JUNE, 1858.

JUNE.

BY ANN GILBERT.

SUMMER, thou of the seasons three
Must surely be the Queen;
Hard-working Spring has raised for thee
A throne so bright and green.

And first comes June of thy merry band,
With skies so warm and blue,
And fresh green leaves on every hand,
And flowers of every hue.

Sweet is the scent she spreads around,
From fields of new-mown hay;
And pleasant to hear the ringing sound
Of the scythe at break of day!

And, as if to hail her steps, along
The flowery way she goes,
In Summer woods a ceaseless song
From morn to evening flows.

-A Child's Walk through the Year.

UINS OF THE AUGUSTINE MONASTERY, CANTERBURY.

THIS monastery is famed as having been the arial-place of Augustine the Monk,-not the

great Augustine, who lived earlier, and was an African Bishop. The beautiful remains stand on the north side of the Dover road.

Ethelbert is said to have given the ground; and the building rose, and long flourished, in a style worthy of royal patronage. But the history of such places is anything but creditable to the name of Christ's holy religion. They were generally broken up, or (as is commonly said) "dissolved,” at the time of the happy and blessed Reformation. Henry VIII. chose to like this Augustine monastery, and made it one of his palaces. Queen Mary afterwards granted it to Cardinal Pole; but on her death it came back to the Crown, and in the year 1573 Queen Elizabeth held her court here.

THE THREE HANDFULS OF GRAIN. It was one day in the early spring of the year that Gerard Steimer called his three sons, Adolphus, Henry, and the little Bernard, to his side. In his hand he held an open letter. The tears were in his eyes, and his voice was very sad, as he addressed them :

:

"You have often heard me speak, my children, of my brother Bernard, who left home many years ago to enter into business in a distant country."

"Yes," they replied; and they gazed wonderingly at their father.

66

Well, my sons," he continued, “your uncle Bernard, having at last amassed a considerable fortune, had determined to return to his native village,

ke up his abode with me; for we are the only at remain of a happy family of seven brothers ve sisters."

nd is uncle coming soon?" inquired Henry, animated tone.

e should have been here by this time, my replied his father; "but an all-wise Provihas ordered it otherwise. And now," he "I fear that you will never see him; for this informs me that he is very ill in a distant city, he desires me to come to him, that he may e once more, and that I may assist him in ging his affairs."

And you will go, father?" said Bernard usly.

ertainly, my child. And during my absence a Jacob Reimmer and his wife will come and care of the house; for I shall probably not until the autumn, as I shall have to travel distance; and, in case of your uncle's death, may be a great deal for me to attend to." Perhaps he will get well; and then you will him home with you."

fear, Bernard, that that may not be; for he s me word that the doctors say his case is ess. Listen now attentively, my children, to I am going to tell you; for it is a message to of you from your dying uncle. He says, 'Give ndful of grain to each of your three children

you leave them, to do with it what they think during your absence; and, when you return, will decide who has made the best use of it,

and you will reward that one according as I shali tell you.""

It is autumn. The little Bernard stood watching at the open window, when a carriage drove hastily up to the door, and the aged Gerard stepped from it, holding in his hand a small tin box.

"O, there is father! There is father!" he exclaimed.

Then the three children rushed from the room, and threw their arms around him, saying,—

"O, we are so glad to see you, father! You have been so long away!"

"And I am glad to see you too, my children, and all looking so well," replied the aged man, as he bent forward and gave them each a kiss.

Cousin Jacob Reimmer and his wife now approached to welcome him; and he inquired of each of them how the children had behaved during his absence.

"O! they have been very good boys,” both replied. They all now entered the house. Gerard Steimer then placed the tin box that he held in his hand upon the table, and, taking a small key from his pocket, opened it, and drew from thence the last will and testament of his brother, Bernard Steimer.

All gazed sadly upon the old man, as with trembling hands he unrolled it and said,

"I had the sad pleasure of closing my brother's eyes in peace, and of laying his remains in their last resting-place. In this will he bequeaths the whole