a mile or more in the hour. The whole column must have consisted of countless millions of eels.

SAP OF The Rose TREE.–From a plant of Rosa rubiflora at Hammersmith, with a stem 3} feet high, and 24 inches in diameter, when deprived of its branches, and the head sawed off, 29th July, 31 ounces of sap flowed in about a week, which, together with loss by evaporation, probably exceeded three pints. Chemical analysis gave the following ingredients :

Grains.
Oxalate of lime, . ..
Acetate of lime, . .
Acetate of potass, .

0.7
Gum and extractive,

2.1 Sugar? soluble in alcohol, . 0.1 Loss,

0.353

2.9

1.097

7.25

R. Adams, in Brande's Journal. With respect to what Mr. Adams chooses to call extractive, I may be permitted to remark, that the term ought to be exploded altogether from vegetable chemistry, since it does not, like the terms gum, acid, or alkali, convey any distinct meaning, nor apply to a definite class of substances. The recent brilliant discoveries in vegetable chemistry, ought to put an end to this vague phraseology,

POPULAR ERRORS RESPECTING Blight. The popular creed current among gardeners and farmers, and often met with in conversation, as well as in books, is, that the east wind, foggy weather, and other states of the air, produce, what is called blight, which means any thing that injures vegetation, but is particularly applied

to destructive insects, and the parasite funguses, called by botanists, Entophyta Hypodermia. Now, it has been proved by observation and experiment, that all insects are regularly hatched from the eggs of parent insects, which are glued to plants or their roots the previous season, (as was shewn by specimens) and consequently cannot be spread about, nor increased by winds or fogs. It would be as correct to say, that a flock of geese was produced and spread about by blighting weather. The funguses called smut, and rust on corn, are in the same way produced from the seeds of former smut and rust, which being light, are spread about by the wind, but can no more be produced by it, than the corn itself. It is highly important, that the true causes of these evils should be known in order, that remedies for them may be devised, rather than passively accusing the weather, which cannot be controlled, if it were, as it cannot be, the cause of such blights. *

FLOWERS. BY H. C. DEAKIN, AUTHOR OF “ PORTRAITS of the dead,"

“ The deliverance of swITZERLAND,” &c.

Baptized by dew and rainbow showers,
And sun'd by all the summer hours,
How sweetly bloom ye gentle flowers ?
E're the young world was in its prime
Unsoiled by sin, undim'd by crime.
Ye delicate creatures laughed at time!
Ye blushed in Paradisal glades;
Hung o'er her founts in glittering braids-
Perfumed the breezes, and the shades;

* J. Rennie's Opening Lecture at King's College.

And when the twilight's silvery flame,
Besprent with star-beams, o’er ye came,
Ye put the ethereal lights to shame.
But now ye are not what ye were,
Tho' lovely still, and rich and rare,
And of the things of earth most fair:
And when your urns are flowing bright,
With May-dew, and May-morning light,
Spirits of spring! we're ravished quite.
Our hearts, when looking on ye sigh,
With prelibations pure and high,
And ostents from a far-off sky!
So lovely, gentle, and so pure,
O’er man's soul holding such sweet lure,
Your fragrance should for aye endure.
But ye must wither and decay-
And fade like cherished things away;
Frail emblems of hope's parting day.
A little while ye scent the skies,
Then perish ’midst delicious sighs;
So beauty blushes, blooms, and dies !
But oh! ye gems of sun and flowers,
Ye censers of the summer hours;

I love ye all, my mournful flowers.
Abbey Cottage, near Leek, Staffordshire.

THE WANDERER'S RECALL.

BY G, R. CARTER, ESQ.
O'er the far blue mountains,

O'er the white sea-foam,
Come, thou long-parted one!
Back to thy home!

Hemans.
The flow’rs their balm are breathing

Like incense from an urn,
And the rich winds with them wreathing,

Why wilt thou not return?

There's the music of sweet voices

Beneath thy favorite tree, And each merry child rejoices

When we speak to him of thee. The sapphire streams are falling

On the verdant sunny ground, Thy absent steps recalling

With glad and cheerful sound. And Spring has waked the roses

With smiles from azure skies,
And many a flow'r uncloses

Its bosom to thine eyes.
We have oft invoked thy coming,

Thy familiar voice to greet,
When the festal bee rose humming

O’er the violets at our feet. Thou wert the star which guided

Peace and beauty to our hearth, But our home is now divided

From thy chaste and lively mirth.
Oh! come the birds are singing

Their joyful hymn around,
And the fragrant winds are bringing

The echo of its sound.
Thou shalt watch the sky assuming

Its purple flush at even,
When golden fields seem blooming

Amid the sunny heaven.
Are not thy feelings haunted,

With the land thou hast resigned? Cling the lovely and enchanted

Like tendrils to thy mind?
Oh! return-each minstrel-comer-

Fills the air with vocal glee,
And the flow'rs embalm’d by summer,

Are harbingers of thee!

JUNE.

THE WIND.

The wind on the waters ! 'tis lovely to me,
I, mark how it ripples, both river and sea,
When the bright sun of summer is setting at eve,
And his beams a deep glow on the clear ocean leave-
When it lies all outstretched, like a motionless lake
In the wind, with a murmur that scarcely would break
The rest of an infant-steals down on the deep,
And kisses, and lulls it to tremulous sleep.
And the wind in the leaves-oh! I love when the day
Of summer is sultrily stealing away,
To see the soft quivering come over the leaves,
And the boughs rise and fall, as the deep ocean heaves ;
And I love in the winter to hear the low thrill-
Steal on thro’ the gloony pine boughs on the hill;
And hear the wild moan that comes softly at first,
And to think of how grandly the tempest will burst.
And the wind in the heavens ! in the summer midnight,
When it puts the thin clouds to a hurrying flight;
And when in the depths of the soft radiant blue,
The moon and the stars seem as if they fled too,
And at noontide, to see the dark storm coming on,
When the silent wind hath not a breath or a tone,
Yet still on its heavy wings-beareth the thunder
Oh! this to the heart, is a rupture and wonder !