JULY.

Oh, beautiful dreamer! languishing fair!
Softly entranced 'tween a smile and a sigh,
Fancy absorbs thee, and, banishing care,
Yields those sweet visions of happiness nigh!
Clear is that brow as the crystal of truth,
Bright as the eve-star that vanishing eye,
Cloudless the joy of thy beautiful youth,.
An emblem of sunshine-type of July!

WITH the above pretty and appropriate lines, by a poet who has yet to make his mark, we introduce our artist's beautiful characteristic drawing of lovely, languishing July. It is just possible that our artist, in placing a fan in the hand of his charming ideal, had in his mind at the time Leigh Hunt's description of the prevailing effects of the heats of July. "Those who can avoid labor," says that popular author, "enjoy as much rest and shade as possible. There is a sense of heat and quiet all over

The little brooks

nature. The birds are silent. are dried up. The earth is chapped with parching. The shadows of the trees are particularly grateful, heavy, and still. The oaks, which are freshest, because latest in leaf, form noble clumpy canopies, looking, as you lie under them, of a strong and emulous green against a blue sky. The traveller delights to cut across the country through the fields and leafy lanes, where, nevertheless, the flints sparkle with heat. The cattle get into the shade, or stand in the water. The active and air-cutting swallows, now beginning to assemble for migration, seek their prey about the shady places, where the insects, though of differently compounded natures, 'fleshless and bloodless,' seem to get for coolness, as they do at other times for warmth. The sound of insects is also the only audible thing now, increasing rather than lessening the sense of quiet by its gentle contrast. The bee now and then sweeps across the ear with his gravest tone. The gnats 'their murmuring small trumpets sounden wide,' and here and there the little musician of the grass touches forth his tricksy note."

In contrast to the foregoing description of the heat of a July day, here is, from one of the old poets, a remembrance of "A Morning's Walk in July:"

But when mild morn, in saffron stole, First issues from her eastern goal, Let not my due feet fail to climb Some breezy summit's brow sublime, When Nature's universal face Illumined smiles with newborn grace, The misty streams that wind below With silver sparkling lustre glow; The groves and castled cliffs appear Invested all in radiance clear; O'er every village charm beneath The smoke mounts high in azure wreath. Oh, beauteous rural interchange! The simple spire and elmy grange; Content, indulging blissful hours, Whistle o'er the fragrant flowers; And cattle, roused to pasture new, Shake jocund from their sides the dew. Turning to a poetess of our own time, now let us hear what Eliza Cook has to say relative to "Summer Days:"

Oh, the summer days are gay;

And I long to own the power
Of the sun, in flood-tide ray,
Embracing earth-as Jove, they say,
Did his love-in golden shower.

Oh! the summer days are fair,

And I long to see the thicket,
When the grasshoppers are there;
And roses flush out everywhere,

By castle wall and cottage wicket.
Oh! the summer days are bright,

And I long to mark their glory;
When the lark talks to the light,
Till the gleesome bird of night

Goes on with the fairy story.

Summer days are rife with hope,

Of all that fills my soul with pleasure; The star that crowns my horoscope Will lead o'er many a balmy slope,

And time will move to faster measure.

Oh! the summer days will find
One beside me that I cherish;
One whose faith, so fondly kind,
Flings a rainbow o'er my mind

In colors far too deep to perish.

If a July day has its hours of depression, a July evening more than compensates for it. At sunset, the birds begin to challenge each other, the dormice peep from their nests, or quick as thought dart out only to dart back with equal alacrity, squirrrels scamper up the beechen trunks and fly from branch to branch, the shrew comes out, the mole's snout emerges from the ground, the flowers revive, nightflowering blossoms gradually open, and when the evening breeze stirs the leaves, life appears to have taken a fresh start.

With the approach of night the owl leaves its haunts, and sails through the air, its large eyes gleaming with light; the bats leave the barns and outhouses, to flap about after nocturnal insects; the frog croaks, and cockchafers and beetles fly blindly hither and thither. When the night has fairly set in we notice the meteors and the summer lightning, and the trees jet black against the sky. The grass is now wet, and a stroll in the dense woods is both delightful and instructive. In the open places, before the forest is reached, the glow worms first attract attention; they shine in the grass at our feet with the brilliancy of stars. If we are fortunate, we may see threads of fire at our feet, or if stones be turned aside, these phosphorescent centipedes, for such they are, may be descried snugly ensconced beneath them. We have seen them several times at night in the Highgate woods, and, indeed, in suburban gardens. Many other objects are luminous at night; notoriously the common crane-fly, or " Jackylonglegs." Several specimeus of fungi, too, give out a phosphorescent glare.

The midnight sounds in the woods are very remarkable. In oak woods in the autumn, the brisk clattering of the falling acorns has at night a very sonorous, and, indeed, startling sound, and many sounds that would not be noticed in the day-time have now a peculiar attraction; at times, a branch or some other object will be heard to descend with a sudden crash, then comes a noise as of quarrelling amongst the feathered tribes, or sounds precisely resembling measured footsteps in the paths, the whirring droning of the night-flying moths and beetles.

