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ed to many ounces in the day; another Vine, being cut off within three inches of the ground, was so far from emitting sap, that it imbibed water from the tube, at the rate of one foot per hour: thereby demonstrating, that the sap in the former Vine rose by the stimulus of light and heat, not by trusion from the root.

of the external air, or by capillary |ther the tubes were fixed from the root, attraction, as was formerly imagined, for instance, on the extremity of a branch, but by irritation from the stimulus of at the distance of 44 feet 3 inches, the light and heat, increased perhaps by higher the sap was raised, and the longer the motion of the sap itself, as it it continued to flow, perfectly agreeable ascends. The Doctor tried his expe- to a common observation, that in wallriments chiefly on the vine, by cement- trees the most distant branches draw ing to its mutilated stump, glass hardest, and receive most nourishtubes, each seven feet long, and a quarter ment. The oldest branches were of an inch diameter, with brass caps, by soonest affected by a change of temwhich they were screwed one above perature, and in them the sap first another, till they rose to the height of began to sink. On July 4th, whilst 36 feet. At other times he used in- in one Vine, which was planted in a fleeted tubes, each with columns of pot, sap was rising, and a considermercury, to be put in motion by the able quantity was daily pressing ascending sap. In the former, the through the stem, to supply the evasap ran over; in the latter, the mer-poration from its leaves, which amountcurial gage stood at 38 inches, which he reckoned equal to the pressure of more than 43 feet of water. To one thriving branch, in a prime bleeding season, he fixed tubes to the height of 25 feet, and in two hours the sap flowed over! By these gages, it appeared, 1st. That the sap began visibly to rise March 10th, when the thermometer by day stood only at three degrees above the freezing point; 2dly. That April 18th it was at its height and vigour; 3dly. That from that time to May 5th the force gradually decreased; 4thly. That it constantly rose fastest from sunrise to about 9 or 10 in the morning, and then, unless the day was cloudy, gradually subsided till about 5 or 6 o'clock in the afternoon, after which it slowly rose again; but on a cool and cloudy day, it subsided only from about 12 o'clock to 2 in the afternoon. If in the morning, while the sap was rising, and a cold wind blew, the sun was clouded, the sap would immediately begin to sink at the rate of an inch per minute; but when the sun shone out, it rose again. Moisture and warmth made the sap most vigorous, more especially after cold weather, causing it to rise all day, although slowest about noon. It rose likewise sooner in the morning after cool weather, than after hot days.

This

"When the sap was flowing with the greatest vigour, the stems did not dilate, as they evidently do by rain, which enters the PERSPIRING PORES. makes it clear, that the sap passes through its proper vessels, and that it is confined by these. From all these observations and experiments, is it not clear, 1st. That the stimulating powers are light and heat? 2d. That the irritability of plants is the greatest in spring, and least in autumn? and that being accumulated during the night, it is exhausted, in some measure, before the middle of the day?

By various experiments of Doctor Hale's, compared with those of Doctor Ingenhouze, it is evident, that vegetables in summer, whilst they enjoy the sun, are incessantly decomposing water, and emitting from their leaves, oxygen, combined with caloric, in the form of vital air. And it is clear, that as long as water is supplied abundantly, they not only preserve "In the beginning or middle of the their vigour, even at mid-day, with the season, if warm weather has made the most fervent heat, as in the south of sap flow vigorously, that vigour would Spain, but make a rapid progress in be immediately much abated by cold their growth, and emit a proportioneasterly winds. When the tube was able quantity of vital air. May we fixed to a very short stump of a Vine, not infer from thence, that their irritawithout any lateral branches, and at bility depends on oxygen and heat; only seven inches from the ground; the and their vital energy, on a plentiful sap flowed incessantly, and fastest of supply of these reviving elements; all in the greatest heat of the day, whilst the hydrogen of the water not inking only after sun-set. The fur-only supplies the combustible part of

vegetables, but, by depositing its | £1. 10s. at two years old, and the caloric, maintains the vital heat? That the motion of the sap depends on irritation, will be still more evident, if we consider the effect produced by insects; for wherever they have deposited their eggs, the part begins to swell."

Thus far Doctors Hales and Townsend.

I think these truly curious extracts need no comment of mine, though I could confirm many parts of them from observations in my own little garden. R. G. P.

Reading, 9th of the 10th Month, 1822.

Extract of a Letter from New South Wales, (dated Parramatta, February 8th, 1822.)

