may be seen,
Who hung like thee her pale head thro' the day,
Love-sick and pining for the evening ray;
And lived a virgin chaste, amid the folly
Of this bad world, and died of melancholy?

Ah, tell me where she dwells ?
So on thy mournful bells

Shall Dian nightly fling
Her tender sighs to give thee fresh perfume,
Her pale night lustre to enhance thy bloom,
And find thee tears to feed thy sorrowing.

Ladies' Pocket Magazine. The following lines were written on observing the Forget-me-not growing near a rose-tree in full bloom, of the kind called the Pronville Rose, the leaves of which are tinged with blue, and which may be seen in the highest perfection during the month of June, at Lee's nursery, Hammersmith, where there are above twelve hundred varieties of that delicate flower.

THE ENVIOUS ROSES.
A pretty blue-eyed laughing flower
Grew wildly near a myrtle bower,
Where many roses graced the spot,
Who envied the-Forget me not.
“ Ah, simple flower!" the roses cried,
“ You boast a power to us denied;
You speak the language of the heart,
Whilst fragrance only we impart.”
At length the roses jealous grew,
And stole the wild flow'rs tinge of blue,
Exclaiming, “ Ah, how blest our lot!
We're now like you-Forget me not.”

Forget me Not, 1830. ; The following may be very appropriately introduced at this season.

LITTLE FLORA'S SONG.

BY T. K. HERVEY, ESQ.
Will you not buy my flowers ?

I've been on the primrose-bill;
I have been where the lily builds silver bowers,

On the edge of the singing rill :
I followed the bee where the sallow grows,

By the amurath dim and pale;
And I tracked the butterfly's wing to the rose,

In her palace of her vale!
Choose what you love the best !--

All culled in the cool fresh morn;
For I wakened the lark from the tulip's breast,

In the depth's of the waving corn!
A rainbow might have dyed this wreath,

It has every scent and hue
That is born of the west-wind's wooing breath,

Or waked by the early dew!
Fragrant, and sweet, and fair !

Yet they neither toil nor spin ;
But they have not known the touch of care,

Nor the taint of mortal sin!
Beside their beauty pure and lone,

The glow of earthly fame,
Or the pomp and pride of Solomon

Is a vain and empty name!
Is not my calling sweet?

To dwell amid beautiful things,-
Flowers giving perfume at my feet,

And birds-like flowers with wings :
Oh! happy they who shun the strife

Of pride or passion's hours,
And glide along the calm of life,
Like me, dispensing flowers !

New Year's Gift. There are many garden flower plants which may be increased materially at this season by cuttings of the lateral shoots of their stems. All slips and cuttings of plants, however, will succeed best, when aided by moderate bottom heat, and in a soil of pure sand, but without heat. Pinks, carnations, myrtles,

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