There is a fine water privilege not a stone's throw from the door,' and, jumping off the box, she disappeared as abruptly as she had entered. On the morrow, Well, I guess you look smart,' said the Yankee damsel, presenting herself once more before me. 'You old country folks are so stiff; you must have everything nice, or you fret. But, then, you can easily do it; you have stacks of money; and you can fix everything right off with money.'-Pray take a seat,' and I offered her a chair, and be kind enough to tell me your name. I suppose you must live in the neighbourhood, although I cannot perceive any dwelling near us.''My name! So you want to know my name. I arn't ashamed of my name; 'tis Emily I am eldest daughter to the gentleman who owns this house.'- What must the father be,' thought I, 'if he resembles the young lady, his daughter?' Imagine a young lady, dressed in ragged petticoats, through whose yawning rents peeped forth, from time to time, her bare red knees, with uncombed elf-locks, and a face and hands that looked as if they had been unwashed for a month; who did not know A from B, and despised those who did. While these reflections were flitting through my mind, my strange visiter suddenly exclaimed, 'Have you done with that 'ere decanter I brought across yesterday?'-'Oh, yes! I have no occasion for it.' I took it from the shelf, and placed it in her hand. 'I guess you wont return it empty; that would be mean, father says. He wants it filled with whisky.' The mystery was solved. I could contain my gravity no longer, but burst into a hearty fit of laughter, in which I was joined by Hannah. Our young lady was mortally offended; she tossed the decanter from hand to hand, and glared at us with her tiger-like eyes. You think yourselves smart! Why do you laugh in that way?'-'Excuse me-but you have such an odd way of borrowing that I cannot help it. This bottle, it seems, was brought over for your own convenience, not for mine. I am sorry to disappoint you, but I have no whisky.'-'I guess spirits will do as well; I know there is some in that keg, for I smells it.It contains rum for the workmen.'- Better still. I calculate when you've been here a few months, you'll be too knowing to give rum to your helps. But old country folks are all fools, and that's the reason they get so easily sucked in, and be so soon wound up. Cum, fill the bottle, and don't be stingy. In this country we all live by borrowing. If you want anything, why just send and borrow from us.' Thinking that this might be the custom of the country, I hastened to fill the decanter, hoping that I might get a little new milk for the poor weaning child in return; but, when I asked my liberal visiter if she kept cows, and would lend me a little new milk for the baby, she burst out into high disdain. 'Milk! Lend milk? I guess milk in the fall is worth a York shilling a quart. I cannot sell you a drop under.' This was a wicked piece of extortion, as the same article in the towns, where, of course, it was in greater request, only brought threepence the quart. If you'll pay me for it, I'll bring you some to-morrow. But mind-cash down.'—' And when do you mean to return the rum?' I said, with some asperity. When father goes to the creek.' This was the name given by my neighbours to the village of P distant about four miles.-Madden's Old and New World. HUMAN ENTOMOLOGY. STRANGE the term may sound, yet I aver, and will maintain, that I have met with many specimens of human entomology. In my daily walks through life, I am for ever stumbling on these peculiar phenomena; insects that talk, reason, and stand upon their legs in a style perfectly and incontrovertibly upright and human. If I could make up my mind to accept the proposition of Pythagoras as to the transmigration of souls, I should find it more easy to account for this singular similarity. Really some of these good folk must in a prior state of being have worn the insect garb, and wandered about on all-fours or alleights in their shells, skins, or scales, as the case may be. That my acquaintance, Miss Selina Snaptattle, was once a wasp, I cannot for a moment doubt. She now walks on two legs, it is true, but who but an incipient wasp could demonstrate that diminutive waist, gleg eye, and sharp red nose. For my part, no sooner do I hear her unwelcome buzz on my staircase, than I feel about as uncomfortable as if she still retained her tail, and a sting in that tail. Her poisonous tongue is as bad, if not worse, emitting malice and ill-nature with the dangerous, searching rapidity of forked lightning. Whatever may be the subject of her conversational choice, she alights on it with positive venom. Make a remark, it is received with a snap and a snarl, that makes you shrink as if you were stung. Pay her attention, or offer a courtesy, and ten to one but she flies in your face with a civil request to mind your own affairs. Avoid her, she pursues you immediately with angry and injured taunts and reproaches. Look unhappy or stupid, and she requests to know, with savage bitterness, how much heavier your trials are than other people's, if your gloomy manners and long face may be