ground: neither the main stem nor the larger branches of the tree are perfectly round or smooth, but are grooved, or indented longitudinally.

The yew, being a native of our own country, is hardy enough to brave our most inclement seasons; and though we cannot agree with those who call it one of our most beautiful evergreens, yet from the contrast its dark foliage gives to trees of lighter tints, it adds a charm to trees of more lively hue. As an underwood it is valuable; and in such situations, and sheltered by surrounding trees, it will shoot up more rapidly than when standing solitary, and will have a cleaner stem. The wood of the yew is valuable from its texture being at once hard, compact, of a close and fine grain, elastic, and capable of receiving a very high polish, and durable beyond all others. It is therefore highly appropriate for fine cabinet-work, particularly from the various shades of colour it exhibits when used for veneer or other ornamental purposes. It has been recommended as making the strongest of all axle-trees; but unfortunately its slow growth, and the prejudice against its appearance, render it too scarce a tree to be found available for common purposes.

There are few objects of Nature presenting more real interest to the mind, or richer points of beauty to the eye, than a noble tree; and at times these glories of the forest become associated, either from intrinsic character or local situation, with our best and purest feelings.

"No tree in all the grove but has its charms,
Though each its hue peculiar; paler some,
And of a wannish grey; the willow such,
And poplar, that with silver lines his leaf,
And ash, far-stretching his umbrageous arm;
Of deeper green the elm; and deeper still,
Lord of the woods, the long-surviving oak.
Some glossy leaved and shining in the sun,
The maple, and beech of oily nuts
Prolific, and lime at dewy eve
Diffusing odours: nor unnoted pass
The sycamore, capricious in attire,

Now green, now tawny, and ere autumn yet

Have changed the wood, in scarlet honours bright."

TO PRESERVE SKELETON LEAVES.-The delicate tracery in the membranes of leaves is very curious and beautiful, and we have seen many a pretty collection of these spoils of the autumn woods preserved in albums. Properly arranged and labelled, they make an interesting memento of a country visit. These skeleton leaves may be made by steeping leaves in rain-water, in an open vessel, exposed to the air and sun. Water must occasionally be added, to compensate loss by evaporation. The leaves will putrefy, and then their membranes will begin to open; then lay them on a clean white plate, filled with clean water, and with gentle touches take off the external membranes, separating them cautiously near the middle rib. When there is an opening towards the latter, the whole membrane separates easily. The process requires a great deal of patience, as ample time must be given for the vegetable tissues to decay and separate.

There is another and a more expeditious method, namely, by employing a table-spoonful of chloride of lime, in a liquid state, mixed with a quart of pure spring water. Leaves or seed-vessels of plants to be soaked in the mixture for about four hours, then taken out and well washed in a large basin filled with water, after which they should be left to dry, with free exposure to light and air. Some of the larger species of forest leaves, or such as have strong ribs, will require to be left rather more than four hours in the liquid.

MUSHROOM HUNTING.-When summer is fading into autumn, and the nuts begin to ripen in the woods, then also do the white mushrooms begin to appear in the fields and copses. Seeking for these is an agreeable pastime, and here we give a few particulars which may be useful in distinguishing the real edible mushrooms from the poisonous toadstools and similar fungi, which are not unfrequently mistaken by the unobservant and incautious for the eatable varieties.

The only kinds of mushroom which can be eaten with safety are the common Mushroom (Agaricus campestris), the Champignon (Agaricus oreades), and the Morell (Marchella esculenta). Those which are of very bright colours, or have spots on the cap, those with thin caps, or those which are moisthave a film like a cobweb about the stalk, or have the stalk coming from one side of the cap-are poisonous. The Truffle (Tuber cibarium) is a kind of underground fungus, and is esteemed a dainty. Mushrooms are also fungi, and several species are sufficiently wholesome.

"As there is no critical mark to determine at once between poisonous and salutary mushrooms, we may lay it down as a general rule that those should be suspected and avoided that grow in moist and marshy grounds, and especially in the shade-that have a dirty-looking surface-and whose gills are soft, moist, and porous."-Dr. Good.

Old Gerarde gives the following advice respecting these "voluptuous poisons: "

"The meadow mushrooms are in kinde the best:
It is ill trusting any of the rest."

