AND

ON THE SYSTEMS DESIGNED FOR CLOTHING THE EARTH WITH PLANTS.

IN an elaborate, voluminous, and able work, entitled "Proofs and Illustrations of the Attributes of God, from the Facts and Laws of the Physical Universe," just published by Mr. Duncan, Paternoster Row, and written by the late Dr. John Macculloch, who has been long well known for his numerous works and papers connected with Natural Science, there are some highly interesting discussions, where the vegetable kingdom forms the theme of his arguments. Throughout the whole of these discussions, and, indeed, in every part of the work, the author, in the course of his efforts to establish the foundation of Natural and Revealed Religion, displays an extraordinary acquaintance with the Physical Universe, and exhibits many facts, that are popularly known, in a new light. We cannot but be aiding in the diffusion of scientific and theological truths, when we insert in our Magazine some of the author's statements and reasonings.

The surface of the earth is covered with plants, which consist in the growth of one set on the ruins of a preceding one; but the method by which this is accomplished, the various steps in the process are not always immediately obvious, though they be traceable, and the more intricate the tracing, the higher the pleasure and the more enriching the knowledge, which thence follow. Dr. Macculloch observes that "no one can have seen a lake, without observing that wherever a river flows into it, the borders consist of meadows, or of marshy land, or both; while the marsh is the preliminary to the meadow, and is finally converted into one. If the whole process be watched, it will be found to commence in the shoaling of the bottom at the entrance of the river, sometimes producing islands or banks, which, gradually attaining the level of the water, become first marshy tracts, and are finally elevated so as to form solid plains of meadow land. The progressive deposition of earth and stones by the river is here the fundamental cause; aud as far as this acts on that land which has already surmounted the general level of the water, the increase is the result of inundations extending themselves over it. The consequent effects, in the narrowing, the shortening, or the dividing of lakes, and ultimately in their obliteration, is that nothing at length remains but a river traversing a plain ; while the practical and obviously designed result is, in all cases, an acquisition of new and valuable lands. My object here, is to point out that portion of the total plan which is effected by the intervention of the living and vegetable creation, through the inclinations, or instincts, of plants appointed for the completion of their great design."

Accordingly, the author goes on to remark that there are two processes entirely distinct in their natures, which go to the production of one effect; the second being prepared to follow and complete what had been commenced by the first. For not only is new land consolidated, but the plants that successively take MAGAZINE OF BOTANY AND GARDENING, VOL, III. NO.

possession of it, are constructed with powers to detain what would afterwards have floated to the ocean; and while the living plants serve to detain and bind, the dead ones are ordained, in their generations, to fertilize, and still farther aid in elevating the new plains beyond the eventual inroads of the waters. Nay, there is a gradation of inclinations and structures of these successive generations of plants-they have distinct desires and powers, some being fitted to commence that portion of the general duty which others are to take up, and others again to terminate. The author says, "In the sea, it is the Zostero chiefly, which, with its long, numerous, and firm roots, lays the first foundation which will afterwards become a salt-marsh; acting beneath the water, like those far different plants which consolidate the dry sands of the adjoining shores. In freshwater lakes the Scirpus acicularis, Subularia aquatica, and others, perform the same initial duty; and when we find that all these plants have been created to live and to propagate entirely under water, we cannot doubt that they were appointed to the very office, which they execute so well. But in fresh waters, if not, with us at least, corresponding with those in the sea, the detention and consolidation of earthy matters are effected by many more plants, not purely subaqueous, but of an amphibious nature. These root beneath the water, but grow above it."

The author enumerates some of the plants that act in the different ways, now mentioned. He then observes, that it is most important to bear in mind, that there is some one plant or other, which is adapted to every possible situation and circumstance where salt or fresh water may reign or mingle; "for the pure ocean and the brackish æstuary of a river, for the clear lake, the rapid river, the alpine pool, the heated pond, and the foul and stagnant ditch." "But turn the eye of botany and geography on the singularly rooted mangroves, the gigantic reeds, and other uncounted plants which cover the swamps of the torrid climates, and are daily converting unnumbered miles of sea and river and lake into habitable land. Man will not doubt the ultimate value of the result, when he finds the marshy woods of Borneo occupying hundreds of square miles, all gained from the ocean by the labours of the vegetable world."

