groves with deities possessing the most lovely attributes, who gave tongues to the winds, and tuned the leaves of trees so that every motion should make them vibrate with music.

Whether we ourselves are adjusted to Nature, or Nature has accommodated her gifts to our wants and sensibilities, her beneficence is in nothing more apparent than in her adaptation of the sounds of the inanimate world to the chords within our own hearts. If we are afflicted with grief, or weary of society, we flee to the groves, to be soothed by the quiet of their solitudes, and by the harmonies from their branches, which are tuned to every mood of the mind. Among the thousand strings that are swept by the winds, there is always a chord in unison with our own feelings; and while, at lulling intervals, each strain comes to the ear with its accordant vibration, the mind is healed of its disquietude, and soothed by the melodious symphonies that seem like direct messages of peace from the guardian deities of the wood.

The tremulous habit of the Aspen has always been proverbial, and it is a quality of all the Poplars. When a strong wind prevails, the leaves of other trees are put into motion, and their tumult is universal. But when one is sitting at a window, on a still summer day, or sauntering in the wood, or .musing in the shade of a quiet nook, when the wind is so calm that the hum of the invisible insect swarms hovering in the atmosphere is plainly audible,then is the trembling motion of the Aspen-leaves peculiarly significant of the serenity of the elements. It is, therefore, a highly tranquillizing sound, associated with rest in the languor of noon, or with watching in the still hours of a warm night.

When the quiet of the atmosphere is beginning to yield to the movement of a rising tempest, the Aspen, by its excessive agitation, gives us a prophetic warning of its approach. Often on a summer afternoon, the first notice I have received of a rising thunder-storm came from the increased trepidation of

the leaves of a Poplar that grew before my study window. Thus, while the rustling of the Aspen-leaf speaks of the delightful tranquillity of summer weather, there is likewise a tender expression of melancholy in its tones, that bodes a general stirring of the winds as they come up from the gathering-place of the storm.

The preservation of trees from the destruction to which they are exposed from so many requisitions to supply the necessities of the arts and the demands of human comfort, and, above all, to satisfy the raging appetite of millions of furnaces that glow perpetually in all parts of the land has become a subject of serious thought. The steamengine - that giant infernal - machine, which borrows from future generations to serve the impatient demands created by the avarice of the present age- is the grand destroyer of the trees and forests. Already is it threatening to enter the pleasant domain of agriculture,

to stifle with its screams the cheerful sounds that make a rural home delightful,

to substitute for the music of the whetting of the scythe, and for the joyful voices of laborers, the hurried words / of command from the driver of the steamplough and the foreman of the rustic platoon. Already are the advocates of its despotic power losing their reverence for the noble standard trees that encumber the way of its ruthless progress, and learning to contemplate with satisfaction the fields reduced to treeless levels, over which this slave-making machine may turn its long furrows without obstacle, in mammoth plains created by the destruction of small farms.

Setting aside all the economic uses of trees, their beauty and their influence on our happiness would alone render them worthy of protection and preservation. All men appreciate the awful condition in which we should be placed if the earth were entirely disrobed of trees; but we do not fully realize the necessity of a determination on the part of every citizen to use all his personal influence to prevent the destruction of them, and to see that no valuable tree

is ever needlessly sacrificed, and that no barren eminence or declivity is ever deprived of its wood.

May the time never come when all the full-grown trees shall be banished to the roadside, the public grounds, or the gentleman's estate; and when the youth of our villages, excluded from field and wood, no longer the dwellingplace of sylvan beauty and the scene of healthful labor and recreation, but a hateful show of dressed lawn and aristocratic park, shall mourn over the progress of luxury which has destroyed the wildwood, graded the diversities of surface, and converted the beautiful domain of rustic labor into one vapid confederation of landscape gardens and model farms!

It is difficult to realize how great a part of all that is cheerful and delightful in the recollections of our own life is associated with trees. They are allied with the songs of morn, with the quiet of noonday, with social gatherings under the evening sky, and with all the beauty and attractiveness of every sea

son.