a criterion. If you happen to be in a jovial humour, she will inform you with asperity that there is a time to laugh, but that you are all things out of season; that much laughter is in the mouth of fools, that a serious demeanour would be more appropriate and respectful in her peculiar temperature of feeling, &c. In short, her appearance is the signal of dismay and apprehension, as the most harmless and innocent are not safe from her insidious attacks. It has been one of the minor annoyances of my life to live in the close vicinity of a human flea. Trifles vex, they say, and I can bring no charge against Pat Pincer, Esq., of a very tangible nature, but any of my readers who are similarly afflicted with a relative of a flea genus, will sympathise with my list of complaints. The painful activity of this little gentleman, which never rests, is inexpressibly disgusting. Praiseworthy as is activity in general, he seems literally to inhabit half a dozen places at once, and adds the faculty of always appearing when least desired. The usual ills that flesh is heir to, he seems exempted from. No headache ever nails him to his couch. November comes with his store of colds and influenzas, but never in his liberal distribution includes my friend. His eye never looks heavy; his walk is always the same swift, jumping motion. The lively creaking of his boots you can tell half a mile off. What agony is in the sound when you perhaps recline wretched upon your sofa, victim of a nervous headache or low spirits. He looks so pert, self-satisfied, and provokingly, unsympathisingly healthy, that you groan inwardly, and avert your indignant eyes. He laughs, talks, and argues, cool, conceited, and clever as ever, and every movement gives you a spiritual bite as acute as does the corporeal application of the flea proboscis. Never fatigued, he has no mercy or consideration for the legs or nerves of others less capable of that eternal motion which is his element. Some day (verily it is a savage speech), but some day, my friend, you will get a pinch so hearty, that you will torment your neighbours no more. There are too many butterflies in the world, to make my next portrait a stranger. Perhaps no brilliant fly ever surpassed the lovely Maddelina in personal attractions. Fascinating and elegant, she captivates and courts the attention and pursuit of all beholders, though few pay her serious homage (beyond the passing admiration her beauty calls forth), except the childish and weak, in the shape of fashionable dandies and coxcombs. Fluttering in every public haunt, at balls, and assemblies, she attracts the vulgar gaze. But she possesses no internal beauties. All is outward show; and the first shower of misfortune, the first blast of trial, will soil her wings, and lay low her beauty in the dust. Poor insect, a short day of sunny bliss is thine! More lovely and attractive to discerning eyes is the glow-worm. Lowly and hidden in his humble home in the valley, the learned and pious pastor spends his peaceful life. Peaceful, but not unoccupied. He is not famous, nor do many out of his little sphere know of his existence. Broken hearts were for aid, she ran with timely succour. But bright is his pure lamp in the eyes of those who dwell in those lanes and byways. It guides, directs, and cheers the hearts and steps of the simple flock intrusted to his care. In the pulpit of the little church, he utters the words of that Gospel which is a light to the feet and a lamp to the path, and in the humble homes of his people he visits, pouring oil upon wounds, and comfort into stricken hearts, and in patience and beautiful charity he walks through the wilderness of this world, revered by old and young, beloved by all. His smile is a beacon of encouragement; his frown a heavy and dreaded misfortune; his pure light shining onward unto the perfect day. Who has watched the gay dragon-fly skimming through See the thick swarm of flies that suddenly, on a warm the regions of air, his brilliant, painted wings glancing in May noon, spring into existence, and wheel in giddy circles the sunshine, revelling in a constant round of selfish en- in the clear transparent air! Dance on, poor flies, your joyment-fearless, impetuous, the terror of his tribe? hours are numbered, and already the harbingers of evenCompare him with yon noble youth, noble in aspect, but, ing proclaim the approach of your death hour. Before alas! in nothing more. Scarce out of his boyhood, he has the last rook has crossed the disc of the setting sun, in his lost its fresh innocence; and its pure, healthy pleasures homeward flight-before the last daisy folds her roseare exchanged for the unsatisfying and dangerous excite- tipped petals, you must fade, droop, die, never to appear ments of worldly pursuits. Born to a high and extensive again: your day is past. The poet has watched and sung sphere, a proud fortune, and unusual personal attractions, of you, the naturalist has noted and pitied, the child has he has, alas! abused these vast advantages, by dedicating chased and admired; now your short destiny is accomthem to the service of a false god, a vain and wicked