It is farther to be remarked, that the plants which had performed the work described to a certain extent, can do no more when once the new land has surmounted the surface of the water. A new set has therefore been appointed to carry it on to its completion. Thus does the marsh at length become a plain, fitted for pasturage or agriculture; or demanding only the further labours of man for whose use it has been rescued from the waters, and who, by imitating nature, destroys one set of plants, that he may establish a higher or more profitable

race.

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us see how Dr. Macculloch has described the way in which the naked and barren rock is converted into soil, or made to become the foundation of vegetable life, through chemical and mechanical actions. Here the vegetable world is the great agent; while, as in the preceding cases, one family of plants is the precursor to another of a superior nature; each retiring in succession, as it has contributed to place a better race on the same soil. "It is in the multitudinous and incomprehensible tribe of lichens and analogous plants, that we find these pioneers of vegetation, seeking their places where no others could exist; demanding no water, requiring no soil, careless alike of cold and heat, of the sun and the storm; rootless, leafless, flowerless; if not seedless, perpetuated we know not how, unsusceptible of injury short of destruction, and, if not immortal, tenacious of life as are the seeds of plants themselves, and capable of almost equal dormancy. What their anatomy is, no one has ascertained; and if they do produce seeds to be spread by the winds, we have still to explain how that which must be lighter than the winds themselves, and which the microscope cannot discover, should adhere to the solid rock. Yet thus is the naked rock clothed, even where, as in the case of quartz, no possible soil can exist, nor any decomposition occur; while the same mysterious organizations refuse to occupy that which we should pronounce far more fitted for their habitations."

The lichen species are so numerous that they are yet uncounted; their kinds are also different for different surfaces, different qualities of rocks, and the most opposite climates. But this is not all. "There was a problem to be still solved, and had it not been done, it would have left all this apparatus of little use; the very purpose in view would have been defeated before it was well commenced. Man could not have devised the means; he scarcely even knows how to believe the fact when it is before him so contrary is it to what he calls the laws of nature.

"It is a general law for plants, that water is essential to their existence, and that deprived of this, once dried, they are irrecoverably dead, though many have been enabled to retain it with almost miraculous obstinacy, under the most unfavourable circumstances. But had this law involved the lichens, it would have been fatal to their appointed duties; while their bulk and structure are commonly such as to have rendered the retention of moisture impossible. Exposed to a burning sun, on naked rocks, and without the means of resisting its influence, they are often so dried as to crumble at a touch; while this condition is sometimes of daily occurrence. Their very races might have been exterminated; but the Creator never leaves His work imperfect. He has made an exception to the general law; the principle of life is not withdrawn, and they are ready to revive and resume their functions at the slightest return of moisture. Nothing but unbounded power could have effected this, as unbounded wisdom planned it. It is a fact that wars against all our very definitions of life: for it is life in a dormant state; inactive, and incapable of acting, yet continuing attached, and waiting to recommence its actions when the instruments through which it acts shall again be serviceable. It is the mystery of the seed; it is perhaps even a greater mystery. And if dried lichen can preserve its principle of life for months or years, as it is known to do in our cabinets, who shall say when that can depart, where no organic change is taking place, and no chemistry acting? It is an immortality; but it is an immortality to teach us how little we know of life, how rashly we decide, when we pronounce on what shall be, or what cannot be effected."

But in whatever way the licheus may exsist, the result is to lay the foundation of a soil on the naked rock, partly through their own living structures, partly through their decomposition, and partly through the flying particles of earth which they detain; if they also aid in the decomposition of their rocky abode itself, by detaining moisture on its surface.

"But the soil thus produced is unfitted to give a hold or a place to the larger or more perfect vegetables. Still,

the design is carried on; and a new tribe of plants, of a higher organization than their precursors, yet inferior to those which are to follow, has been created for this end. These are the mosses, using that term in its popular sense; and their variety resembles that of the lichens. These have scarcely the power of rooting themselves on a naked surface, if we except the bark of trees; but they attach themselves readily to the quantity of soil, formed and collected by the lichens, and with equal facility to the plants themselves. And that they execute the office of forming additional soil, the least observation will show; partly through their proliferous nature, and partly through a structure especially adapted for detaining earth. Partaking largely of the same tenacity of life as the lichens, they similarly defy the more usual powers of destruction.

