Ye worldlings! learn hence to divide
Your wealth with the children of want;
Nor scorn in your fortune and pride,
To be taught by the commonest plant.
If the wisest new wisdom may draw
From things humble, as reason avers;
We too may receive Heaven's law,
And beneficence learn from the Furze.
HORACE SMITH.
The Furze or Whin, Ulex Europæus, though found in flower in England throughout every month in the year, cannot stand the cold of the Winter in Sweden. When Linnæus first saw it flowering in this country, he is said to have fallen on his knees, and offered up a prayer of thanksgiving to the great Author of Nature. It is a singular fact that Sir J. E. Smith commenced the study of Botany with this plant. "I received Berkenhout," says he, "on the 9th of January, 1778, and began on the 11th, with infinite delight, to examine the Ulex Europaus, the only plant then in flower. I then first comprehended the nature of systematic arrangement and the Linnæan principles, little aware that at that instant the world was losing the great genius, who was to be my future guide, for Linnæus died in the night of the 11th of January, 1778." After the decease of the younger Linnæus in 1783, Sir J. E. Smith purchased the Museum, Books, &c., of the immortal Swede. Since the death of Sir James, they have become the property of the Linnæan Society,-a Society formed under the immediate auspices of Sir James, its first President. Of this enthusiastic and learned Botanist, we can truly say with Sprengel, that he proved himself "dignissimus Linnæi hæres.
FOUND CRUSHED ON THE LEAF OF A LADY'S ALBUM.
LIE there, embalm'd from age to age!-
This is the Album's noblest page,
Though every glowing leaf be fraught
With painting, poesy, and thought;
Where tracts of mortal hands are seen,
A hand invisible hath been,
And left His autograph behind,
This image from th' ETERNAL MIND;
A work of skill surpassing sense,
A labour of OMNIPOTENCE!
Though frail as dust it meet the eye,
HE form'd this gnat who built the sky.
Stop-lest it vanish at thy breath-
This speck had life, and suffered death!
BOON Nature scatter'd, free and wild,
Each plant or flower, the mountain's child,
Here Eglantine embalm'd the air,
Hawthorn and Hazel mingled there;
The Primrose pale and Violet-flower
Found in each cleft a narrow bower;
Foxglove and Night-shade, side by side,
Emblems of punishment and pride,
Group'd their dark hues with every stain
The weather-beaten crags retain ;
With boughs that quak'd at every breath,
Grey Birch and Aspen wept beneath;
Aloft, the Ash and warrior Oak,
Cast anchor in the rifted rock,
And higher yet, the Pine-tree hung
His shatter'd trunk, and frequent flung,
Where seem'd the cliffs to meet on high,
His boughs athwart the narrow'd sky,
Highest of all, where white peaks glanc'd,
Where glistening streamers wav'd and danc'd,
The wanderer's eye could barely view,
The summer heaven's delicious blue;
So wondrous wild, the world might seem
The scenery of a fairy dream.
Nor small the praise the skilful planter claims
From his befriended country. Various arts
Borrow from him materials. The soft Beech
And close-grain'd Box employ the turner's wheel,
And with a thousand implements supply
Mechanic skill. Their beauteous veins the Yew
And Phyllerea lend, to surface o'er
The cabinet. Smooth Linden best obeys
The carver's chisel; best his curious work
Displays in all its nicest touches. Birch-
Ah! why should Birch supply the chair, since oft
Its cruel twigs compel the smarting youth
To dread the hateful seat? Tough-bending Ash
Gives to the humble swain his useful plough,
And for the peer his prouder chariot builds.
To weave our baskets, the soft Ozier bends
His pliant twigs. Staves that nor shrink, nor swell,
The cooper's close-wrought cask to Chesnut owes.
The sweet-leav'd Walnut's undulated grain,
Polish'd with care, adds to the workman's art
Its varying beauties. The tall, towering Elm,
Scooped into hollow tubes, in secret streams
Conveys for many a mile the limpid wave:
Or, from its height, when humbled to the ground,
Conveys the pride of mortal man to dust.
And last the Oak, king of Britannia's woods,
And guardian of her Isle ! whose sons robust
The best supporters of incumbent weight,
Their beams and pillars to the builder give,
Of strength immense; or in the bounding deep
The loose foundations lay of floating walls.
A little monitor presents her page
Of choice instruction, with her snowy bells,
The Lily of the Vale. She nor affects
The public walk, nor gaze of midday sun :
She to no state or dignity aspires,
But silent and alone puts on her suit,
And sheds a lasting perfume, but for which
We had not known there was a thing so sweet
Hid in the gloomy shade. So, when the blast
Her sister tribes confounds, and to the earth
Stoops their high heads that vainly were expos'd,
She feels it not but flourishes anew,
Still shelter'd and secure. And as the storm,
That makes the high elm couch, and rends the oak,
The humble Lily spares,- -a thousand blows
That shake the lofty monarch on his throne,
We lesser folk feel not. Keen are the pains
Advancement often brings. To be secure,
Be humble; to be happy, be content.
The Lily of the Valley, Convallaria majalis, denominated by Churchill, the "silver mistress of the vale," has always been esteemed a favourite among our native plants, on account of its sweet perfume, and the elegance of its drooping flowers:
Shading, like detected light,
The little green-tipt lamps of white.
It delights in woods and glens:
There wrapt in verdure fragrant lilies blow,
Lilies that love the vale, and hide their bells of snow.
ON TURNING ONE DOWN WITH THE PLOUGH.
WEE, modest, crimson-tipped flower,
Thou's met me in an evil hour;
For I maun crush amang the stoure*
Thy slender stem;
Το spare thee now is past my power,
Thou bonnie gem!
Alas! it's no thy nebor sweet,
The bonnie lark, companion meet!
Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet!
Wi' speckled breast,
When upward-springing, blythe to greet
The purpling East.
Cauld blew the bitter-biting North,
Upon thy early, humble birth;
Yet cheerfully thou glintedt forth
Scarce rear'd above the parent earth
Thy tender form.
The flaunting flowers our gardens yield,
High shelt'ring woods and wa's maun shield,
But thou beneath the random bield +
O' clod or stane,
Adorns the histie § stibble-field
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