"Orange groves mid-tropic lie, Festal for the Spaniard's eye, And the red pomegranate grows Where the luscious southwest blows; Myrrh and spikenard in the East Multiply the Persian's feast, And our northern wilderness Boasts its fruits our lips to bless. Wouldst enjoy a magic sight, And so heal vexation's spite? Hasten to my blueberry swamp,-- Green o'erhead the wild bird's camp; Here in thickets bending low, Thickly piled the blueberries grow, Freely spent on youth and maid, In the deep swamp's cooling shade, Pluck the clusters plump and full, Handful after handful pull! Choose which path, the fruitage hangs,-- Fear no more the griping fangs Of the garden's spaded stuff,-- This is healthy, done enough. Pull away! the afternoon Dies beyond the meadow soon. Art thou a good citizen? Move into a blueberry fen; Here are leisure, wealth, and ease, Sure thy taste and thought to please, Drugged with nature's spicy tunes, Hummed upon the summer noons. "Rich is he that asks no more Than of blueberries a store, Who can snatch the clusters off, Pleased with himself and them enough. Fame?--the chickadee is calling;-- Love?--the fat pine cones are falling; Heaven?--the berries in the air,-- Eternity--their juice so rare. And if thy sorrows will not fly, Then get thee down and softly die. In the eddy of the breeze, Leave the world beneath those trees, And the purple runnel's tune Melodize thy mossy swoon." W. E. CHANNING. LETTERS. THURSDAY, 3. "Love is the life of friendship; letters are The life of love, the loadstones that by rare Attractions make souls meet and melt, and mix, As when by fire exalted gold we fix." But for letters the best of our life would hardly survive the mood and the moment. Prompted by so lively a sentiment as friendship, we commit to our leaves what we should not have spoken. To begin with "Dear Friend" is in itself an address which clothes our epistle in a rhetoric the most select and choice. We cannot write it without considering its fitness and taxing our conscience in the matter. 'Tis coming to the confessional, leaving nothing in reserve that falls gracefully into words. A life-long correspondence were a biography of the correspondents. Preserve your letters till time define their value. Some secret charm forbids committing them to the flames; the dews of the morning may sparkle there still, and remind one of his earlier Eden.