"Their office being at length performed, there is room and lodgment afforded for plants of greater bulk and more perfect structure; but I need now do no more than desire the observer to examine the summit of a wall, where, in the Grasses, the Arabis, Turritis, Sedum, Antirrhinum, Saxifraga, and many more, rooted in their mossy cushions, he will see those plants which are destined to replace and exclude their immediate predecessors; still adding to that soil, which may one day bear the trees of the forest."

The methods which the Supreme Being has employed for the perpetuation of plants, might, without any violent departure from the title of the present paper, be glanced at. The mind of the common observer will readily suggest some of these, but there is one which we may here more particularly refer to, especially as it affords an instance of wonderful contrivance which may be mentioned along with the mysteries above noted concerning lichens-we mean the security for future plants of almost every class, by seeds which shall not make an effort towards vegetation till they are in circumstances to ensure the great result. 'Life, dormant life, exists in the dry seed. It is the miracle, equally of physiology and of metaphysics; and it has been a miracle to the philosophy of all ages; it is the mystery of the egg; but it is almost an immortality, when compared to the animal germs." "Life, produced from apparent death, starting suddenly into action from the sleep of a century, an atom, an unintelligible, an often invisible organization, becoming in a few hours a living being, ready to reproduce and perpetuate the same lives and the same powers for ever, this is the miracle. Can He who does this, not affect all things? Where is death, where is mortality, if that atom which the microscope barely discovers, can sleep for years, centuries, and yet start up a living and an active being; and not even through a miraculons interposition of Providence, but through the simplest of means, moisture, warmth, and light? No; there needs be no death to Him; He shows us His power, even in the seeds of the mustard; but we doubt it, when the very demonstration is before our eyes. There it lies; life, His life, but we cannot see it; of its presence we know nothing; it is attached (do we even know that it is attached?) to an unintelligible shape, to a particle which chemistry finds to be a common material pervading all nature, which, if it has a form, has uo mark of what it is to be. It is an atom, which, if continuously protected, as He has provided protection for it, is imperishable; for if it can exist through a century, why not then through thousands or millions of years ?" It has been found that maize, taken from the tombs of Peru, was capable of germinating after a period of three centuries; and the same has been said of seeds discovered in Pompeii or Herculaneum.

When speaking of the manner in which the earth is clothed and supplied with plants, there might much be said of the beauty and variety of this clothing, for which man should be constantly grateful, were it merely on account of the effect these appearances have in feasting the senses. Every reflecting person, however, can pursue this subject to a great and most interesting extent for himself; but we will conclude with one suggestion that is excellently followed up by Dr. Macculloch, on a point that forms part of the foundation of man's delight

in regarding the vegetable kingdom-viz, the cleanliness of plants. Every thing about them, and on all occasions, may be described as neat, precise, and free from every symptom of slovenly habits. "The contrivance for this purpose in plants, consists in the nature of the surfaces, most remarkable in the leaves, where this object is sometimes attained by a high polish and great density, at others by a waxy secretion, at others again by a minute texture of the surface, resembling that of hairs and feathers, or by means of actual down or hairs; as, in the flowers, the globular velvety surface which enhances the colours by dispersive reflection, serves for this end also."

In short a dirty plant (to use an expressive term), is scarcely ever seen; or to be brief, but more comprehensive still, the systems which have been employed for clothing and beautifying the face of the earth with plants, are undeniable proofs of matchless contrivance, infinite wisdom, and eternal goodness.

METHOD OF PRESERVING THE LEAVES OF TREES, IN CASHMERE, AS A SUBSTITUTE FOR HAY.

In several mountainous countries, greatly distant from each other, and in which much grass, apparently of a good quality, might be cut for hay, as winter food for cattle, I have observed a preference given to the leaves of certain trees for this purpose: these were the willow, the mulberry, a variety of elm, and several others; but the first mentioned and the walnut were held to be the best, and considered to be much more warming and nourishing than any grass made into hay, especially for sheep. Small branches, after having been cut when in full leaf, and before they begin to lose any of their verdure, are immediately so disposed within the forks of the tree to which they belong, as to be thereby retained in the form of large hay-cocks. These branches are piled loosely, yet so engaged amongst themselves as not to be detached by wind, neither do they lose their leaves, nor are the least rotted, or in any other respect damaged, as to their fitness for food.

I am not mistaken in asserting, that the fat is whiter of the mutton of Cashmere, not only than of the mutton of Thibet, but of any other sheep. I have seen; but whether this difference be wholly, or in a degree, owing to the sheep being fed on dry leaves, I have not facts enough before me to determine.

