introduce a straw, or a pin, between the lobes, it will grasp it full as fast as if it were an insect. This plant grows in America, in wet shady places, and flowers in July and August. The largest leaves are about three inches long, and an inch and a half across the lobes: the glands of those exposed to the sun are of a beautiful red color; but those in the shade are pale, and inclining to green. The roots are squamous, sending forth few fibres, and are perennial. The leaves are numerous, inclining to bend downwards, and are placed in a circular order; they are jointed and succulent; the lower joint, which is a kind of stalk, is flat, longish, two-edged, and inclining to heart-shaped. In some varieties, they are serrated on the edges near the top. The upper joint consists of two lobes, each lobe is of a semi-oval form, with their margins furnished with stiff hairs, like eyebrows, which embrace or lock in each other when they are inwardly irritated. The upper surfaces of these lobes are covered with small red glands, each of which appears, when highly magnified, like a compressed arbutus berry. Among the glands, about the middle of each lobe, are three very small erect spines. When the lobes enclose any substance, they never open again while it continues there. If it can be shoved out, so as not to strain the lobes, they expand again; but if force is used to open them, so strong has nature formed the spring of their fibres, that one of the lobes will generally snap off, rather than yield. The stalk is about six inches high, round, smooth, and without leaves, ending in a spike of flowers. The flowers are milk-white, and stand on foot stalks, at the bottom of which is a little painted bractea, or flower-leaf.

There is not an article in botany more admirable than a contrivance, visible in many plants, to take advantage of good weather, and to protect themselves against bad. They open and close their flowers and leaves in different circumstances; some close before sun-set, some after; some open to receive rain, some close to avoid it. The petals of many flowers expand in the sun; but contract at night, or on the approach of rain. After the seeds are fecundated, the petals no longer contract. All the trefoils may serve as a barometer to the husbandman; they

always contract their leaves on an impending storm. Some plants follow the sun, others turn from it. Many plants, on the sun's recess, vary the position of their leaves, which is styled, the sleep of plants. A singular plant was lately discovered in Bengal. Its leaves are in continual motion all day long; but when night approaches, they fall down from an erect posture to rest.*

A plant has a power of directing its roots for procuring food. The red whortle-berry, a low evergreen plant, grows naturally on the tops of our highest hills, among stones and gravel. This shrub was planted in an edging to a rich border, under a fruit wall. In two or three years it over-ran the adjoining deep-laid gravel walk, and seemed to fly from the border, in which not a runner appeared. An effort to come at food, in a bad situation, is extremely remarkable, in the following instance. Among the ruins of New Abbey, formerly a monastery in Galloway, there grows on the top of a wall, a plane tree, about twenty feet high. Straitened for nourishment

* The Tabacum, or common Tobacco plant, was first discovered in America, by the Spaniards, about the year 1560, and by them imported into Europe. It had been used by the inhabitants of America long before; and was called by the inhabitants of the islands, yoli, and by those of the continent, patux. It was sent into Spain from Tabaco, a province of Yucatan, where it was first discovered, and from whence it takes its common name. Sir Walter Raleigh is generally said to have been the first that introduced it into England, about the year 1585, in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, and who taught his countrymen how to smoke it. The following anecdote is related of him. He having imitated the Indians in smoking this plant, at length so much delighted in it, that he was unwilling to disuse it on his return to England; and therefore supplied himself with several hogsheads, which he placed in his own study, and generally indulged himself with smoking secretly two or three pipes a day. He had a simple man, who waited at his study door, to bring him up daily a tankard of old ale and nutmeg, and he always laid aside his pipe when he heard him approaching. One day, being earnestly engaged in reading some book which amused him, the man abruptly entered, and, surprised at seeing his master enveloped in smoke, (a sight perfectly new to him) the smoke ascending in thick vapors from his mouth and the bowl of the tobacco-pipe, immediately threw the ale in his master's face, ran down stairs, and alarmed the family with repeated exclamations, that his master was on fire in the inside, and that if they did not make haste, before they could get up stairs, he would be burned to ashes.

in that barren situation, it several years ago directed roots down the side of the wall, till they reached the ground ten feet below; and now the nourishment it afforded to those roots during the time of their descending, is amply repaid, having every year, since that time, made vigorous shoots. From the top of the wall to the surface of the earth these roots have not thrown out a single fibre, but are now united in a single root.

Plants, when forced from their natural position, are endowed with the power to restore themselves. A hopplant, twisting round a stick, directs its course from south to west, as the sun does. Untwist it, and tie it in the opposite direction, it dies. Leave it loose in the wrong direction, it recovers its natural direction in a single night. Twist the branch of a tree, so as to invert its leaves, and fix it in that position, if left in any degree loose, it untwists itself gradually, till the leaves be restored to their natural position. What better can an animal do for its welfare? A root of a tree meeting with a ditch in its progress, is laid open to the air. What follows! It alters its course, like a rational being, dips into the ground, surrounds the ditch, rises on the opposite side to its wonted distance from the surface, and then proceeds in its original direction. Lay a wet sponge near a root laid open to the air; the root will direct its course to the sponge. Change the place of the sponge; the root varies its direction. Thrust a pole into the ground at a moderate distance from a climbing plant; the plant directs its course to the pole, lays hold of it, and rises on it to its natural height. A honeysuckle proceeds in its course till it be too long for supporting its weight; and then strenghens itself by shooting into a spiral. If it meet with another plant of the same kind, they coalesce for mutual support, the one screwing to the right, the other to the left. The claspers of briony shoot into a spiral, and lay hold of whatever comes in their way for support. If, after completing a spiral of three rounds, they meet with nothing, they try again, by altering their course.-Mosaic History.

