one of my children; and if any person on entering

a

room does but turn his eyes upon me, he is thought stupid and mean, and not fit for good company. I have the satisfaction, however, of finding that people always incline towards me as they grow older, and that those who seemed proudly to disdain any affinity with me are content to sink at last into my bosom.

You will probably wish to have some account of my person. I am not a regular beauty; some of my features are rather harsh and prominent when viewed separately; but my countenance has so much variety of expression, and so many different attitudes of elegance, that those who study my face with attention find out continually new charms; and it may be truly said of me what Titus says of his mistress, and for a much longer space,——

"For five whole years each day she meets my view, Yet every day I seem to see her new."

Though I have been so long a mother, I have still a surprising air of youth and freshness, which is assisted by all the advantages of well-chosen ornament, for I dress well, and according to the season. This is what I have chiefly to say of myself and my sisters. To a person of your sagacity it will be unnecessary for me to sign my name. Indeed one who becomes acquainted with any one of the family cannot be at a loss to discover the rest, notwithstanding the difference in our features and characters.

From "Evenings at Home," by DR. AIKIN and MRS. BARBAULD.

27. THE SUMMER SHOWER.

Before the stout harvesters falleth the grain,

As when the strong storm-wind is reaping the plain,
And loiters the boy in the briery lane;

But yonder aslant comes the silvery rain,
Like a long line of spears brightly burnished and tall

Adown the white highway like cavalry fleet,

It dashes the dust with its numberless feet. Like a murmurless school, in their leafy retreat The wild birds sit listening the drops round them beat; And the boy crouches close to the blackberry wall.

The swallows alone take the storm on their wing, And, taunting the tree-sheltered labourers, sing. Like pebbles the rain breaks the face of the spring, While a bubble darts up from each widening ring; And the boy in dismay hears the loud shower fall.

But soon are the harvesters tossing their sheaves; The robin darts out from his bower of leaves; The wren peereth forth from the moss-covered eaves; And the rain-spattered urchin now gladly perceives That the beautiful bow bendeth over them all.

T. B. READ.

The glorious sun-the centre and soul of our system-the lamp that lights it,—the fire that heats it,the magnet that guides and controls it ;--the fountain of colour, which gives its azure to the sky, its verdure to the fields, its rainbow hues to the gay world of flowers, and the purple light of love to the marble cheek of youth and beauty.-Sir David Brewster.

28. THE GIANT'S STAIRS.

On the road between Passage and Cork there is an old mansion called Ronayne's Court. It may be easily known from the stack of chimneys and the gable ends which are to be seen look at it which way you will. Here it was that Maurice Ronayne and his wife, Margaret Gould, kept house, as may be learned to this day from the great old chimney-piece, on which is carved their arms. They were a mighty worthy couple, and had but one son, who was called Philip, after no less a person than the King of Spain.

The rapidity of his learning was truly amazing, for on the very first day a primer was put into his hand he tore out the A, B, C page and destroyed it as a thing quite beneath his notice. No wonder then that both father and mother were proud of their heir, who gave such indisputable proofs of genius.

One morning, however, Master Phil, who was then just seven years old, was missing, and no one could tell what had become of him. Servants were sent in all directions to seek him, on horseback and on foot, but they returned without any tidings of the boy, whose disappearance was most unaccountable. large reward was offered, but it produced them no intelligence, and years rolled away without Mr. and Mrs. Ronayne having obtained any account of the fate of their lost child.

A

There lived at this time, near Carrigaline, one Robert Kelly, a blacksmith by trade. He was what is termed a handy man, and his abilities were held in

much estimation by the lads and the lasses of the neighbourhood; for besides shoeing horses, which he did to great perfection, and making plough-irons, he interpreted dreams for young women, sung at their weddings, and was so good-natured a fellow at a christening that he was gossip to half the country round.

Now it happened that Robin had a dream himself, and young Philip Ronayne appeared to him in it at the dead hour of the night. Robin thought he saw the boy mounted upon a beautiful white horse, and that he told him how he was made a page to the giant Mahon Mac Mahon, who had carried him off, and who held his court in the hard heart of the rock. "The seven years-my time of service are clean out, Robin," said he," and if you release me this night I will be the making of you for ever after.”

And how will I know," said Robin-cunning enough, even in his sleep-"but this is all a dream?"

"Take that," said the boy, "for a token." And at the word the white horse struck out with one of his hind legs and gave poor Robin such a kick in the forehead, that, thinking he was a dead man, he roared as loud as he could after his brains, and woke up calling a thousand murders. He found himself in bed, but he had the mark of the blow, the regular print of a horse-shoe upon his forehead as red as blood; and Robin Kelly, who never before found himself puzzled at the dreams of any other person, did not know what to think of his own.

Robin was well acquainted with the Giant's Stairs,