This forage, unless when very abundant, is reserved for the severe part of winter, when the cattle are driven under the trees on which the store is suspended; and the dry branches being pulled down are eaten by them with great avidity. The practice is thus simple, unexpensive, affords a considerable resource in a well-timbered or forest farm, and may, perhaps, be worthy of a trial, if it prove not injurious to the growth or quality of the timber; on which, I refer to what I have already said of the management of walnut-trees, in Cashmere. The scarcity of natural pasturage has forced the farmers of Thibet to cultivate the productions of their soil, as Lucerne, &c. merely for the increase of fodder; whereas, in Cashmere, the exuberance of natural productions, the neglect of cultivating them to perfection, the selection of the leaves of forest trees, in preference to the leaves and other parts of grasses, and esculent roots, as turuips, &c. may bring the soundness of the judgment of Cashmere farmers into question, by the farmers of England. My observations on this preference are too limited to be of any practical value; but I am able to aver, that sheep, which had been preserved from dying by the rot, through feeding on dry prangos, fell off in condition greatly, when put upon clean washed turnips, and regained their former state rapidly on reverting to prangos. It appears to me not improbable, that if sheep, when they just begin to show symptoms of rot, by arching their backs, were put on a diet of dry leaves alone, they would be prevented from dying of this complaint; and I conceive, would prove speedily curative; also, in the case of the oscaris worm, and rustling in the wind-pipe of the lambs, fed on rank aftermath in

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The arching

the beginning of a winter, following a wet autumn. of the line of the back, produced by an attempt to relieve the irritation occasioned by vigorous activity of the small fluke worms, which bave only just entered the gall-ducts, is a symptom I have never heard noticed by shepherds; but, according to my own observation, is the first which indicates their presence in the beginning of winter. When grass is also stored here for winter fodder, it is twisted into thick ropes, immediately after being cut; and in this state, hung across the upper branches of trees. Without other preparation for hay, it thus keeps free from rottenness, and generally even from mouldiness, notwithstanding the great quantity of rain and snow that falls in this country. Grass thus dried is generally given to the flock in a morning, and the leaves in the afternoon or evening; but the latter is most depended upon for fattening. Oil-cakes, made of linseed, walnut kernels, mustard seed, along with the seed of cotton, are employed for the purpose, and the flags or leaves of sedge. M.

NATURE AND FORMATION OF SNOW.

IF snow is carefully examined with an eye-glass immediately after it reaches the ground, it will be found to consist, for the most part, of a regular figure of transparent ice, in the form of a star of six points. On each of these points, if minutely inspected, will be seen other collateral points, having the same angles of those of the main star. Next to this figure is a single shoot often seen, resembling a small slender cylinder. Besides these two regular figures, which are the principal ones, we dis cover various broken points and fragments, occasioned, probably, by the wind in their descent, and by being thawed and frozen again into irregular forms.

From hence the true notion and external nature of snow seems to appear, viz.: that not only some few parts of snow, but originally the whole body of it, or of a snowy cloud, is an infinite mass of icicles regularly figured; that is, a cloud of vapors being gathered into drops, the said drops forthwith descend: on which descent, meeting with a soft freezing wind, or at least passing through a colder region of air, each drop is immediately frozen into an icicle, shooting itself forth into several points on each hand outward its centre; but still continuing their descent, and meeting with some sprinkling or intermixed gales of warmer air, or in their continual motion and waftage to and fro, touching upon each other, some are a little thawed, blunted, frosted, clumpered; others broken, but the most clung in several particles together, which we call flakes of snow.

Clouds of snow are said to differ from clouds of rain in nothing but in the circumstance of their being in a state of crystallization. The whiteness of the snow is owing to the small particles into which it is divided; for ice, it is well known, if pounded fine, will become equally white. Its lightness-for ten cubic inches of snow weigh but about one of water-is owing, notwithstanding it is composed of solid particles of ice, to the excess of its surface compared with the matter contained under it.

