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the Maker and Disposer of the seasons; and that, as she had been cheated and oppressed by Winter, it was too unjust that Summer also should domineer over her. They pleaded the example of England and other countries, where Spring was allowed a long and peaceful sway, Winter retiring and Summer advancing at her pleasure. It was urged that the human constitution requires some little time for repose between the tight, strong bracing of Winter, and the sudden relaxation of the nerves and muscles by Summer. It was pleaded that this exemption from sudden extremes was the cause of the finer bloom and stronger health of English ladies, and that our own country-women had a right to the same benefit.

But these representations availed nothing. Strength and determination will always carry the day against gentleness and weakness. People flocked in crowds to the gorgeous banner which Summer had unfurled, and declared themselves her friends.

Mournfully, then, but with sweet resignation, did Spring take the garland from her head and lay it at the feet of Summer. She bade adieu to her favorite flowers, which drooped and withered as soon as she left them, and, mounting in the air, was borne by zephyrs to a cottage garden in Wales, where she found scope for her favorite pursuits. Friends gathered around her, and, as the gentle breezes kissed her brow, and whispered of a lovely and peaceful life, she no longer regretted her expulsion from a country whose spirit was so at variance with her tender and sensitive disposition.

As for Summer, she adopted the motto of the country she had come to rule, "Go ahead!" "No luck without pluck!" "Go it fast!" Such were the exclamations she heard in all the thoroughfares of town and country, and these principles agreed wonderfully with her ardent and powerful nature.

One of the first things she did, was to hurry into blossom and scatter into wild profusion those beautiful flowers which Spring had been so slowly and carefully maturing. The gardens burst into a flush of splendid roses; the meadows were yellow with lilies; their sweet snowy-breasted cousins raised their fragrant heads from the water and swayed in clusters on the tiny waves. The woods blushed with pink azaleas, and beautifully-tinted kalmias lined the forest paths for miles together. Summer was generous, as strong natures are apt to be, and she scattered her gifts with such lavish abundance.

that one would, at this season, have taken cold and bleak New England for a country of Persian fable.

It is not our intention to enter into a detailed account of the reign of Summer: how she set everybody, who could travel, to flying about the country, as if they had been bitten by the tarantula, unmindful of discomfort or fatigue; how she worked her laborers till they were almost ready to expire; how she filled her barns and granaries and emptied her ice-houses; we have described all these things in another place. But, it will, perhaps, please our little readers, if, before we close this history, we give an account of a fête-champetre, which Summer gave in the beginning of June, the rightful period of the commencement of her reign. It was really her coronation-day; but as the ceremonies were carried on in many different places at the same time, and as it was everywhere got up rather by an instinctive feeling of what was due to the new queen than by any public proclamation of her wishes (for she had, like Napoleon, already placed the crown on her own head), we shall be content to regard it as an anomaly in the history of royalty.

On the morning of the tenth of June the skies were unusually clear; not a cloud or a shadow of mist was perceptible. Suddenly the cat-birds and thrushes began to make the woods resound with music; orioles displayed their flaming plumage in the boughs; while such a wild, sweet concert arose from a full band of Bob-o-lincolns in the meadows, that the very air stood still with delight. People came out of their houses, and, after listening a few moments, they all ran with one accord to the meadows and gardens to gather flowers. They made bouquets and wove garlands. Little girls wore them on their heads, necks and arms. Young mothers scattered them over their sleeping babes as they lay in their cradles. Maidens put roses in their hair, their bosoms and their belts. Grandmothers tucked an opening bud into the folds of their snowy neck-kerchiefs. Young men placed them in the bands of their straw hats. Even old farmer Goodplow appeared with a rose in his button-hole, which Fanny had plucked from her own garland for her father.

This universal flower mania was sufficiently remarkable, and plainly showed that there was an unseen and powerful influence at work; but what followed was still more explicit. From the palace to the cottage, everybody simultaneously resolved to have a feast of strawberries and cream for tea. In half an hour every thumb and

finger was stained red. In rural districts, large dishes were heaped with the fruit gathered from meadows and pastures by little girls and boys. In the neighborhood of towns and cities, heaps of splendid hautbois and large delicious Hoveys blushed in immense tureens of china and glass. In many farm-houses, the berries, flooded with cream and sprinkled with sugar, were eaten in cheerful and thankful seclusion. Others invited a few neighbors, while, in large villages and cities, parties were invited, the creams were frozen in ice, and tall, white, luscious pyramids, flanked by tempting fruit and surrounded by a profusion of flowers, delighted at once the sight, the smell and the taste. More than four hundred different kinds of roses had been gathered on that day, and in such profusion that vases enough could not be found to hold them. Celery stands, champagne glasses, china bowls and gilt coffee-cups were all put in requisition, and so wreathed around that it was never known what they were. Great was the feasting and high the merriment on that memorable evening.