Nowhere does nature look more lovely, or the sounds from birds and insects, and from inanimate things, affect us more deeply, than in their benevolent shade. Never does the blue sky appear more serene than when its dappled azure glimmers through their green trembling leaves. Their shades, which, in the early ages, were the temples of religion and philosophy, are still the favorite resort of the studious, the scene of healthful sport for the active and adventurous, and the very sanctuary of peaceful seclusion for the contemplative and sorrowful.

In our early years, we are charmed with the solitude of groves, with the flowers that dwell in their recesses, with the little creatures that sport among their branches, and with the birds that convey to us by their notes a portion of their own indefinable happiness. At a later period of life, the wood becomes a hallowed spot, where we may review the events of the past. Nature has made use of trees to wed our minds to the love of homely scenes, and to make us satisfied with life. How many visions of village merry-makings, of rural sports and pastimes, of the frolics of children, and of studious recreation, haunt us when we sit down under the protection of some old familiar tree that stands in the open field or by the wayside!

In fine, I cannot help regarding trees as the most poetical objects in nature. Every wood teems with suggestions of imaginative thought, every tree is vocal with language and music, and its fruits and flowers do not afford more luxury to the sense than delight to the mind. The trees have their roots in the earth, but they send up their branches towards the skies, and are so many supplicants to Heaven for blessings upon our homes. The slender gracefulness of the Birch and the Willow, the grandeur of the broad-spreading Plane, the venerable majesty of the Oak, the flowing dignity of the Elm, and the proud magnificence of the towering Pine, are all calculated to inspire the mind with serene, lively, tender, or sublime emotions. Their beauty leads us to the love of nature, and fills us with profound veneration for the Creator.

bedroom, and in the second drawer, in the right-hand corner, you'll see the pile of aprons; the third one from the top is your blue-and-brown gingham. Put it on, and I will button it up for you."

"I hate that old apron!" said Emma, undutifully. "I don't want to wear it!"

“Emma, do as I bid you this instant," said Mrs. Gourlay, with authority. "Hate the clothes that mother makes for you! what a wicked girl!"

"It's faded, and there's a great patch where I burnt it, and Kitty will laugh at me. Aunty never makes her wear such old things."

"Kitty will most likely see the day when she will be glad of a much worse one, and have to go without. Your aunt brings up her children to all sorts of extravagant notions, but I'm thankful that I know my duty better."

Spite of her frowning remonstrances, the unwilling Emma was duly invested with the despised garment, and despatched to school, where the spectacle of her cousin in a prettily shaped white apron, made with pockets, and fastened by rows of dear little pearl buttons, served greatly to intensify her wrath and disgust.

Meanwhile Mrs. Gourlay seated herself before her work-basket. Before it, - for it was no trumpery affair, decked with ribbons, and holding a gold thimble and frill, or perchance a bit of tatting. It was a large, substantial willow structure, piled with all sorts of heavy, ugly garments in the cut-out state. This basket was poor Emma's abhorrence. She had her daily part to do toward reducing its contents; and her little hands grew weary and her little heart yet wearier over long fells and clumsy seams of Canton flannel. Mrs. Gourlay had no sympathy with such weariness. Canton flannel was an or

found sewing on it to be tedious, it was clearly due to her own rebellious and impatient spirit.

I wish you could have seen the room in which this good lady presently composed herself to sewing; though indeed "composed " is hardly the word for that swift and energetic plying of the needle which straightway began. It was not a large apartment, nor a lofty, -- I believe that Mrs. Gourlay, having never chanced to inhabit such rooms herself, had a notion that some sort of moral obliquity attached to their possession, nor could

it boast the ornament of rare or costly furniture; but how beautifully clean, how exactly ordered, was every portion of it! The window-panes glittered like mirrors; the Holland shades hung "plumb" from their rollers; the carpet

ingrain of the best quality and ugliest imaginable pattern-was free from shred or speck; the maple chairs, with their cane seats, shone as if just home from the cabinet-maker's; well-starched tidies protected the green moreen of the rocking-chairs from profaning contact. Every inch of paint, every bit of brass or steel, was fresh and shining as hands could make it. Even the pendulum of the clock on the high mantel looked bigger and brighter than that of other clocks, as it glanced momently through its little window. Yet, as there was a serpent in Eden, so there was one element of disorder even in this otherwise perfect room. The cover of the lounge, put on to preserve undimmed its greenand-crimson glories, had a trick of getting awry when Mr. Gourlay or the children sat or moved heedlessly upon it.