It is a prevailing opinion that snow fertilizes the earth more than rain, in consequence of the nitrous salts which it is supposed to acquire by freezing; but it has been ascertained by experiments, that the chemical difference between snow and rain water is very small-the former being less nitrous, and possessing somewhat less proportion of earth than the latter. Neither of them, however, it is believed, contain earth or salts of any kind of sufficient quantity to be sensibly efficacious in promoting vegetation. That snow promotes vegetation, by keeping the earth warm, there can be no doubt. The internal parts of the earth are heated uniformly, it is said, to the fortyeighth degree of Fahrenheit. The cold atmosphere of the winter months, were the surface of the earth exposed to its influence, would reduce the temperature to that degree of cold by which the roots of vegetables would be seriously injured, if not

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destroyed. Providence has, therefore, in the coldest climates, provided a covering of snow for the roots of vegetables, by which they are protected from the influence of atmospheric cold. The snow keeps in the internal heat of the earth, which surrounds the roots of vegetables, and defends them from the cold of the atmosphere.

THE BEAUTIES OF APRIL AND MAY.

Mr. EDITOR,-You will no doubt agree with me that a periodical publication, confined wholly to practical subjects, is not well received by the generality of readers; I therefore offer the following for variety, which may be entitled the "Beauties of April and May." Yours, most respectfully, A. R.

APRIL.

"Descend, sweet April, from yon watery bow,
And liberal strew the ground with budding flowers,
With leafless crocus, leaf-veiled violet,
Auricula, with powdered cup, primrose

That loves to lurk below the hawthorn shade."

It is generally admitted that the month of April gives the most perfect image of spring, for its vicissitudes of warm gleams of sunshine and gentle showers have the most powerful effect in bastening the universal springing of the vegetable tribes, from whence the season derives its appellation, Next comes the favorite month of the year in poetical description

MAY.

"For thee, sweet month, the groves green liv'ries wear;
If not the first, the fairest in the year;
Thou dost afford us many pleasant hours.
While Nature's ready pencil paints the flowers.

The pious Hervey, in his meditations on the flower garden, has furnished us many sublime ideas respecting the order, variety, and beauty of the flower tribe. It is in vain to attempt a catalogue of those amiable gifts. There is an endless multiplicity in their characters, yet an invariable order it their approaches. Every month, almost every week, has its peculiar ornaments; not servilely copying the works of its predecessors, but forming, still forming, and still executing, some new design: so lavish is the fancy, yet so exact is the process of nature. Were all the flowery tribe to exhibit themselves at one particular season, there would be at once a promiscuous throng, and at once a total privation.

We should scarce have an opportunity of adverting to the dainty qualities of half, and must soon lose the agreeable company or them all. But now, since every species has a separate post to occupy, and a distinct interval for appearing, we can take a leisurely and minute survey of each succeeding set. We can view and review their forms; enter into a more intimate acquaintance with their charming accomplishments, and receive all those pleasing sensations which they are calculated to yield. Before the trees have ventured to unfold their leaves, and while the icicles are pendant on our houses, the snow drop breaks her way through the frozen soil fearless of danger. Next peeps out the crocus, but cautiously and with an air of timidity. She shuns the howling blasts, and cleaves close to her low situation. Nor is the violet last in the shining embassy, which, with all the embellishments that would grace a royal garden, condescends to line our borders, and bloom at the feet of briars. Freely she distributes the bounty of her emissive sweets, while herself retires from sight, seeking rather to administer pleasure than to win admiration. Emblem expressive emblem, of those modest virtues which delight to bloom in obscuriety. There are several kinds of violets, but the fragrant, both blue and white, are the earliest. Shakspeare compares an exquisitely sweet strain of music to the delicious scent of this flowe :

"O; it came o'er my ear like the sweet south,
That breathes upon a bank of violets,
Stealing and giving odour."

The pious Hervey, in his admonitions to those who indulge in sloth, has thrown out the following sublime ideas : "What sweets are those which so a greeably salute my nostrils? They are the breath of the flowers, the incense of the garden. How liberally does the jessamine dispense her odoriferous riches ! How deliciously has the woodbine embalmed this morning walk! The air is all perfume. And is not this another most engaging argument to forsake the bed of sloth? Who would be dissolved in senseless slumbers, while so many breathing sweets invite him to a feast of fragrancy-especially considering that the advancing day will exhale the volatile dainties? A fugitive treat they are, prepared only for the wakeful and industrious. Whereas, when the sluggard lifts his heavy eyes, the flowers will droop, their fine sweets be dissipated, and instead of this refreshing humidity, the air will become a kind of liquid fire."

With this very motive, heightened by a representation of the most charming peices of morning scenery, the parent of mankind awakes his lovely consort. There is such a delicacy in the choice, and so much life in the description, of these rural images that I cannot excuse myself without repeating the whole passage. Whisper it, some friendly genius, in the ear of every one, who is now sunk in sleep, and lost to all these refined gratifications!