BATHURST, the little settlement which I visited, is 120 miles west of Parramatta, and 15 more from Sydney. The country for many miles round it very much resembles, in its present natural state, the pastures of Wiltshire, with this difference, that in the neighbourhood of Bathurst the beautiful plains are finely interspersed with tufts of trees, ever green. I was accompanied by a young man, who selected a piece of land which I had received from the crown, in common with others in this colony; its dimensions were 600 acres. He fixed upon a spot about 12 miles east of Bathurst; one side line was the Fish-river, upon the banks of which his farm runs nearly two miles; on the other side is a beautiful hill, of gentle acclivity, with here and there a cluster of trees, not so thick as to destroy herbage, but sufficiently so to afford a partial shade. About 400 acres of this land are fine alluvial soil, without a single tree, into which it is only necessary to put the plough, and a heavy crop of wheat may be confidently expected. The whole has the appearance of an English gentleman's lawn.

The young owner put about 80 head of horned cattle to graze upon it, and 700 sheep, with three shepherds, and a stockman; to maintain these men, £25 per annum each man is required. Next year he will probably have from 30 to 40 calves, each of which will be worth £10 at least, in three years; he will also get more than 300 lambs next year, each of which will be worth No. 47-VOL. IV.

wool will more than pay all the expense of keeping.-Now, in this young man you see a New South Wales grazier. Hundreds more may choose estates equally good, and stock them with equal advantage.

The roads from this part, across the mountains, are very bad; and upon their lofty summits there is no pasturage for cattle; in consequence of which, the traveller is obliged to continue his journey, instead of resting. I only stopped about three hours in the 120 miles, and that was at a convict's bark-hut, very far removed from the residence of any other human being. I came to it at midnight; it was very dark, and I was weary. The men, however, who were road makers, fifteen in number, all got up. Some watered my horse; others boiled the kettle, and made me some tea. They sat up all night, and piled their wool beds one upon another, that I might lie upon them comfortably. They knew not that they should get any remuneration, but seemed to act from that generous spirit which inherits an English breast. These poor convicts had no shirts, but woollen frocks and trowsers. They had food enough, but no wages. A mutilated copy of the New Testament composed their library. They earnestly requested me to send them a copy of the whole Scriptures, which of course I shall not omit. The thermometer stands now in my study at 110° in the shade; and in the sun 119o. The winds are hot from the west-we have an alarming drought.

scholars and martialists (though learn- | ing and valour should have the preeminence) in England, must die like dogs, and be hanged. To mislike this were but folly; to dispute it, but time lost; to alter it, is impossible; but to endure it, is manly; and to scorn it, is magnanimity. The queen is displeased, the lawyers imperious, and death terrible; but I crave pardon of the queen, forgive lawyers and the world, desire to be forgiven, and welcome death."

POETRY.

DONALD, A Tale founded on Fact.
By John Getty, Randalstown, Author of the
Account of Belfast, The Life of Carolan,
and various other articles in the Edinburgh
Encyclopædia, &c. &c.

THE sun was set behind the bill,
And ev'ning came serene and still;
The flocks and herds were sunk to rest,
Upon the distant mountain's breast;
As Donald had in weary plight,
Attain'd Knock-ramer's heath-clad height;
From which around him lay display'd,
The wildest hills that skirt the Braid.t
Far to the south, old Slemisht gray
Still caught the last faint smile of day;
While eastward, Claggin's woody hills
Pour'd forth a thousand crystal rills:
But Quila's mountains seem'd in view,
Clad with a vest of misty hue,

* Knock-ramer-A hill lying north of Slemish; from it to the glens, near Cushendall, there is not a single house for the space of several miles. About a century ago, a great body of water burst from the N. E. side of this mountain, and the large furrows which it made are still visible, and go by the name of the Water Breaks.

That rose amid the lonely vale,
And, O! with mingled grief and joy,
Slow wafted on the ev'ning gale.
He mark'd the top of old Knock-boy;¶
For near it dwelt the lovely maid,
That first his youthful heart betray'd.
What though he heard that maid was dead,
And hope had quite his bosom fled;
And now with toil and care opprest-
Her image haunted still his breast?
He call'd to mind the hazel bow'r,
He thought upon the raptur'd hour
She met him on Glenocum's** side,
And pledg'd her soul to be his bride.

But woe betide the cruel morn
That Donald from his love was torn,
And forc'd in foreign climes to roam,
An exile from his native home:
Though now return'd, prepar'd to show,
The baseness of each sland'rous foe;
And view his native plains once more,
He fear'd his days of joy were o'er.