plished, and you vanish for ever. There are human beworld. In the pursuit of empty pleasure, in the gratifi-ings, who, even as the ephemeral May-fly, appear on the cation of his passions, he lives a round of selfish and sti- stage of life, attract notice, cloud the air with their restless mulating enjoyment, that will prove fatal to his peace, and wings, and enjoy a brief day of wild triumphant glory, ere will destroy both soul and body at last. He looks not they sink to earth, forgotten. The fluttering votaries of beyond this present. It is to his perverted imagination fashion, the gay leaders of ton, the courted belle of a seafull of satisfaction. He is the centre of a gay, a flattering, son-how sparkling, how entrancing, their short career! and congenial circle, whom he calls (ah, how falsely!) his Worshipped for an hour, then laid aside to make way for friends. Once he had true friends, but these he estranged, new and more piquante deities. How many literary epheimpatient of their wise counsel and disinterested advice, mera are at the present day dancing in our path? How because it would have fettered his extravagant dissipation many are destined to stand the proof of time, to survive and controlled his selfish indulgence. Ah, poor misguided the present hour? Oh, ye numberless aspirants after fame youth, more vain, more brilliant, more useless than the and popularity, what better are ye than a swarm of peburnished dragon-fly, what will the world give thee in rishing May-flies? Wheeling in mazy circles, the conexchange for thy lifetime of devotion? Couldst thou fused murmur of your voices swells the lengthening list of but foresee! She will feed and nourish the worst and authors, novel-writers, ballad-singers; but whose voice will most depraved tastes and desires; she will steal away live to speak to future ages? Very sparkling, very brilthy virtue, thy conscience, and thy soul's peace; she will liant some of you are, and you do your mission, inasmuch rob thee of thy inheritance; sever thee from thy friends; as you amuse your fellow-flies; but the favour you attain destroy thy constitution; and drag thee down into a dark, resembles a popular ballad, chanted in the streets, and hopeless, and an early grave. then forgotten. Popularity is not the test of intrinsic, sterling worth. The first and best meet often with neglect till after the lapse of time. The clap-trap in literature pleases the herd, as the polkas and galops of Jullien do those who cannot appreciate the sublimities of Handel and Beethoven. But ah, my heart, are we not all creatures of a day? We are born, we are seen for a moment, we die. True, we shall live again, but not here, not thus: we shall all be changed. No longer ephemeral, we shall drink eternally life and light from the divine countenance. Miss Howitt has personified Web Spinner as a miser old,' and to me he has ever worn the stamp of a charaeter yet worse. I never studied that withered, little body, and those grasping arms, that swift, yet wheeling, uncertain motion, but I saw before me the cruel, unrighteous usurer. As the one sits shrinking in a corner of his net, watching the approaches of the unwary fly, so the other sits lurking in his secret corner to seize his prey. For cash, the entangling mesh is woven, the heart's blood of each victim will be drained. Ah, that I could have plucked from the snare of the one bloodthirsty spider, as many poor entrapped ones as I have rescued from the web of the other! But oh, beloved and honoured insect, wise, provident, industrious bee, lovely and admirable as thou art, not less so is thy human counterpart. She is gone from me, but faithfully does memory recall her in her beauty and unfeigned excellence. I knew her in the sweet flush of youth, the light and life of her father's house. She knew no care, she thought no evil. She seemed to possess the privilege of Midas, who turned everything he touched to gold, or rather, like her winged prototype, she gathered honey from every herb and flower that grew on the pathway of her life. She married, and became a happy wife and mother. She brought to her husband's hearth a golden store. A pure and loving heart, a sunny face where truth sat on her brow, innocence dwelt in her eyes, and loving smiles that were reflected in her children's faces, while her low musical voice rang on the ear as deliciously as does the sweet humming of bees in the rose leaves and lily cups, on a fair summer's day, in the warm sunshine. Her life was no idle selfish game. Each day brought its duties, each night saw them righteously performed. Wherever distress or sickness cried aloud THE VALUE OF SORROW. THE riches of sorrow shine most in the moral feelings. The rock is smitten by God's messenger, and a pure fountain of sympathy gushes forth. He whose words were blasphemous before, grows reverent now. Man then thinks of his sacred and eternal relations more than of his transient connections and interests. Jesus comes to us in the divine virtues, all of which speak through trial and sorrow. Love and faith never unfold their full, divine beauty, until tried, tested, and opposed. The sublime trust of