Summer had all day hovered in the air, emanating a bright golden radiance from her burnished wings, and receiving the homage which was everywhere paid her. "Bounteous Summer!" "Munificent Summer!"Generous Summer!" were the exclamations on every

side.

The feast was concluded, but not the ceremonies of the day. Far behind the western hills a large company of pyrotechnists, which Summer had engaged for the recreation of her subjects, had been busy from noon till night in preparing for a grand display of fireworks. A huge black curtain had been stretched across the western sky to hide proceedings, and at about nine o'clock the signal was given to commence the performance. A flash, brighter than ten thousand rockets, suddenly illumined the whole heavens, followed by a deep mutter, as if all the organs in the world had opened their double-bass stops together. This was followed by a darkness and a silence so deep and profound, as to make universal nature pause and hold its breath. Then came a roaring wind, bending the trees to the ground, twisting off huge branches and whirling them through the sky, banging window-shutters, bursting open doors, tumbling down chimneys, and playing all sorts of terrible and outrageous pranks. The heavens were one glare of lightning; crinkles and chains and arrows, intolerably bright, fell and flew, in rapid succession, through

the air.

Hailstones rebounded from the pavements, torrents of rain dashed against the windows, and demons of the air were muttering, roaring and wailing. Some families retired to their cellars for safety. Others betook themselves to feather beds. Many sat trembling on sofas, striving to hide their fears from the little ones who pressed, wondering and awe-stricken, to their sides. A few philosophical ladies seated themselves in the centre of a darkened chamber, with their feet raised upon hair cushions, and their heads enveloped in silk.

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Old farmer Goodplow stood calmly at his window, holding his little daughter, Fanny, by the hand. Behold," he said, "the greatness and the goodness of God! Hear him speaking in the heavens. His voice is in the thunder, and he holdeth the lightnings in his hand. The seasons obey his will; they are but ministers to his pleasure. His voice is very terrible, but goodness and mercy attend his steps. His lightnings purify the air and disperse noxious vapors; his showers drop down fatness upon the earth. Let us be thankful to the Lord our God, and admire the wonders of his might. We will lay us down and sleep in safety, for the Lord watcheth over us."

The following beautiful lines are put by Luther respectively in the mouth of the Worldling and of the Christian.

WORLDLING.

I LIVE, but ah! how long,

I do not, cannot know;
I die, but know not when,
Nor whither I shall go;

Why, then, I ask with wonder, why
Do I thus live in ease and joy?

CHRISTIAN.

I live, and I can tell

How long my life will last;

I die, and know full well

When Jordan will be passed;
How I shall die and whither go,

The Lord has made me clearly know;

Why, then, I ask with wonder, why
In sadness do I droop and die?

THE ROLL.

BY CATHARINE LEICESTER.

"I WON'T have it, there; you're a mean, stingy girl, Bridget, not to give me any butter on my bread; and I won't have it," said Jane Parker, as she threw a nice light roll, very pettishly and naughtily upon the floor.

Her mother heard her loud and angry voice, and, calling to her, asked what was the matter. When the little girl had made her complaint, she said, "Pick up your roll and come to me." Jane obeyed. "I have told Bridget she must not leave her work to butter bread for the children. It gives her too much trouble. If you are hungry enough to eat a single roll or bun for lunch, you may do so; if not, you can very well wait till the regular hour for meals."

"I don't want a dry roll; I cannot eat such stuff," said Jane. "Very well; you can leave it. There is a story called 'The Shepherd of Salisbury Plain,' which I should like to have you read. It tells of a little girl who felt very differently from you about her food. A large family sat down to a table, on which was nothing but some potatoes, a portion of a coarse loaf and a little cup of salt. After grace, one of the children, the little girl, said to her father, 'I wish I was large enough to say grace, father, for I am sure I could say it heartily to-day. I wonder what poor people do who have no salt for their potatoes? but look, our dish is full!' What do you think of that little girl, Jane?"

"I don't believe that is a true story," was the answer. "I never saw such poor people."

"You have seen very little of the world yet, and know very little of it. It is, without doubt, a true story. I'll tell you another that I know is true.

"It was a very cold day in winter, a colder day than is often known in this part of the country,-when three children were left in a cold, damp, dark cellar room, by their mother, while she went away to do a job of work. You have never seen such a dismal room as that was. It was quite large and low, with small windows, so very dirty that but a few rays of light could struggle through them; and the floors and walls looked as if they never could have been clean.

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