When all was friendship, love, and truth,
But still the scenes of early youth,
Would thrill with rapture through his souf,
And sorrow's deepest sigh control;
As down the vale his anxious eye
The well-known cottage yet could spy,
Where dwelt, when he was forc'd away,
His dearest friend and comrade gay.
So hast'ning down the mountain-side,
With weary steps he onward hied,
To gain the cot ere twilight gray
Would yield to night her milder sway.
Yet oft the robin's ev'ning song,
He paus'd to hear the dells among;
And shepherd's whistle, far away,
That echo'd wild o'er glen and brae.
And now the mountain-burn he past,
Where, with his friend, he parted last,
And mark'd the spreading hawthorn tree,
Where many a childish sport had he.
But when be reach'd the cottage door,
How was he sunk in deep despair,
And thought his toil and journey o'er-
To find no friend nor welcome there!
The lonely cot a wreck he found,
And nought but silence reign'd around.
His gen'rous soul, to view the scene,

+ Braid-The most mountainous district in the county of Antrim. The Grund-ridge, or Wa-Was pierc'd with anguish sharp and keen; tershed of the county, from which the waters flow eastward to the sea on the one side, and westward to Loughneagh and the Bann on the other, commences to the south of Devis, near Belfast, and keeping pretty closely to the eastern shore, extends to Knock-layde, near Ballycastle; but in the Braid, the mountains branch out into more irregular groups, and exhibit a more bleak and dreary appearance. The inhabitants, however, of this district, are a hospitable, well-informed class, greatly resembling the Scotch in their language and manners; and in the four towns of Skirry is a very old respectable book club.

For, O! he fear'd his friend was dead,
Or forc'd to leave his native shed;
And doom'd in want and woe to stray,
Wasted with hunger, toil, and grief,
By curst oppression's lawless sway;
And no kind hand to yield relief.—
Repining at his luckless lot,
He left the melancholy spot,
Knock-coghrum'stt well-known mountain side;
And sought with faint but hasty stride

Slemish-Supposed to be the highest mountain in the county of Antrim, from which you have a fine view of Ailsu, and some of the Highland isles.

Claggan mountains were once beautifully fringed with woods, the haunt of the wild-cat, martin, and fox.

Quila, or Coila, lies westward of Knock

ramer.

Knock-boy-A hill lying above the village of Broughshane, it signifies the Yellow-hill.

** Glenocum-A small stream, having its source in the Quila mountains, and running past Tullymore-lodge, the seat of the Hon. Col. O'Neill, M.P. There is a small cascade on this river, about three miles from its fall into the Braid water. It is sometimes called Artoaz, which signifies the water of the little hills. It is a beautiful romantic stream.

++ Knock-coghram-A hill lying S. W. of Knock-ramer.

Resolved to rest, till dawning day Would light him with its cheering ray.

Now night her gloomy curtain spread
Around the mountain's lonely head;
The fox was howling on the Luir,*
All else was still on glen and moor,
Except the distant river's swell,
Swift rushing down its rocky dell.
The blossom'd heath and flow'rets fair,
Scented with sweets the midnight air;
While new-mown hay, and blooming broom,
Sent from the vale a rich perfume,
So sweet along the mountain's breast,
That Donald felt their charms confest,
And sunk, resign'd, a while to rest.

But scarcely did his eyelids close
In one short moment of repose,
When, lo! a deep and dismal cry
Startled his drowsy ear and eye;
And up he rose in wild amaze,
And looking round with eager gaze,
Westward, among the heath and fern,
His eye could easily discern,
A female form was dragg'd along
By two bold ruffians stout and strong;
And as they near and nearer drew,
Behind a bush he crept from view,
And list'ning with attentive ear,
These words he could distinctly hear:
"Cry not again, or if you do,
Instant my dagger runs you through!-
Too long my too fond love has borne
Your cold neglect and cruel scorn;
But fortune in a lucky hour,

Has brought you now within my pow'r;
On yonder hill, a chosen band
Await my whistle and command;
When once we get within their cry,
Your friends and foll'wers we defy;
You then shall yield, and be my wife-
Or pay your ransom with your life!"

With trembling voice, the maid replied,
"I ne'er will yield, nor be your bride."
And with that word-from Donald fled
The thoughts of danger, toil, and dread;
His fearless blade he boldly drew,
Like lightning o'er the heath he flew-
Brandish'd his weapon high in air,

And dauntless, shouted-" Here they are!"
While echo from the mountain's side,
Return'd an answer far and wide.
Not swifter flies the bounding roe,
When startled by her deadly foe,
Than flew the villains, wing'd with fear,
As if a hundred foes were near;
And scarcely thought themselves secure,
Until they reach'd the distant moor.
While Donald dropt his shining blade,
And gently rais'd the trembling maid;
With hasty speech inquir'd her name,
And from what house or hall she came ?
She answer'd, "Near Glenocum's side
My aged sire and friends abide.
Last ev'ning, as I chanc'd to stray,
Yon villains base in ambush lay,
And seized me-while to you I owe,
My life preserv'd from treach'rous foe."