Jesus was as the sun appearing out of clouds. Christianity baptised in trial, and crowned with the trustful death of its founder, is infinitely more powerful and beautiful than if its ideas had appeared in the historic envelope of prosperous and brilliant circumstance. Strictly, it is the soul that takes cognisance of all sorrow and suffering. The body feels not a wound when the mind is highly excited. It is not body, but mind, that chiefly suffers and enjoys. Flowing along smoothly, there are sealed fountains of spirit not called forth; but sorrow throws the soul back upon itself, wakes up all the powers of self-support and self-entertainment. The saint, therefore, owes the grace and elegance of his spirit much to the influences of sorrow in some form. A venerable father, of no limited observation, once said to me, 'It has never been my fortune to meet with very interesting persons in this world, in whose spiritual history suffering had not been a very essential part.' Natural history affirms that the wounded oyster mends his shell with pearl taken out of himself; and it is from the Spirit's own pearl that the good embellish their character. But we are not sure that we know a tithe of the benevolence for which the system of things operates, and of which suffering is so great a part. But, as God is love, the ends must be benevolent; though an infinite range of intellect were necessary to know and comprehend them perfectly. As all things of this life point to the future, somewhat as infancy points to manhood, we trust that the clearer wisdom of the higher spheres shall better explain the sad phenomena of human suffering. It may be that the sympathies now developed are to be called into a highly benevolent requisition in the ministries of our future being. How far suffering enters into the discipline of other worlds, no one may say; but to possess the similarity of experience necessary to the complete union and fraternity of minds hereafter, which should be wide enough to unite the intelligent empire of God, it must be co-extensive with the rational and moral nature which forms the image of God throughout infinite space. There is a beauty which comes of sorrow, a promise which, like the part of a circle, reminds one of the whole. We have often asked the wise to account for the smile which quite often is left on the face of the dead; and the idea which strikes the imagination in the colour of probabability is, that its cause is mental; that the mind has left upon the countenance its own impression while receiving the light of the immortal world. It appears as the smile of a departing spirit on its temple of clay, which it leaves for a more perfect mansion.-Rev. E. G. Holland. A GOOD SERMON. A story is told of Dr Beecher, of Cincinnati, that is worth recording, as illustrating the truth that we can never tell what may result from an apparently very insignificant action. The doctor once engaged to preach for a country minister, on exchange, and the Sabbath proved to be one excessively stormy, cold, and uncomfortable. It was in mid-winter, and the snow was piled in heaps all along in the roads, so as to make the passage very difficult. Still the minister urged his horse through the drifts till he reached the church, put the animal into a shed, and went in. As yet there was no person in the house, and, after looking about, the old gentleman, then young, took his seat in the pulpit. Soon the door opened, and a single individual walked up the aisle, looked about, and took a seat. The hour came for commencing service, but no more hearers. Whether to preach to such an audience or not, was now the question; and it was one that Lyman Beecher was not long in deciding. He felt that he had a duty to perform, and he had no right to refuse to do it, because only one man could reap the benefit of it; and accordingly he went through all the services, praying, singing, preaching, and the benediction, with only one hearer. And, when all was over, he hastened down from the desk to speak to his 'congregation,' but he had departed. A circumstance so rare was referred to occasionally, but twenty years after it was brought to the doctor's mind quite strangely. Travelling somewhere in Ohio, the doctor alighted from the stage, one day, in a pleasant village, when a gentleman stepped up, and spoke to him, familiarly calling him by name. 'I do not remember you,' said the doctor. 'I suppose not,' said the stranger; but we spent two hours together in a house alone, once, in a storm.' 'I do not recall it, sir,' added the old man; 'pray when was it?' 'Do you remember preaching, twenty years ago, in such a place, to a single person?' 'Yes, yes,' said the doctor grasping his hand, 'I do, indeed; and, if you are the man, I have been wishing to see you ever since.' 'I am the man, sir; and that sermon saved my soul, made a minister of me, and yonder is my church. The converts of that sermon, sir, are all over Ohio.' DOCILITY OF THE WILD PIGEON. 