SUMMER.

Summer is here, and her whole world of wealth is spread out before us in prodigal array. “The woods and groves have darkened and thickened into one impervious mass of sober, uniform green; and having, for a while, ceased to exercise the more active functions of the Spring, are resting from their labors in that state of ‘wise passiveness’ which we, in virtue of our infinitely greater wisdom, know so little how to enjoy. In Winter the trees may be supposed to sleep in a state of insensible inactivity, and in Spring to be laboring with the flood of new life that is pressing through their veins, and forcing them to perform the offices attached to their existence. But in Summer, having reached the middle term of their annual life, they pause in their appointed course, and then, if ever, taste the nourishment they take in, and ‘enjoy the air they breathe.’ And he who, sitting in Summer time beneath the shade of a spreading tree, can see its branches fan the soft breeze as it passes, and hear its polished leaves whisper and twitter to each other like birds at love-making, and yet can feel any thing like an assurance that it does not enjoy its existence, knows little of the tenure by which he holds his own.”

The animal creation seem oppressed with languor during this hot season, and either seek the recesses of woods, or resort to pools and streams, to cool their bodies and quench their thirst.