"In habit, the Fungi," writes the intelligent naturalist, Dr. Johnston, of Berwick-upon-Tweed, "vary infinitely, and in general they have little resemblance to the plants of any other order. Some resemble an umbrella, some a piece of honeycomb; others are cups in miniature; others, again, resemble a ball, a club, or a mace, or assume the forms of sea-corals; while many defy comparison with any familiar objects, and grow in figures peculiar to themselves." They are of quick growth and short duration, and frequently exhibit every variety of shade and tint. "Let but the lover of natural history," says Dr. Fleming, "free his mind from prejudice, and then examine the forms and colouring of the fungi, and he will be compelled to admit that many of them rival in symmetry and splendour the rose and the lily, those gaudy ornaments of Flora.'

ARTIFICIAL MUSHROOM-BEDS.-Mushrooms may be grown in pots, boxes, or hampers. Each box may be three fect long, one and a half wide, and seven inches in depth. Let each box be half-filled with horsedung from the stables (the fresher the better, and if wet, to be dried for three or four days before it be put into the boxes); the dung is to be well beat down in the box. After the second or third day, if any heat has arisen amongst the dung, break each spawn brick into three parts as equally as possible, then lay

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the pieces about four inches apart upon the surface of the dung in the box; here they are to lie for six days, when it will probably be found that the side of the spawn next to the dung has begun to run in the dung below; then add one and a half inch more of fresh dung on the top of the spawn in the box, and beat it down as formerly. In the course of a fortnight, when you find that the spawn has run through the dung, the box will be ready to receive the mould on the top this mould must be two and a half inches deep. well beat down, and the surface made quite even. In the space of five or six weeks the mushrooms will begin to come up; if then the mould seen dry, give a gentle watering with lukewarm water. The box will continue to produce from six weeks to two months, if duly attended to by giving a little water when dry, for they need neither light nor free air. If cut as button mushrooms, each box will yield from twenty-four to forty-eight pints, according to the season and other circumstances. They may be kept in dry, dark cellars, or any other places where the frost will not reach them: and by preparing, in succession of boxes, mushrooms may be had all the year through.

They may be grown without the dung, and be of a finer flavour. Take a little straw, and lay it carefully in the bottom of the mushroom-box, about an inch thick, or rather more. Then take some of the spawn bricks, and break them down-each brick into about ten pieces-and lay the fragments on the straw, as close to each other as they will lie. Cover them up with mould three and a half inches deep, and well pressed down. When the surface appears dry, give a little tepid water, as directed for the last way of raising them; but this method needs about double the quantity of water that the former does, owing to having no moisture in the bottom, while the other has the dung. The mushrooms will begin to start in a month or five weeks, sometimes sooner, sometimes later, according to the heat of the place where the boxes are situ-ated. The spawn bricks may be obtained from seedsmen, or be collected from meadows.

THE BLOSSOMING OF PLANTS.-In White's "Selborne " the following remarks on this subject are to be found. They are worthy the young naturalist's attentive perusal :-"Of all the propensities of plants, none seem more strange than their different periods of blossoming. Some produce their flowers in the winter, or very first dawnings of spring; many when the spring is established; some at midsummer, and some not till autumn. When we see the Helleborus foetidus and Helleborus niger blowing at Christmas, the Helleborus hyemalis in January, and the Helleborus viridis as soon as ever it emerges out of the ground, we do not wonder, because they are kindred plants that we expect should keep pace the one with the other; but other congenerous vegetables differ so widely in their time of flowering, that we cannot but admire. I shall only instance at present in the Crocus sativus, the vernal and the autumnal crocus, which have such an affinity, that the best botanists only make them varieties of the same genus, of which there is only one species, not being able to discern any difference in the corolla, or in the internal structure. Yet the vernal crocus expands its flowers by the beginning of March at farthest, and often in very rigorous weather, and cannot be retarded but by some violence offered; while the autumnal (the saffron)

defies the influence of the spring and summer, and will not blow tili most plants begin to fade and run to seed. This circumstance is one of the wonders of the creation, little noticed because a common occurrence; yet ought not to be overlooked on account of its being familiar, since it would be as difficult to be explained as the most stupendous phenomenon in Nature. "Say, what impels, amidst surrounding snow, Congeal'd, the crocus' flamy bud to glow? Say, what retards, amidst the summer's blaze, Th' autumnal bulb, till pale, declining days? The GOD of SEASONS, whose pervading power Controls the sun, or sheds the fleecy shower: He bids each flower his quickening word obey Or to each lingering bloom enjoins delay.'