6 A curious instance, says the Western Flying Post,' of what kindness will accomplish, is observable in the Amesbury union, where the boys have domesticated (besides small birds) five pigeons, one of which has been there eight years. They invariably, at the sound of the bell for meals, leave the trees in the vicinity, and fly direct into the school-room, perching on the boys' heads, who feed and caress them without their showing the least fear. When the boys are out for a ramble, the birds will, at a call, come and alight on their heads. 'NOW AND THEN.' of time; now is the watchword of the wise; 'now' is 'Now' is the constant syllable ticking from the clock on the banner of the prudent. Let us keep this little word always in our mind; and whenever anything presents itself to us in the shape of work, whether mental or physical, we should do it with all our might, remembering It is, indeed, a sorry that now' is the only time for us. way to get through the world, by putting off till to-morrow, saying. Then I will do it. No! this will never answer. "Now' is ours: 'then' may never be. CHINA AS IT IS. China is a very extensive empire; and though the whole nation uses the same character to express its ideas, and obeys the same sage in its institutions, still there is frequent collision, strife, war, and rebellion. Foreigners who know nothing about the internal state of the country, are apt to imagine that there reigns lasting peace. Nothing is, however, more erroneous: insurrections of villages, cities, and districts, are of frequent occurrence. The refractory spirit of the people, the oppression and embezzlement of the mandarins, and other causes, such as dearth and demagogues, frequently cause an unexpected revolt. In these cases, the destruction of property, and hostility against the rulers of the land (especially if these have been tyrants), is often carried to great excess; there are instances of the infuriated mob broiling their magistrates over a slow fire. On the other hand, the cruelty of government, when victorious, knows no bounds; the treatment of political prisoners is really so shocking as to be incredible, if one had not been an eye-witness of these inhuman deeds. One of the most common evils in China is starvation. The population is very dense; the means of subsistence are, in ordinary times, frequently not above the demand; and it is, therefore, nothing extraordinary to witness, on the least failure of the crop, utter wretchedness and misery. To provide for all the hungry mouths is impossible; and the cruel policy of the mandarins carries their indifference so far, as to affirm that hunger is requisite to thin the dense masses of people. Whenever such a judgment has come upon the land, and the people are in want of the necessaries of life, dreadful disorders soon arise, and the most powerful government would not be able to put down the rising and robberies which are committed on the strength of the prevailing misery. There seems to be a total change in the peaceful nature of the inhabitants, and many a patient labourer turns fiercely upon his rich neighbour, like a wolf or a tiger, to devour his substance. No one can have an idea of the anarchy which on such occasion ensues, and the utter demoralisation of the people. Yet, as soon as relief is afforded, and a rich harvest promises fair, the spirit of order again prevails, and outrages are put a stop to. The people then combine, arm themselves, and proceed in thousands to catch marauders like wild beasts. No mercy is shown on such occasions, and the mandarins, on account of their weakness, cannot interfere. Scenes of this description very often occur, without giving rise to severe reflection on the character of Taou-kwang's administration.-Gutzlaff. A VISIT TO KEW GARDENS. FIRST ARTICLE. THE Kew Royal Botanic Gardens are about ten miles west of London, on the Surrey side of the Thames, and contain, at the present time, one of the finest collections of exotic plants in Europe. For some years past, by the characteristic liberality of her Majesty, the gardens have been thrown open to the public, and the constantly increasing number of visiters who frequent them bears evidence to the growing interest with which they are regarded. Owing to the accessibility of Kew from the metropolis, the gardens have become quite a favourite resort during the summer months, although they are, to a great extent, and most unwisely, deserted during the colder parts of the year. Those who visit the gardens mainly for the purpose of enjoying a temporary escape from the murky atmosphere of London, and the dirt and din of its crowded streets, naturally enough select the pleasant days of summer as the most appropriate for the purpose, but to those who resort to them chiefly for the purpose of observing the peculiar forms and the rich luxuriance of the vegetation of more genial climes, every season has its own special attractions, and scarcely any one more than another. An al There is, of course, a better display of flowers in the summer than in any other season, although, even in that respect, the disparity between the different parts of the year is by no means so great as would be supposed. It should be remembered that, as the temperature of the several stoves is adapted, as nearly as possible, to the heat of the climate