the faithful animal that had preserved his life. Indur died, licking his hand.

So generous a nature was now no longer to be connected with a brute form. Indur, awaking as it were from a trance, found himself again in the happy region he had formerly inhabited, and recommenced the innocent life of a Brachman. He cherished the memory of his transmigrations, and handed them down to posterity, in a relation from which the present account has been extracted, for the amusement of my young readers.

TENTH EVENING.

THE SWALLOW AND THE TORTOISE.

A TORTOISE in a garden's bound,

An ancient inmate of the place,

Had left his winter-quarters, under-ground,

And, with a sober pace,

Was crawling o'er a sunny bed,

And thrusting from his shell his pretty, toad-like head.

Just come from sea, a Swallow,

As to and fro he nimbly flew,

Beat our old racer hollow:

At length he stopp'd, direct in view,

And said, "Acquaintance, brisk and gay,

How have you fared this many a day ?"

Thank you!" replied the close housekeeper,

66 Since you and I last autumn parted,
I've been a precious sleeper,
And never stirr'd nor started,
But in my hole I lay as snug
As fleas within a rug;

Nor did I put my head abroad

Till all the snow and ice were thawed."

"But I," rejoined the bird,

"Who love cold weather just as well as you,

Soon as the warning blasts I heard,

Away I flew,

And, mounting in the wind,

Left gloomy winter far behind.

Directed by the mid-day sun,

O'er sea and land my vent'rous course I steer'd; Nor was my distant journey done

Till Afric's verdant coast appear❜d.

There, all the season long,

I chased gay butterflies and gnats,

And gave my negro friends a morning song,
And housed at night among the bats.

Then, at the call of spring,

I northward turn'd my wing,

And here, again, her joyous message bring." "Lord, what a deal of needless ranging," Return'd the reptile grave;

"For ever hurrying, bustling, changing,
As though it were your life to save!
Why need you visit foreign nations ?

Rather, like me, and some of your relations,
Take out a pleasant, half-year's nap,

Secure from trouble and mishap."

"A pleasant nap, indeed!" replied the Swallow; When I can neither see nor fly,

The bright example I may follow;

Till then, in truth, not I!

I measure time by its employment,

And only value life for life's enjoyment.

As well be buried all at once,

As doze out half one's days, like you, you stupid dunce !"

M

THE GRASS TRIBE.

Tutor-George-Harry.

Harry. PRAY what is that growing on the other side of the hedge?

George. Why it is corn-don't you see it is in ear? H. Yes-but it seems too short for corn; and the corn we just now passed is not in ear by a great deal. G. Then I don't know what it is. Pray, sir, will you tell us?

Tutor. I don't wonder you were puzzled about it, It is a sort of grass sown for hay, and is called rye

grass.

H. But how happens it that it is so very like corn? T. There is no great wonder in that, for all corn is really a kind of grass; and, on the other hand, if you were a Lilliputian, every species of grass would appear to you amazingly large corn.

G. Then there is no difference between corn and grass, but the size?

T. None at all.

We

Now

H. But we eat corn, and grass is not good to eat. T. It is only the seeds of corn that we eat. leave the stalks and leaves for cows and horses. we might eat the seeds of grass, if they were big enough to be worth gathering; and some particular kinds are in fact eaten in certain countries.

H. But are wheat and barley really grass?

T. Yes they are a species of that great family of plants, which botanists call grasses; and I will take this opportunity of telling you something about them. Go, George, and pull us up a root of that rye-grass. Harry and I will sit down on this stile till you come

to us.

H. Here is grass enough all around us.

ear.

T. Well, then-pull up a few roots that you see in

us.

G. Here is my grass.

H. And here is mine.

T. Well, spread them all in a handkerchief before Now look at the roots of them all.

call them ?

What do you

G. I think they are what you have told us are fibrous roots.

T. Right-they consist of a bundle of strings. Then look at their stalks; you will find them jointed and hollow, like the straw of corn.

H. So they are.

T. The leaves, you see, of all the kinds are very long and narrow, tapering to a point at their ends. Those of corn, you know, are the same.

H. Yes; they are so like grass at first, that I can never tell the difference.

T. Next observe the ears, or heads. Some of these, you see, are thick and close, exactly like those of wheat or barley; others are more loose and open, like oats. The first are generally called spikes; the second, panicles. If you examine them closely, you will find that they all consist of a number of distinct husky bodies, which are properly the flowers; each of which is succeeded by a single seed. I dare say you have picked ears of wheat.

H. O yes-I am very fond of them.

T. Well, then; you found that the grains all lay single, contained in a scaly husk, making a part of the ear, or head. Before the seed was formed, there was a flower in its place. I do not mean a gay, finecoloured flower, but a few scales with threads coming out among them, each crowned with a white tip. And soon after the ears of corn appear, you will find their flowers open, and these white tips coming out of them. This is the structure of the flowers and flowering heads of every one of the grass tribe.

G. But what are the beards of corn?

T. The beards are bristles, or points, running out from the ends of the husks. They are properly called

awns. Most of the grass tribe have something of these, but they are much longer in some kinds than in others. In barley, you know, they are very long, and give the whole field a sort of downy or silky appearance, especially when waved by the wind.

H. Are there the same kinds of corn and grass in all countries ?

T. No. With respect to corn, that is in all countries the product of cultivation; and different sorts are found best to suit different climates. Thus in the northern parts of the temperate zone, oats and rye are chiefly grown. In the middle and southern, barley and wheat. Wheat is universally the species preferred for bread-corn; but there are various kinds of it, differing from each other in size of grain, firmness, colour, and other qualities.

H. Does not the best wheat of all grow in England?

T. By no means. Wheat is better suited to the warmer climates; and it is only by great attention, and upon particular soils, that it is made to succeed well here. On the other hand, the torrid zone is too hot for wheat and our other grains; and they chiefly cultivate rice there and Indian corn, or maize.

G. I have seen heads of Indian corn, as thick as my wrist, but they do not look at all like our corn.

T. Yes the seeds all grow single, in a sort of chaffy head; and the stalk and leaves resemble those of the grass tribe, but of a gigantic size. But there are other plants of this family, which perhaps you have not thought of.

G. What are they?

T. Canes and reeds-from the sugar-canes and bamboo of the tropics, to the common reed of our ditches and marshes, of which you make arrows. All these have the general character of the grasses.

H. I know that reeds have very fine, feathery heads, like the tops of the grass.

T. They have so

And the stalks are composed of