A visit to the seaside, at this season of the year, is especially delightful. Bathing, boating, gathering shells, and other healthy outdoor pastime, are now at their very height.

A well-dressed boy, about ten years old, stood on the walk in front of the City Hall, the other day, eating an apple. A ragged urchin, having a ragbag over his shoulder, stood close by, and looked as if he would give his hat and old boots for one bite of the fruit. An attache of the City Hall noted the situation, and was greatly pleased to see the boy suddenly hand over the apple to the envious ragpicker. "That's a good boy-that was real charity!" exclaimed the gentleman, as he patted the boy on the head. "Yes, I felt sorry for him," replied the boy," and I'd got down to a big worm hole."

MRS. HUBBARD'S FRIGHT.

BY LAURA M. HAYNE.

RS. HUBBARD lived in a small town not a thousand miles from New York. She had a pleasant house, occupied only by herself, her husband and one servant. There were no children.

Mr. Hubbard was a smart, active man, possessed of some wealth and considerable business capacity, but his health, not very good of late years, had induced him to prefer a country to a city residence. Accordingly he had settled in the aforesaid town, enjoying the benefit of the pure air and wholesome out-door exercise, and doing as much business as the place would allow.

One morning, as Mrs. Hubbard sat by the window sewing, she heard the gate open, and glancing out, beheld her husband coming up the path, an open letter in his hand. He walked briskly, and as though in haste. Somewhat surprised to see him at such an hour, she rose to meet him, in order to ascertain the cause of his return. Coming in, he just put his head inside the door of the sitting-room, with the abrupt words :

haunted by a dread of housebreakers. On their account did she live in perpetual fear and trembling. Any unusual sound at night was invariably a sufficient reason for arousing her husband with"Charles, Charles! do wake up! I'm sure there's some one in the house!"

"Only the cat," he would reply, after listening a

moment.

Then he would unconcernedly go to sleep again, leaving her to lie awake, uneasy, until a mew convinced her of the true state of the case. Of course, tormented by such fears, to pass a night alone in the house was her greatest misery, but one which she was not often called to endure, as business seldom summoned her husband from home.

66

Bridget," she said, going down into the kitchen, where a red-handed Irish maiden was scrubbing the floor, "Mr. Hubbard has gone to New York for a few days. You must be 'man of the house' until he comes back, and see to the fastening up of everything."

"An' shure, ma'am, it's mesilf that will do that same," responded the daughter of Erin.

But she reckoned without her host, for, late that same evening, she was unceremonionsly summoned

With this, he was running up stairs without any further explanation, when his wife called out: "But stop a moment. You haven't told me what for. How soon must you go, Charles ?"

"Half an hour,” replied his voice from the top of the stairs. "No time to lose. Come up stairs here, and I'll tell you all about it."

"Well, what is it?" she questioned, going into the room where he was engaged in hurrying shirts, stockings and collars into a travelling-bag, where they lay mingled in admirable confusion. 66 Here," she continued, "let me put in these things, and just tell me what this sudden start means."

Mr. Hubbard, thus relieved of the cares of packing, turned his attention to shaving, and while lathering his face, gave his wife the desired information. Important business, involving a considerable amount of money, and his presence upon the spot was therefore desirable.

"So," concluded he, "I must be off by the next train, which starts in about twenty minutes." "When will you be back?"

"I can't tell; everything depends upon the progress of this business. Probably in two or three days, but I may be detained longer."

much worse as to render it doubtful if she could live until morning; wherefore Bridget was sent for to watch with her that night. Mrs. Hubbard could not, and, indeed, would not keep her from the performance of such a duty; but it was not until the girl was gone that her mistress reflected that this absence would involve the necessity of her passing the night entirely alone in the house. She knew of no one whom, at that late hour, she could well ask to stay with her till morning; and, in any case, she greatly disliked to make such a request, aware that her neighbors would consider her fears absurd, since the danger from burglars was really very slight. So she resolved to make the best of a situation more disagreeable than actually dangerous; yet the fact that her alarm was unfounded did not prevent her feeling a timidity that was constitutional.

Upon retiring, she drew her curtain, after putting out the light, and looked abroad. It rained slightly, and was so dark that no object without could be distinctly discerned; only the red lights at the railroad station were visible. Altogether, the night was somewhat uncheerful. At first she closed her eyes in vain, but at length she slumbered in a deep sleep.

As the night wore on, it still rained, and there might be heard a steady drip from the eaves, pattering upon the ground beneath. But was that all? Hark! What sound was that amid the raindrops,

"Bridget, yes; but that isn't like having a man in the house," replied his wife.

"Oh, there's no danger," said he: "only don't get to worrying about it. Well, it's time I was off. Give me the bag. Good-by," and he was soon gone.\

Mrs. Hubbard took up her sewing again, but I fear if the truth must be told, that she did worry a little. Nearly every one has his or her own peculiar fancy or fidget, and this lady chanced to be

She

heard at intervals through the storm? Whatever it was, it reached Mrs. Hubbard's sleeping ears, quick from long habit, and disturbed her. opened her eyes, listened a moment, then, in another instant, was wide awake, and holding her breath to catch the slightest murmur. Again came that little grating sound. Could it be only her excited fancy? No, this time it seemed that there was really something unusual going on below. That some one was entering the house she was certain. Just then the clock struck two, putting her

in mind that the hour was just ripe for burglars. After a few minutes' trembling indecision, summoning all her courage, she arose, and softly opening the door, stepped into the passage to listen. The sound by that time was quite distinct, even betraying from whence it proceeded. Some one was evidently working at the dining-room windows.