from which their occupants are obtained, the plants observe, for the most part, their natural flowering season, and are but little affected, in this respect, by their change of locality and the care of man. most constant succession of blossoms is thus presented in most of the houses, and it is scarcely possible for the visiter to enter them at any season of the year, without being rewarded by the sight of some lovely flower which at any other time would have escaped his notice. And, as many of the choicest exotics are natives of those parts of the southern hemisphere where the seasons are nearly the reverse of what they are with ourselves, it is precisely at this time, when our own gardens are bare and the trees stripped of their foliage, that the beautiful and fascinating blossoms of this antipodeal vegetation are chiefly to be seen. Then, again, and altogether apart from the question of more or less of flowers, the rank and luxuriant tropical vegetation in the larger plant-houses strikes the attention far more forcibly at this particular season, from the contrast it presents to the general nakedness and repose of the vegetable world around us in the open air. Indeed, the change which one experiences on entering the Palm Stove, and passing, at a single step, from the bleak and cutting winds of our northern winter, with its dismantled trees and desolate borders, into the hot and humid atmosphere of this building, and amidst the broad-leaved foliage and giant forms it presents to the view, is apt to make one doubt, for the moment, the faithfulness of his memory, and question whether he has not been suddenly transported to some reeking savannah in the torrid zone. But, without occupying further space with these preliminary observations, we will proceed at once to note down the result of two or three visits we have recently made, appending thereto such additional remarks on the habits and structure of some of the more remarkable plants, as may serve to increase the interest and the utility of our paper. There being, at the time of our visits, little to attract attention out of doors, we pass on at once to the plant-houses, and first to the Palm Stove, the grand ornament of the gardens. This is a noble structure 362 feet in length, by 100 feet broad, in its widest part, and rises in the centre to the height of 60 feet. It is constructed of sheet-glass, slightly tinged with green, to temper the too powerful rays of light, supported on a tastefully arranged framework of iron. Every precaution was taken in the course of its erection to have it fitted for its purpose in every respect, and the vigorous and healthy appearance of most of the plants it contains attests how well the end has been attained. Entering the building by a low door at one extremity, the attention of the visiter is immediately arrested by the magnificent display of crowded and unfamiliar foliage which meets the eye, and, as he passes along amidst the dense mass of vegetable forms which are here brought together, he will, almost without an effort, obtain a vivid realisation of the glories of tropical forest scenery. It would be impossible, in a brief sketch like the present, to specify all of even the more interesting plants included in this valuable collection, nor would our readers care to have such a mere catalogue of names presented to them; we will limit ourselves, therefore, to the mention of such as are of peculiar interest in themselves, or are deserving of notice from the valuable productions they afford to man. One of the first that is noticed upon entering the building, is a specimen of the famous Banyan-tree of tropical India, remarkable for the singular mode provided by nature for the support of its widely-spreading branches :'Spreading so broad and long, that in the ground The bended twigs take root, and daughters grow About the mother tree, a pillar'd shade High overarch'd, and echoing walks between.' This specimen, being a very young tree, can of course afford no idea of the immense size to which it attains in favourable situations in its native climate, although it beautifully exhibits the peculiarity of growth for which the species is so celebrated. Several of its branches have already reached the soil and taken root, while others, furand throwing out rootlets in their efforts to effect the ther removed from the main stem, are tending downwards, same object. Near the Banyan are those remarkable trees the Banana and the Plantain, the former at the time of prodigious size, and the glossy surface of delicate green, of the leaves of these trees, make them so unlike all European vegetation, that they form most conspicuous objects, value to the natives of the countries where they grow, and attract general attention. They are of incomparable their different parts being applied to a great variety of purposes. The fruit, of which a single cluster weighs upwards of eighty pounds, is either eaten fresh, dried as figs, or reduced to a kind of flour or meal by rasping; the the fibrous parts are made into cordage and clothing, and soft and succulent stems form an excellent food for cattle; the leaves are employed