Awake! the morning shines, and the fresh field Calls you ye lose the prime, to mark how spring The tender plants, how blows the citron grove ; What drops the myrrh, and what the palmy reed; How Nature paints her colour, how the bee Sits on the bloom, extracting liquid sweets." How delightful is this fragrance! It is distributed in the nicest proportion; neither so strong as to oppress the organs nor so faint as to elude them. We are soon cloyed at a sumptuous banquet; but this pleasure never palls the appetite. Here lúxury itself is innocent; or rather in this case indulgence is incapable of excess. This balmy entertainment not only regales the scene, but cheers the very soul; and instead of clogging elates its powers.

Our subject is so enchanting that we had inadvertently wandered from the path we first entered. We now retrace our steps and take a glance of surrounding objects. The fields look green with the springing grass. See the daffodil, how is spreads itself to the wind! The leaves of honey-suckles begin to expand, and lilacs or syringas of various hues unfold their buds. The almond exhibits its rosy clusters, and the corchorus its golden balls. Many of the lowlier plants exhibit their yellow and purple colours, and the buds of lilies and other perennial plants prepare to shew themselves. If we turn our attention no the orchard we bebold the apricots, nectarines, and peaches, lead the way in blossom. ing, which are followed by the cherry and the plumb. These form a most agreeable spectacle, as well on account of their beauty as of the promise they give of future benefits. It is, however, an anxious time for the possessor, as the fairest prospect of a plentiful increase is often blighted. Shakspeare draws a pathetic comparison from this circumstance, to paint the delusive nature of human expectation :

"This is the state of man; to-day he puts forth
The tender leaves of hope; to-morrow blossoms,
And bears his blushing honours thick upon him;
The third day comes a frost, a killing frost,

And nips his root."

But we now return to the garden. Before we have time to explore nature's treasures, many disappear; amongst those we had almost forgotten the humble daisy, which shrinks from the intense heat, and the several varieties of primulus, or early spring flowers. The various grades of polyanthus deserve a close inspection; these for a while exhibit their sparkling beau

A

ties, but, alack! soon disappear. Scarce have we sustained this loss, but in comes the auricula, and more than achieves it. Arrayed she comes in a splendid variety of amiable forms, with an eye of crystal, and garments of the most glossy satin. very distinguished procession this! The favourite care of the florist, but these also soon disappear. Who could forbear grieving at their departure, did not the various sorts of bulbous flowers burst their bands asunder, or rather expand, so as to exhibit their fragrance and beauty. While we reluctantly dispense with the sweet perfumes of the hyacinth and narcissus, we behold the tulips begin to raise themselves on their fine wands or stately stalks. They flush the parterre with one of the gayest dresses that blooming nature wears. Here one may behold the innocent wantonness of beauty. Here she indulges a thousand freaks, and sports herself in the most charming diversity of colours. In a grove of tulips or a bed of pinks, one perceives a difference in almost every individual. Scarce any two are turned and tinted exactly alike. What colours, what colours are here! these so nobly bold, and those so delicately languid. What a glow is enkindled in some! what a gloss shines upon others. With what a masterly skill is every one of the varying tints disposed! Here they seem to be thrown on with an easy dash of security and freedom; there they are adjusted by the nicest touches of art and accuracy. Those colours, which form the ground are always so judiciously chosen, as to heighten the lustre of the superadded figures; while the verdure of the impalement, or the shadings of the foliage, impart new liveliness to the whole. Fine, inimitably fine, is the texture of the web on which these shining treasures are displayed. What are the labours of the Persian looms, what all the gay attire which the shuttle or the needle can furnish, compared with nature's work. One cannot forbear reflecting in this place, on the too prevailing humour of being fond and ostentatious of dress. What an abject and mistaken ambition is this! How unworthy the dig nity of man, and the wisdom of rational beings! Especially since these little productions of the earth have indisputably the pre-eminence in such outward embellishments. But we had

like to have forgotten the fragrant, the very fragrant wall and gilly-flowers; some of these regale us with their perfumes through various vicissitudes and alterations of the season, while others make a transient visit only. In favored situations arises the anemone, encircled at the bottom with a spreading robe, and rounded at the top into a beautiful dome. In its loosely flowing mantle you may observe a noble negligence; in its gently bending tufts, the nicest symmetry. This may be termed the fine gentleman of the garden, because it seems to possess the means of uniting simplicity with refinement, of reconciling art and ease. The same month has the merit of producing the ranunculus. All bold and graceful, it expands the riches of its foliage, and acquires by degrees the loveliest enamel in the world. As persons of intrinsic worth disdain the superficial arts of recommendation practised by fops, so this lordly flower acorns to borrow any of its excellencies from powders and essences. It needs no such attractions to render it the darling of the curious, being sufficiently engaging from the elegance of its figure, the radiant variety of its tinges, and a certain superior dignity of aspect.