OLD NAMES OF MEDICINAL PLANTS.-" In ages of simplicity, when every man was the usual dispenser of good or bad, benefit or injury, to his own household or his cattle, ere the veterinary art was known, or the drugs of other regions introduced, necessity looked up to the products of its own clime, and the real and fanciful virtues of them were called to the trial, which manifests the reasonableness of bestowing upon plants and herbs such names as might immediately indicate their several uses. Modern science may wrap up the meaning of its epithets in Greek and Latin terms; but in very many cases they are mere translations of these despised old, vulgar names.' What pleasure it must have afforded the poor sufferer in body and limb, when he knew that his good neighbour, who came to bathe his wounds, or assuage his inward torments, brought with him such things as Allheal, Bruisewort, Goutweed, and Feverfew (fugio), and twenty other such comfortable mitigators of his afflictions. And then the good herbalist of old professed to have plants which were Allgood; they could assuage anger by their Loosestrife; and they had Honesty, Truelove, and Heartsease. The cayennes, the soys, the catchups, and extra-tropical condiments of these days, were not required, when the next thicket would produce Poor man's Pepper, Sauce-alone, and Hedge-mustard; and the woods and wilds around, when they yielded such delicate viands as Fat-hen, Lamb's-quarters, Way-bread, Butter-and-eggs, with Codlins-and-cream, afforded no despicable bill of fare. No one ever yet, thought of accusing old simplers of the vice of avarice, or love of lucre; yet their Thrift is always to be seen: we have their humble Pennywort, Herb-twopence, Moneywort, Silverweed, and Gold. We may smile, perhaps, at the cognomens, or the commemorations of friendships or of worth, recorded by the old simplers, at their herbs, Bennet, Robert, Christopher, Gerard, or Basil; but do the names so bestowed by modern science read better, or sound better? It has Lightfootia, Lapeyrousia, Hedwigia, Schkuhria, and Scheuchzeria; and surely we may admit, in common benevolence, such partialities as Good King Henry, Sweet William, Sweet Marjory, Sweet Cicely, Mary Gold, and Rose. The terms of modern science waver daily; names undergo an annual change, fade with the leaf, and give place to others; but the ancient terms, which some may ridicule, have remained for centuries, and will yet remain till Nature is swallowed up by Art."-Knapp's Journal of a Naturalist.

NESTS OF BIRDS.-"The construction and selected situations of the nests of birds are as remarkable as the variety of materials employed in them-the same forms, places, and articles being rarely, perhaps never, found wnited by the different species, which we should suppose similar necessities would direct to a uniform provision. Birds that build early in the spring seem to require warmth and shelter for their young; and the blackbird and the thrush line their nests with a plaster of loam, perfectly excluding the keen icy gales of our opening year. The house-sparrow commonly builds under the eaves of houses, and collects a great mass of straw and hay, and a profusion of feathers. The wood-pigeon and the jay construct their nest so slightly, that their eggs may be almost seen through the loosely-collected materials; but the goldfinch forms its cradle of fine mosses and lichens, lined with the down of the thistle, and is a model for beautiful construction. The golden

crested wren builds its nest with the utmost attention to warmth, while the whitethroat and blackcap do not attend to this particular. The greenfinch places its rude nest in the hedge, with little regard to concealment; while the chaffinch, just above it in the elm, hides its neat nest with the most cautious care. One bird must have a hole in the ground; to another, a crevice in a wall, or a chink in a tree, is indispensable. The bullfinch requires fine roots for its nest; the grey flycatcher will have cobwebs for the outworks of its shed. All the parus tribe, except the individuals above mentioned, select some hollow in a tree, or cranny in a wall. Endless examples might indeed be found of the dissimilarity of requirements in these constructions among the several associates of our groves, our hedges, and our houses." See the whole of this beautiful passage in the "Journal of a Naturalist."

REMARKS ON ROOKS. By Gilbert White.-The evening proceedings and manoeuvres of the rooks are curious and amusing in the autumn. Just before dusk they return in long strings from the foraging of the day, and rendezvous by thousands over Selborne Down, where they wheel round in the air, and sport and dive in a playful manner, all the while exerting their voices, and making a loud cawing, which, being blended and softened by the distance that we at the village are below them, becomes a confused noise or chiding, or rather a pleasing murmur, very engaging to the imagination, and not unlike the cry of a pack of hounds in hollow, echoing woods, or the rushing of the wind in tall trees, or the tumbling of the tide upon a pebbly shore. When this ceremony is over, with the last gleam of day, they retire for the night to the deep beechen woods of Tisted and Ropley. We remember a little girl, who, as she was going to bed, used to remark on such an occurrence, in the true spirit of physico-theology, that the rooks were saying their prayers; and yet this child was much too young to be aware that the Scriptures have said of the Deity, that "He feedeth the ravens who call upon him."