SUMMER. to read, that even familiar words might glow again with new beauty and come with new force upon every repetition. Much of our reading is strained and unnatural, consequently becomes distasteful, but as a good conversationalist never tires the listener, so a good reader being natural, becomes so absorbed in and identified with his topic or reading, that individuality is most dormant when most active, and the words or thoughts of others meet their best and warmest interpretation. Who would not like that good readers should be increased in number? Who is there that is not fascinated by the well rendered music of our mother tongue? Who would not like so fine an accomplishment, as a permanent feature of the domestic circle? Would not every hearthstone, every home, have one more satisfying and enjoyable attraction 281 if those who gather, who dwell there, were thus able to aid in that communion of soul with soul, which consists in the reproduction of the best thoughts of the gifted and master minds of all the ages of the past? And would not love for thought, for literature, for art, for poetry, for science, for history, for revelation and inspiration, be wonderfully increased and be better appreciated by a faithful rendering of the spirit of the great original. Let, then, our young men, our young ladies, learn to read, to read aright, to read well, to read intelligently, to read aloud-to others. So shall all these minds absorb of the influence which was ever gathered around the written thought; then reading will not be among the lost or unknown arts, but it will be as good eternally, "a thing of beauty and a joy for ever!" H. W. Naisbitt. Bright summer comes along the sky, And paints the glowing year; Where'er we turn the raptured eye, Her splendid tints appear. Thus when so fit to lift the song SUMMER. To gratitude and heaven, To whom her purple charms belong, From whom those charms are given? Thee, Thee, Almighty King of kings, Man worships not alone; Each budding flower its incense brings, The fields with verdant mantle gay, When Morn, with rosy fingers fair, Man starts from emblematic death, To welcome, with transported breath, When Noon averts his radiant face, And Eve, with modest, measured pace, Reposed beneath Thy guardian wings, Nor knows one watchful care that springs What, then, if pealing thunders roll, The elemental war. 'Tis but to him a parent's voice, That blesses while it blames; O, thus may heaven and holy peace Till storms no more or tempests rage, WRITING LETTERS. THE following interesting article on the above subject was first published in the Evening and Morning Star in 1832. It was incorporated in the history of the Prophet Joseph Smith, and if not written by him, at least had his endorsement and approval. It is deserving the attention. of readers of the CONTRIBUTOR, who should remember that this magazine is published expressly to encourage them in the art of writing, and that its mission is to develop the literary talent of the rising generation of Latter-day Saints.[EDITOR.] The art of writing is one of the greatest blessings we enjoy. To cultivate it is our duty and to use it is our privilege. By it the thoughts of the heart can act without the body, and the mind can speak without the head, while thousands of miles apart, and for ages after the flesh has mouldered back to its mother dust. Beloved reader, have you ever reflected on this simple, this useful, this heavenly blessing? It is one of the best gifts of God to man, and it is his privilege to enjoy it. By writing, the word of the Lord has been handed down to the inhabitants of the earth from generation to generation. By writing, the inventions and knowledge of men have been received, age after age, for the benefit of the world. By writing, the transactions of life, like the skies over the ocean, are spread out upon the current of time, for the eyes of the rising multitudes to look upon. And while we are thus summing up some of the blessings and enjoyments which result from this noble art, let us not forget to view a few of the curses and mischiefs which follow an abuse of it. Let us not forget to set a better example, when we see the slanderer dip his raven's quill in gall to blot the fair fame of some innocent person. Let us weep, for so will the heavens do, when the great men of the earth write their glory in the tears of the fatherless and the widow. Let us mourn while this world's vanity is written for deception, in letters of gold. But enough, for the wicked are writing their own death-warrant, and the hail of the Lord shall sweep away the refuge of lies. We, as the disciples of the blessed Jesus, are bound by every consideration that makes religion a blessing to the inhabitants of the earth, while we see this exalted privilege abused, to set a more noble example: to do our business in a more sacred way, and, as servants of the Lord, that would be approved in all things, hide no fault of our own, nor cover any imperfection in others; neither offend lest we bring reproach upon the great cause of our Eternal Father. It is pleasing to God to see men use the blessings which He gives them and not abuse them. For this reason if the Saints abide in the faith wherewith they have been called, the earth shall yield her increase, and the blessings of heaven shall attend them, and the Lord will turn to them a pure language, and the glory of God will again be among the righteous on earth. All things are for men, not men for all things. Beloved brethren, before we can teach the world how to do right, we must be able to do so ourselves. Therefore, in the love of Him who is altogether lovely, whose yoke is easy and whose burden is light, who spake as never man spake, let us offer a few ideas on this subject for the consideration of such as mean to love their neighbors as themselves, for the sake of righteousness and eternal life. Never write a letter to a friend or foe, unless you have business, which cannot be