This was one of Mrs. Gourlay's trials, -a cross borne daily with more or less of meekness, as might happen. She was not partial to the lounge herself, preferring seats of more upright and rigid tendency; but once a day or so she sat down upon it in an illustra

times a year, however, there were invitations to a regular tea-drinking, and a slight effort of memory showed her that the period for her own share in these hospitalities had nearly come round; besides which she had one or two chefs-d'œuvre in the sweetmeat line which she by no means objected to exhibit to Jane Maria. She acquiesced amiably, therefore, in her husband's suggestion.

"Emma, you may go to your aunt William's after school, and say we shall be happy to see her and uncle and all the children to tea to-morrow afternoon."

"Bless me! is it going to be a party?" said Mr. Gourlay. "How long notice do you need to give? Why not have them to-day? You're always prepared enough. Give 'em whatever you happen to have."

"That's Jane Maria's way, I know," replied Mrs. Gourlay, with stately disapproval. "But I understand a little better, I hope, what is due to guests than to set them down to stale bread and last week's cake."

"Just as you like; only don't make the children sick with goodies."

"It is n't my fault, Mr. Gourlay, if they find things so much nicer than they are used to that they are tempted to overeat. Besides, their mother will be here; can't she restrain them?"

"Fault? No, of course not. Who ever heard of its being a fault to set the best table in town? Only it spoils a man for taking a meal out of his own house," said Mr. Gourlay, roused to new consciousness of the treasure he possessed.

His wife smiled; she saw through the kind hypocrisy of this remark. Long but vainly had she tried to educate him up to her own high standard; it remained a mournful fact that he could make as good a dinner from the homeliest fare as from her most carefully studied dainties. Yet he made an effort in the right direction; he appreciated her superiority en masse, if not in detail, and this observation showed it.

Emma delivered her message accord

ing to instructions. "Tell your mamma we shall be happy to come," responded her aunt, graciously.

"Going to Aunt Martha's!" cried George when he heard the news, “O, bully!"

"For shame!" said his sister Cecilia, a young prude of eleven or so. "One would think you never had anything to eat at home."

"Who talked about eating?" demanded George, with injured innocence. "I did n't. Guess you must have been thinking about it yourself."

"It's the only treat you could look forward to there," said their mother, when she and Cecilia were alone. “I'm sure I'm always in a fever, from the time we enter the house, lest something should be injured. Not that there's anything so very choice, but your aunt is so particular."

"Yes," acquiesced Cecilia, quite old enough to understand the family hostilities. "Aunt Martha thinks her kitchen chairs are better than other people's parlor ones."

This remark was considered by Mrs. William to be á triumph of shrewdness, and repeated as such to her husband in the evening.

At the other house great preparations were going on. The sponge was set for those miraculous biscuit in which Mrs. Gourlay gloried, cake was concocted, silver rubbed up, and many a secret nook invaded in the hope, still futile, of discovering some dust therein.

"Shall we have the cover off the lounge, ma?" asked Emma.

"I don't know," said Mrs. Gourlay, doubtfully. Those vandals of children would be sprawling all over it, and digging their heels and elbows into it; so much was certain. On the other hand, she should like to show Jane Maria the advantage there was in taking a little care of your things; her lounge was never covered, and faded and shabby enough it looked already, though not a year old yet. This desire conquered, and the valued article shone forth unobscured. Emma was allowed to come home early from school, and to view