Her situation was certainly a very trying one. She rapidly considered her best course of action, whether to remain where she was, trusting to the chance that this midnight visitor would pass her by, or to steal out of the house, leaving him to plunder it undisturbed. Collecting her thoughts as well as possible, she remembered that the key of the dining-room door had been left on the outside. This was the room which he was trying to enter, well aware, no doubt, that all the plate was kept there. She might steal down stairs, turn the key so softly as not to give him the alarm, then quietly slip out to arouse the neighbors. This plan seemed so well worth the trial that she resolved to attempt it. Dressing herself as rapidly as her trembling fingers would permit, and taking her shoes in her hand, in order to make the less noise, with a beating heart she left her room. The staircase seemed to her twice its usual length, for she paused on each step, in terror lest the creaking of a board should betray her presence. When about half-way down, a noise from the dining-room made her pause, and turn to go back, but as the next moment all was quiet again, she ventured to go on. Reaching at length the last stair, she passed through the hall, and stood by the door, on the other side of which was the midnight disturber. Softly, ah how softly, she turned the key in the lock, each instant imagining that he might be about to open the door, and almost fainting at the thought of the slight separation between them. This task accomplished, she passed out quietly, and once away from home, ran with all speed to the nearest neighbor's, in her excitement never heeding the chill rain which fell. Having assembled quite a party, she led the way back, insisting, in her anxiety, on going with them. Reaching the house, to their utter astonishment, they beheld the windows of the dining-room, wherein the man was supposed to be, illuminated. The remainder of the house was dark and quiet; only from that room a light shone forth into the murky night.

"Really," said one of the gentlemen, "if that is a burglar, he's the coolest one I've ever had any specimen of."

"Isn't that taking it easy?" remarked another. "He'll shortly have company he does not expect."

"But I can't understand such a singular proceeding," rejoined the first speaker. "It seems hardly possible that any man, in his senses, would break into a house, and light it up in that manner."

Various conjectures were hazarded on the subject, but all were aware that the only means of solving the mystery was to enter the room. It was decided to leave two of their number by the window, to stop the man, should he attempt to escape in that way, while the others were to pass softly through the hall, making no noise that could warn him of their presence, and opening the door suddenly, confront

and seize upon him, and his companion, should he have one, before he had time to recover from the surprise. Leaving Mrs. Hubbard safe in another room, they hastily proceeded to carry out their plan. Noiselessly they took their places, and turned the key; the door was thrown open quickly, and there sat Mr. Hubbard quietly taking his supper! He looked up as the door opened, gazing in surprise at their motionless forms, while they equally astonished, in turn stared back at him. For a moment not a word was spoken, until Mr. Hubbard, rising, said quietly:

"This is a somewhat unexpected pleasure. May I ask what has procured me the honor of a yisit at this rather unusual hour?"

His only answer was a shout of laughter, for the absurdity of the position struck them so forcibly that they could not retain their mirth.

"It's a good thing to be appreciated," said Mr. Hubbard, joining in the merriment, "but such intense appreciation as this might be a little inconvenient at times. Pray how long since I have been so popular here that I can't be absent one day with out being welcomed the moment I return, even though it may be at two o'clock in the morning? But really, gentlemen," he continued, more gravely, "what is the cause of your presence? Has anything happened?”

"You had better ask your wife for an explanation. She knows the most about it," said one.

So they brought Mrs. Hubbard, who was becoming somewhat impatient to learn the progress of events. Her surprise on seeing her husband may easily be imagined, and mutual explanations ensued. It seems that Mr. Hubbard, on reaching the nearest telegraph station, had found at the hotel a despatch from his correspondents in New York, stating that the business matters of which they had written were all right, and that everything being satisfactorily arranged, there was no necessity of his presence. Glad to be rid of a journey he had undertaken only because he saw no other course open to him, he took the very next train back, but did not reach home until nearly two o'clock, owing to some detention of the train. He had no doorkey with him, and, very hungry by reason of his long fast, he concluded to enter by one of the dining-room windows. This he found some difficulty in doing, and although his efforts to accomplish his purpose were made with as little noise as possible, in order that no one might be disturbed thereby, they were yet heard by his wife, whom they alarmed with fears of a housebreaker. The rest has already been told. The mistake gave rise to much mirth, and all echoed Mr. Hubbard's doleful observation, that it was a little hard for a man to be arrested in his own house and by his own wife.

In the spring the husband yearneth

For his other suit of clothes, And he searcheth through the garret, And he swears, and bumps his nose. In the spring the young wife's fancy Turneth back in wild despair, She remembers that she traded His old clothes for china-ware.