An evil mind is naturally suspicious. Anger restrained, is conquest gained.

Poetry.

POETRY & MUSIC.

Written for the Monthly Repository and Library of Entertaining Knowledge. THE LAST RETURN.

She left her childhood's home,

And with the partner of her joys, went forth
To share the trials, and privations, which attend
On those, who zealous in their master's cause
Count not their own lives dear, but for the sake
Of souls immortal, glad forego, the dear delights
Of sweet secluded home, health, and retirement,
To call poor, wandering sinners,

To the fold of Christ

Her mind was form'd, to feel acutely,
All the pains, and pleasures too, which
Such a life affords-

Friendship's shrine, had not a votary more constant,
More sincere, than the warm glowing heart

Of her we mourn,-But friendship's sacred claims
Were held, less sacred, than the cause of God-
Though all the social feelings, that first bound
Her heart, possess'd it still; yet Zion's welfare,
Was her chief delight, and cheerfully she made
Another sacrifice, and left those kindred spirits,
And congenial minds, "whose converse, formed her bliss,
To meet the gaze of strangers," and to feel
That withering desolation, caused by severing ties;
But grace, celestial, heavenly, and divine,
Caused her to triumph in the sacred cross-
And when the labors of the year were done,

The wintry season past, and the sweet spring flowers
Deck'd the beauteous earth, with joy she sought
The spot where her young footsteps wandered,
And the scenes endear'd by early recollections
To cheer the kindred band, cemented by the
Double ties, of nature, and of grace-

Thus years roll'd on; and once again
That form was found, 'neath the paternal roof;
It was the last return, her wanderings were ended,
But ah! no joyful greeting now, after long absence-
No voice was there; the spirit, the wearied-
Deathless spirit, had gone up to dwell with God.
That scene was one, which fancy's pencil
Has not power to paint; 'twas at the noon
Of night; the sun that evening, sunk in brightness,
And its rays, long lingered, like the glory,
Which attends the christian's parting spirit-
And as its last beams faded-the pale, cold moon,
Shed down its cheerless light, an emblem fit
Methought, of death, without its gloom-
'Twas cold, and silent; the winds had ceased
Their raging; and with the mournful watchers-

Seemed to listen, to the rumbling sound-
Of carriage wheels, which, at the solemn hour,
Of midnight, broke the deep stillness-

Next was heard the busy footstep, the plaintive
Murmur, of infant voices, and the stifled sob
Wrung from the bleeding heart, whose fountains
Rais'd by mingling streams, burst forth

In floods of sorrow, strong and deep

Then slow, and silently, was borne, that form beloved, So often hail'd with smiles of joy-now breathless,

Shrouded in grave clothes, and in the narrow coffin placed, Its last repose—

Who can describe the feelings, of those hearts

With whom, her own was bound, as on that face
Again they gazed, and saw the same sweet smile
That oft in happiest hours illumed it?

The bliss, that fill'd the soul at parting,
Seem'd to leave its impress on the clay;
'Twas lovely still; the spirit like the evening sun
Had pass'd away in brightness, and we felt assured
That like that sun, she too should rise again
And clothed in stainless robes, be found
Among the blissful throng of ransom'd ones
That shine for ever, near their risen Lord,

A NEW YEAR'S EVE.

"A New Year's Eve! methinks 'tis good to sit
At such an hour, in silence and alone,
Tracing that record, by the pen unwrit,
Which every human heart has of its own,
Of joys and griefs, of hopes and fears unknown
To all beside; to let the spirit feel,

In all its force, the deep and solemn tone

Of Time's unflattering, eloquent appeal,

Which Truth to every breast would inwardly reveal.
"Nature herself seems, in her wintry dress,
To own the closing year's solemnity;

Spring's blooming flowers, and summer's leafiness,
And autumn's richer charms are all thrown by.

I look abroad upon a starless sky!

Even the plaintive breeze sounds like the surge
On ocean's shore among those pine trees high;

Or, sweeping o'er that dark wall's ivied verge,
It rings unto my thought the old year's mournful dirge.
"There is a joy in deep thought's pensive mood,
Far, far beyond the worldling's noisiest mirth;

It draws from purer elements its food,

Higher and holier is its heavenly birth;

It soars above the fleeting things of earth,

Through faith that elevates, and hope that cheers;

And estimates by their enduring worth,

The cares and trials, sorrows, toils, and fears,

Whose varied shadows pass across this vale of tears."