to cover houses. our visit loaded with its immense clusters of fruit. The Passing by a number of plants, including the tree which which every year yields its rare and delicious fruit, the produces the black pepper of our tables, the Mango-tree, true sensitive plant, Mimosa sensitiva-which, unlike the plant so often, though inaccurately, called by that name, is a weak, twining plant, requiring support, and which we found had lost all its sensibility, most probably from the crowd of others, we come again to one of those gigantic excessive gloom of the weather-passing by these and a Banana or Plantain. But almost immediately we perceive broad-leaved plants, which at first we suppose to be another a difference in the structure of the leaves, and, glancing at of the stately plants belonging to the genus Strelitzia. the label attached, we discover that we are looking at one This genus was so named in compliment to the queen of able for the size of their foliage, and the extreme beauty of George III., and includes several plants equally remarktheir flowers, those of one species (Strelitzia Regina) being described as the most brilliantly coloured flowers in nature. had not the good fortune to do so on either of our visits, We hoped to have seen this beautiful plant in bloom, but although it usually flowers about this time, and others of the same genus have their fine orange and purple blossoms fully expanded. Another plant which will be noticed in this part of the Palm Stove, is the Bread-fruit-tree of the South Sea Islands, 'Which in unfailing stores This invaluable tree rarely exceeds forty feet in height, and has large broad leaves, deeply divided into lobes, and sometimes as much as three feet long. The fruit is green, and grows to the size of a large melon, and, when roasted, becomes soft and white, like the crumb of a loaf. It is exceedingly wholesome and nutritious, and forms an important article of food among the South Sea islanders, who watch the ripening of their crops of bread-fruit with as much anxiety as we do the produce of our harvest fields. It may be new to some of our readers, that the Bread-fruittree is the type of an extensive natural order of plants, all of them inhabitants of the warmer parts of the earth, and some confined exclusively to the tropics, which includes several of the most remarkable and interesting trees with which man is acquainted. As young plants of most of the species are generally to be found in some part or other of the Palm Stove, we may as well at once allude to them. In addition, then, to the Bread-fruit, this order includes the Banyan already referred to, and the various species of the genus Ficus (the Fig), of which the Banyan is the representative. One of these figs is the Sycamine, or Sycamore, of Scripture, about which such interesting associations gather themselves. Another is the celebrated Indianrubber-tree, of which a fine lofty specimen will be found in the centre of the building, covered with its large, glossy, laurel-like foliage. It is now generally known that Indianrubber is nothing more than the dried juice of this tree, and that it is obtained by simply making an incision in the bark. At the time of flowing from the tree, the juice is of a pale yellow colour, resembling milk, and of nearly the same consistency; but, on being exposed to the atmosphere, it soon dries, and obtains the solid and elastic character in which we are acquainted with it. To the same order belongs the Palo de Vaca, or Cow-tree, of South America, which derives its singular name from the circumstance of its yielding a copious supply of rich and whole. some fluid resembling milk, which, in the Caraccas, where this tree abounds, is drawn off into gourds, and used like the milk of the cow amongst ourselves. The last plant we shall mention belonging to this order, is the celebrated Upas-tree of Java, of which such fearful accounts were given by the older travellers. A fine young specimen of this tree will be found in one of the smaller stoves, where, as may be supposed, it is eagerly sought, and regarded with great curiosity, mingled even yet with something approaching to fear. And it is interesting to know, that while the stories which have been related of the poisonous properties of the Upas are untrue, their error is rather that of the misunderstanding of causes, and the exaggeration of actual fact, than that of positive and wilful misstatement. It is now a well-authenticated fact that the Upas is extremely poisonous, and that numerous skeletons are frequently seen lying about in the low valleys where it usually grows. But here lies the error: the poison of the Upas is confined to its milk-like juice, which in no way affects the surrounding atmosphere, and the carcasses and skeletons around are attributable to the destructive effects of carbonic acid gas, which issues from crevices in the ground, and rises, it is said, to the height of eighteen feet above its surface. The reader will not have failed to notice how various and opposite, in the different species, are the properties of the milky juice yielded by most of the plants belonging to this order -solidifying into Indian-rubber in one case, producing the delicious sugar of the Fig in another, acrid and poisonous in the Upas, and wholesome and nutritious in the Cowtree. This is one of the many instances which natural history discloses of that wonderful variety of combinations which the Creator produces from a few simple and apparently similar elements, and into the principle of which all the researches of chemistry have given us so little insight. We pass on to the central portion of the building, where are crowded together the stateliest and most valuable plants the stove contains. Here are placed the magnificent Palms, appropriately termed the princes' of the vegetable world, whose tall, branchless stems and graceful foliage make them most conspicuous and attractive objects. Among the number to be found here, we may specify, as particularly worthy of notice, two species of Cocoa-nut Palms, which rise to a great height, and beautifully exhibit the pennate, or feather-like structure of the foliage by which this class of Palms is distinguished. Here, too, is the Date Palm, producing the delicious fruit of that name, and interesting as being almost the only species of the Palm tribe indigenous to Europe. Another fine tree of the same class is the Fan Palm, so named from the fan-like shape of its immense leaves, which reach the prodigious size of six or seven feet across, and are elevated on leaf stalks of proportionate dimensions. Here, also, are grouped together a fine plant of the Sago Palm, from the Molucca Islands, with its tall feathery foliage standing nearly erect-the Ivory Palm of New Grenada, the seeds of which constitute the substance known as 'vegetable ivory,' now so extensively used for the manufacture of various trinkets-the Guinea-oil Palm, which produces the well-known palm-oil, and the Wild-date Palm of India, which yields both palmwine and sugar. In this part, also, will be found a young plant of the famous Wax Palm, of the Andes of New Grenada, discovered by Humboldt, and remarkable from the circumstance of having its trunk, which, on its native mountains, grows to the amazing height of a hundred and sixty feet, completely covered with a substance possessing properties similar to bees'-wax. Another palm, also a native of South America, has the surface of its leaves covered with wax, in the form of minute scales, which are easily removed from the leaves, and employed by the inhabitants, mixed with a small proportion of tallow, to avoid brittleness, to make excellent candles. The leaves of this palm, with their waxen covering still remaining, are used to cover houses, and are so impervious to water, that they have been known to stand all the vicissitudes of the weather for twenty years without requiring to be renewed. Some of our readers may not be aware that wax is by no means unusual as a vegetable product, and that it may be obtained, by the application of heat, from the leaves of some of our commonest trees. It is to the existence of a thin coating of wax, also, that the leaves of the cabbage, the sturtion, and other plants, owe their power of resisting moisture; and the delicate bloom of the plum, and other stone fruits, consists of an immense assemblage of microscopic scales of the same substance. Distributed about, in various positions, amongst the Palms, which are the principal occupants of this part of the building, are a variety of other plants, including some that are remarkable for the peculiarity of their structure, and others deeply interesting on account of the valuable productions they afford. One of these is the Gum Dragontree, rendered conspicuous by its tall, naked stem, surmounted by a crown of harsh, aloe-like leaves. The astringent resin yielded by this tree, and known, in commerce, as dragon's blood,' was formerly much used in medicine, but is now chiefly employed, when dissolved in spirit of wine, to stain marble and woods. The Gum Dragon-tree is widely distributed, being found in the Indian Archipelago, along the western coast of Africa, and in the adja. cent islands, where it grows to an enormous size, and becomes one of the wonders of the vegetable world. Humboldt relates that, in the Island of Teneriffe, one of these trees was overthrown by a tempest in the year 1822, which measured forty-five feet in circumference at the base of the trunk, and was supposed, from the extreme slowness of its growth, to be one of the oldest vegetable inhabitants of the globe. Another curious tree in this part is the Pandanus, or Screw-Pine, so named because of the spiral arrangement of its thick, sword-shaped leaves around the stem. This tree is peculiar to tropical climates, and is celebrated for the singular manner in which its trunk, which increases in bulk from the lowest part upwards, is supported and kept steady in the ground. This is effected by a number of aerial roots, which shoot from the stem in different parts of its ascent, and, growing downwards, are assisted in their elongation by a kind of cup, to catch the rain and dew, with which their extremities are provided. On reaching the ground, these cups fall off; the roots penetrate the soil, |