The pastures lie baked, and the furrow is bare, The wells they yawn empty and dry; But a rushing of waters is heard in the air, And a rainbow leaps out in the sky. Hark! the heavy drops pelting the sycamore leaves, How they wash tha wide pavement, and sweep from the eaves! Oh, the rain, the plentiful rain! III. See, the weaver throws wide his own swinging pane, The kind drops dance in on the floor; And his wife brings her flower-pots to drink the sweet rain On the step by her half-open door; At the tune on the skylight, far over his head, Smiles their poor crippled lad on his hospital bed. Oh, the rain, the plentiful rain! IV. And away, far from men, where high mountains tower, The little green mosses rejoice, And the bud-heated heather nods to the shower, And the hill-torrents lift up their voice: And the pools in the hollows mimic the fight Of the rain, as their thousand points dart up in the light; Oh, the rain, the plentiful rain! V. And deep in the fir-wood below, near the plain, A single thrush pipes full and sweet, How days of clear shining will come after rain, Waving meadows, and thick growing wheat; So the voice of Hope sings, at the heart of our fears, Of the harvest that springs from a great nation's tears: Oh, the rain, the plentiful rain! SPECTATOR. HEARTY READING. 1. Curiosity is a passion very favorable to the love of study, and a passion very susceptible of increase by cultivation. Sound travels so many feet in a second; and light travels so many feet in a second. Nothing more probable: but you do not care how light and sound travel. Very likely: but make yourself care; get up, shake yourself well, pretend to care, make believe to care, and very soon you will care, and care so much that you will sit for hours thinking about light and sound, and be extremely angry with any one who interrupts you in your pursuits; and tolerate no other conversation but about light and sound; and catch yourself plaguing everybody to death who approaches you, with the discussion of these subjects. 2. I am sure that a man ought to read as he would grasp a nettle: do it lightly, and you get molested; grasp it with all your strength, and you feel none of its asperities. There is nothing so horrible as languid study, when you sit looking at the clock, wishing the time was over, or that somebody would call on you and put you out of your misery. The only way to read with any efficacy is to read so heartily that dinner-time comes two hours before you expected it.