done as well in some other way; or, unless you have news to communicate, that is worth time and money. In this way you will increase confidence and save postage. EDITORIAL. Never write anything to a friend or foe that you are afraid to read to friend or foe, for letters from a distance, especially one or two thousand miles, are sought for with great anxiety; and as no one is a perfect judge of men and things, you are liable to misrepresent yourself, your country, your friends and your enemies, and put in the mouths of the honest, as well as the dishonest, a lie, which truth, in her gradual but virtuous way, may not contradict till your head is under the silent clods of the valley. Never write anything but truth, for truth is heavenly, and like the sun, is always bright, and proves itself without logic, without reasons, without witnesses, and never fails. Truth is of the Lord and will prevail. Never reprove a friend or foe for faults in a letter, except by revelation; for, in the first place, your private intentions, be they ever so good are liable to become public, because all letters may be broken open, and your opinion only on one side of the question, can be scattered to the four winds; and he to whom you meant good receives evil; and you are not benefitted. Again we can hardly find language, written or spoken on earth, at this time, that will convey the true meaning of the heart to the understanding of another; being thus liable to be misunderstood you may cause pain, and, to use an old simile, bleed an old sore by probing it for proud flesh, when it only needed a little oil, from the hand of the good Samaritan, in person, to heal it. No matter how pure your intentions may be; no matter how high your standing is, you cannot touch man's heart when absent as when present. Truly you do not cast your pearls before swine, but you throw your gold before man, and he robs you for your folly. Instead of reproof give good advice; and when face to face, rebuke a wise man and he will love you; or do so to your friend, that, should he become your enemy, he cannot reproach you; thus you may live, not only unspotted, but unsuspected. Never write what you would be ashamed to have printed; or what might offend the chastest ear or hurt the softest 283 heart. If you write what you are ashamed to have printed, you are partial; if you write what would offend virtue, you have not the spirit of the Lord; and if you write what would wound the weakhearted, you are not feeding the Lord's lambs, and thus you are not doing to others what you would have them do to you. The only rule we would give to regulate writting letters is this: Write what you are willing should be published in this world, and in the world to come. Would to God that not only the disciples of Christ, but the whole world were willing to follow this rule. Then the commandments would be kept, and no one would write a word against the Lord his God. No one would write a word against his father or mother. No one would write against his neighbor. one would write a word against the creatures of God. No one would need write a word against anything but sin; and then the world would be worth living in, for there would be none to offend. No LABOR. A certain degree of labor and exertion seems to have been allotted us by Providence, as the condition of humanity. "In the sweat of thy brow shalt thou eat thy bread:" this is a curse which has proved a blessing in disguise. And those favored few who, by their rank or their riches, are exempted from all exertion, have no reason to be thankful for the privilege. It was the observation of this necessity that led the ancients to say, "the gods sold us everything, but gave us nothing." Water, however, which is one of the great necessaries of life, may, in general, be gratuitously procured; but it has been well observed, that if bread, the other great necessary of human life, could be procured on terms equally cheap and easy, there would be much more reason to fear that men would become brutes for the want of something to do, rather than philosophers from the possession of leis JUNE. "The month of roses and of love." DELIGHTFUL, indeed, is this beautiful month. The fragrance of roses fills the air and the breath of summer sweetness pervades hill and dale, grove and woodland. It is the time of singing birds. The nests are built, and in happy restfulness they make sweet melody. All day long the larks in the meadows peal forth glad notes and around the dwelling places of men the swallows twitter dreamily. The whippoorwill at this season of the year, chants his mournful lay; but of all the songsters of forest or field, the nightingale possesses the most potent charm. All night long she sings melodiously, perched upon some slender bough, swayed by the passing breeze, then she sits and warbles a marvelous variety of notes in weird and tender cadences, telling, as it were, her "love tales to the moon." A consciousness of the poetry of music is awakened in the heart as one listens to this famous songstress, and emotions of sympathy, such as one can comprehend but can never express, emanate from the soul of the listener, as this night bird pours forth her sweet minstrelsy of magnificent eloquence. Much has been written by the finest authors of the exquisite music of the nightingale. The emotional song of this bird breathes the very spirit of poesy and love, and one listens, breathlessly entranced, as it were, to the wonderful quavers and roundelays, just as the lover listens to the vows of his inamorata. The balmy summertime is laden with a complete fulness of ineffable delights. Nature seems to have burst forth in myriad graces, an effusion of beauty, which bespeaks love throughout the universe; especially is the summer night adapted to sweet interchange of thought and feeling. Byron says: "It is the hour when from the boughs The nightingale's high note is heard; It is the hour when lovers' vows Seem sweet in every