We had intended to confine our meditations to the beauties of April and May, but nature seems to improve in her operations. Her latest strokes are most masterly. To crown the collection she introduces the carnation, which captivates our eyes with a noble spread of graces, and charms another sense with a profusion of exquisite odours. This single flower has centered in itself the perfection of all the preceding. The moment it appears, it so commands our attention, that we scarce regret the absence of the rest. The field we have entered is so extensive and so enchanting, that we cannot extricate ourselves without taking a cursory glance at the airs and habits, the attitude and lineaments, of every distinct class. See the imperial crown, splendid and beautifully grand! See the tuberose, delicate and languish

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ingly fair! Behold the charming rose! See all the pomp and glory of the parterre, where nature's paint and perfume do wonders. Some rear their heads with a majestic mien, and overlook, like sovereigns or nobles, the whole parterre. Others seem more modest in their aims, and advance only to the middle stations; which a genius for heraldry might term the gentry of the border; while others, free from all aspiring views, creep unambitiously on the ground, and look like the commonalty of the kind. Some are intersected with elegant stripes, or studded with radiant spots. Some affect to be genteelly powdered, or neatly fringed; while others are plain in their aspect, unaffected in their dress, and content to please with a naked simplicity. Some assume the monarch's purple; some look most becoming in the virgin's white; but black, doleful black, has no admittance into the wardrobe of spring. The weeds of mourning would be a manifest indecorum when nature holds an universal festival. She would now inspire none but delightful ideas, and therefore always makes her appearance in some amiable suit. Here stands a warrior clad with crimson; there sits a magistrate robed in scarlet; and yonder struts a pretty fellow, that seems to have dipped his plumes in the rainbow, and glitters in all the gay colours of that resplendent arch. Some rise into a curious cup, or fall into a set of beautiful bells. Some spread themselves in a swelling tuft, or crowd into a delicious cluster. In some the predominant stain softens by the gentlest diminutions, till it has even stole away from itself. The eye is amused at the agreeable delusion, and we wonder to find ourselves insensibly decoyed into quite a different lustre. In others you will think the fine tinges were emulous of pre-eminence. Disdaining to mingle, they confront one another with the resolution of rivals determined to dispute the prize of beauty; while each is improved, by the opposition, into the highest vivacity of complexion.

ODE TO THE POPPY.

THE author of the following lines is one deeply tried in the furnace of affliction, a young and interesting female, for nine wearisome years, the victim of excruciating, uncompromising disease, deprived of nature's sweet restorative, sleeep-unless obtained by artificial means; and of most of those comforts which scarce serve to alleviate the suffering of many more fortunate, though perhaps not more happy, who recline on beds of down-she is a Christian.

In the restless watches of the night she composed many pieces of poetry, touching, from their strain of simple pathos, and extraordinary, as the productions of a secluded, self-educated girl, whose reading has been quite limited-her favorite author, Cowper. Unable to bear the fatigue of writing, she at some convenient time, perhaps after the lapse of weeks, dictated to an amanuensis, her aged and most venerable father, these effusions of her innocent mind. It was a beautiful sight to look upon. The poor girl, from her bed of suffering, repeated her verses line by line to the patient old man (now in his seventyeighth year, and rapidly declining) while he carefully listened to her words, and committed them to paper. Strange to say, though quite hard of hearing when addressed by others, he caught every sound from the lips of his loved child of sorrow, though uttered in a low and plaintive voice.

Tho' varied wreaths of myriad hues,
As beams of mingling light,
Sparkle replete with pearly dews,
Waving their lucid leaves profuse,
To captivate the sight:

Tho' fragrance sweet exhaling blend
With the soft balmy air,

And gentle zephyrs, wafting wide
Their spicy odours bear;

I