He heard with wonder and surprise,
And scarce believ'd his doubting eyes;

Luir, or Lure-A place near the Clagginbills, formerly a great haunt of foxes.

When, lo! in all her virgin charms,
His plighted maid rush'd to his arms!
He clasp'd her to his beating breast,
A thousand kisses deep impress'd;
And thus the lovely maid address'd;-
"You see there's nought but this weak arm
To shield you now from hurt or harm;
Yet while that arm can wield a brand,
Fear nothing from yon ruffian's band;-
But hark! their signal whistle shrill,
Is answer'd from the neighb'ring bill;
A moment if we here delay,
We both must fall an easy prey.

Instant the lovers westward hied,
To reach Glenocum's silver tide;
While Donald heard the maiden tell,
With joy, his friend was safe and well;
And soon he hoped for vengeance due
On the bold villain and his crew,
Who would have forc'd away the maid,
But for his providential aid;
And soon they reach'd the hazel glen,
Secure from dread and danger then.
For now the morning's early ray
Gilded the top of Slemish gray,
Just as they reach'd her father's cot,
Content and happy with their lot.

WHAT gives to homeliness a charm,
Unfading bloom, resistless grace,
Which Time improves, whose ruthless hand
Destroys the witchcraft of the face?

A Temper even and benign,

Sedate amidst the storms that rise On life's tempestuous sea,-serene

As ev'ning suns in cloudless skies. What adds to beauty's winning smiles?

What rivets beauty's pleasing chain?
What most attracts the good and wise?
What will esteem and love obtain?

A Temper smooth as flows the stream,
Unruffled as the vernal air,
When zephyr waves his silken wings,
Good Temper makes the fair-more fair!
It gives a fascinating grace,

When sets the sun of beauty's pow'r,

As rising Cynthia's placid beam
Sheds lustre on the midnight hour.

TO THE SUN.-By John Gorton.

MONARCH of day, high sov'reign of the year,
Of this our system (amid num'rous systems)
The only fix'd star; great and mighty cause,
Next to thy Maker, of both heat and light;
Conservator of life; effulgent source,
Whence Plenty draws her inexhausted store,
And joy his constant reign; all-cheering lamp,
Whose never-failing beams, blessings diffuse
To various worlds that round thee gladly
roll,

Proud of thy friendship, pleas'd t' accept thy favour,

That with no niggard spirit is pour'd down

In lowly quiet;

Around the door may roses twine,
And sweetest scented jessamine
Their evanescent scents combine-
In nature riot.

There on a bench may I inhale
The fragrance of the passing gale,
In contemplation;

Thus may I dream away my days,
And fear not censure, court not praise,
For in amusements such as these
Is consolation.

As soon as morning lights the sky,
And dews from off the grass shall die,
I'll quit my pillow,

To hear the lark's sweet music rise,
In grateful cadence to the skies-
Or may I feast my longing eyes
On yon green billow.

And when the sun shall just appear
On the horizon bright and clear,
In all its glory;

Or when its wondrous pow'r shall have
Quench'd its soft light in yon blue wave,
And gone to him alone who gave
A luminary;

May I behold, at eve or morn,
(Alone, neglected, and forlorn,
Having no friend on earth but scorn
And melancholy;)

The morning sun-beams as they rise,
Or catch the effulgence as it dies,
Leaving the concave of the skies
So solitary!

And may I sweetly hear the swain
Sing of his loves in plaintive strain,
While echoes answer back again

His heart-felt ditty;

And as it melts upon the breeze,
And gently rustles 'mong the trees,
Give me to pity.

And when the tear steals o'er his cheek,
May I in consolation speak,

And feel his sorrow;

I envy not that meaner breast
Which cannot heal the mind distrest,
Nor can I ever think it best

Its throes to borrow.

When day departs, oh! may I roam,
Amid the solitary gloom,

At ev❜ning close;

There to behold the stars of light,
And hold sweet converse with the night,
While the moon sickens at the sight*

Of dire repose.

RISE, Genius! rise, proclaim the reign of peace,

And bid war's horrors, murder, rapine, cease; Hurl false-nam'd glory from her soaring throne,

And dash the warrior's trophied column down; Blight on his gory brow the blood-stain'd wreath,

Expose the fiends which haunt the field of death

To the world's execrating eye;-unbind
The fetters which inthral th'immortal mind;
Drag from his lair ambition's monstrous mien,
Unmask his hideous heart, and let his crimes
be seen.

Forbid the muse to pour her magic strain Around th' ensanguin'd crest, and o'er the plain

"So sicken waning moons too near the sun.' DRYDEN.

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