whispered word." There is a pretty legend of the nightingale among the peasantry in the south of France: "They say and believe that long ago the nightingale sang in the day time, like other birds, but, that once in a warm night of May, when the vine was growing quickly, a bird of this species went to rest upon a vine and fell asleep there; and while he slept,the tendrils grew very fast, and as they grew, they twined about his tiny legs and held them, so that when the morning came he could not get away, though his comrades came to help him. The poor bird died in this miserable situation, and his comrades were so impressed by what they had seen, that they dared no longer to go to sleep at night, but watched in fear of the same fate, and sang to keep each other awake." This is a sort of innocent superstition, and yet the peasants, it is said, speak of it to one another in low tones as though it were a secret. There are a number of traditions among the peasantry of different countries concerning the nightingale. One oriental tradition is that there is a bird language which is understood by some persons, that there is a peculiar mysticism in it, and that they who understand bird-lore, must not communicate it until they are about to die, and then to only one member of their own family, as a sort of entailed legacy. It is possible these traditions are a relic of heathen mythology, but "there are more things in heaven and earth" than can be actually demonstrated by positive knowledge. The music of the waters is another charm of nature which heightens the keen sense of enjoyment. The running brooks babble and laugh, the voices frequently dying away in prolonged silvery ripples of joyous echoes. In fact, nature, at this season, has put on her fairest garments, and the whole earth is garlanded in beauty. Everywhere the eye can penetrate, the landscape stretches out before us in magnificent splendor. "Go abroad, Upon the paths of nature, and, when all These lines by N. P. Willis are touch- | charm, opening up avenues of tenderingly beautiful. God seems nearer to us at such times and in such places, and our hearts instinctively reach out after the infinite, and seek to grasp the unknown, and faith like an intuitive inspiration whispers to us of God. A morning in the woods or fields, a talk with nature, joining in the general chorus of birds and waterfall, or silently communing with trees and flowers, listening between the brief pauses of insects humming, or the lowing of herds and flocks, to catch the key of symphony, is calculated to give us a deeper note of intense sympathy with nature, connecting the elements of the globe on which we live, and all the creatures which dwell thereon, by some mysterious link, to the soul of man, and rendering him nobler from the inter-dependence. The language of flowers has always been associated in the human mind with the sentiments of love and friendship, in brief, with affairs of the heart. There is such an endless variety of flowers that it is an inexhaustible subject to touch upon. And, in fact, we know so little really about flowers, except as "a thing of beauty and a joy forever," that one hesitates to speak individual thoughts. Pansies for thoughts! "The fair Ophelia❞ said, "There's rosemary, that's for remembrance; pray you, love, remember; and there is pansies, that's for thoughts." Pansy is the French word pensée, and in France, pensée or pansy as we term it, "is associated only with tender thoughts." The association of flowers with love is as old as love itself. "Perhaps I began to love thee," the Cyclops says to Galatea, "when first thou camest with my mother to gather hyacinths upon the hill." How many precious flowers of sweet fragrance, wild or cultivated, are carefully hidden away in some old book, whose leaves are seldom turned, except in remembrance of these tender mementoes. O, this impassioned human feeling which fancifully clings to us in all conditions of life, finding silent expression in a simple flower, or an exquisite leaf, thrilling our hearts involuntarily as by a magic ness where all seemed cold, and hard, and barren of emotion! The most acceptable of all offerings from the lover to his sweetheart is a flower, a vine, or plant; these seem to convey more depth of sentiment than aught else. Every person, or every lover of nature, has preferences, and the ancient Greeks "believed the gods must have them also." Thus "that the vine was especially beloved by Bacchus, the poplar by Hercules, the myrtle by beautiful Venus, and the laurel by Phoebus. But Phyllis amat corylos-Phillis loves hazels-and so long as Phyllis shall love hazels, neither the myrtle nor Apollo's laurel shall surpass them." The Roman poet had a love for sylvan nature, we are told, and from the writings of Virgil and others, we are ourselves convinced. But this is an inexhaustible subject, and as the summer has come, the lover of nature may go forth upon the hills, and in some shady nook or pleasant retreat, enjoy to his heart's content, the real, full bloom of leafy June. There is beauty in nature outside of human needs, which finds that it is too deep for any expression, save silence. I have sometimes thought that flowers were a heritage bequeathed to Eve when she was shut out from Paradise, to compensate some little for the loss of all the perfection of bloom that existed in the "Garden of Eden." There is certainly a fascination, an atmosphere about them that brings remembrance of happier things, and who knows but in permitting us to come here and forget our first estate, flowers are the souvenirs heaven vouchsafed to us-the symbol of love. Amethyst. God is on the side of virtue; for whoever dreads punishment, suffers it; and whoever deserves it, dreads it. We should always do the best we can in the circumstances in which we are placed, not idly dreaming of the great things we would do if they were different. Those who would do much elsewhere accomplish little anywhere. |