Minchin, at Manantoddy, the chief place in the Wynand district. Here, the two plants, though small and unhealthy, began, in a week or two, to improve; and during the rains between June and September, they produced fresh shoots, and became most healthy plants. On the following year they were fine and bushy, and were in full bloom when the rains set in, in June. Captain Evans found that a cutting from the tea plant throve equally well at Manantoddy; and he therefore infers that the soil and climate of the Wynaad district are adapted to its cultivation, as well as a great portion of the tract of land in south-western India, ceded by Tippoo Sultan, having as fertile a soil, of about the same elevation, with a similar climate and temperature.

Botany. At the meeting of the Botanical Society, on the 15th of March, a paper was read On the species of Tilia, natives of Eyland." The author, Mr. E. Leas, considers the lime-tree is indigenous to Worcestershire, the borders of Herefordshire, Gloucestershire, Monmouthshire, and South Wales. At Hamford, near Worcester, on the banks of the Severn, about the western base of the Barrow Hill, near Martley, on Akenside Hill, near Knightsford Bridge, on the Tene, as well as among the rocky glens about Pont Nedd Vechan, Glamorganshire, and in various other localities, many very remarkable old lime trees occur, in wild uncultivated spots.

Meteorology.-At the meeting of the Royal Society, on the 21st of March, a letter was read from Sir John Herschell, giving an account of the fall of a meteoric stone, on the 13th of last October. Some time previous to its falling the air was hot and sultry; a noise like the firing of artillery was heard, and which was followed by the descent of the stone, which, when it fell, was so soft that it could be cut with a knife. Another account of a similar stone, in a letter from Professor Faraday to Sir John Herschell, was likewise read. We may add, that Mr. George Thompson, of Cape Town, has given an account of the same shower of meteoric stones as that during which the specimen referred to by Sir John Herschell

fell.

NEW DISCOVERY.

We learn from the French journals that M. Colas, the inventor of medallion-imitativeengraving, has recently brought to perfection a means purely mechanical, by which a statue may be copied in any given material, (and of any dimensions, from the original size down to six lines,) with the most exquisite truth and nicety. It is peculiarly fitted for producing fac-similes of ancient and complicated basso-relievos, deviation in any respect from the original being impossible.

New Books.

Births, Deaths, and Marriages.—By Theodore Hook. Bentley.

[MR. Hook has not the reputation of writing shrewd observer, sees the springs by which the with any deep moral purpose; but he is a mass of mankind are moved in their intercourse with one another,—and, not disdaining a dash of the caricaturist,-knows how to bring before his readers characters sufficiently true to general nature to invest them with an interest; and by the aid of no ordinary dramatic tact, and a light easy style, he rarely fails to construct a piquant and amusing narrative. In the novel before us the characters of two brothers, the one aiming at success in life through manoeuvring and conformity to the world; the other a rich, selfish, cynical old fellow, professing and feeling a thorough contempt for anything but himself, are brought into strong relief, and the peculiarities of each exhibited in the author's happiest manner. We shall attempt no sketch of the story, the extract we shall give will show something of its materiel.]

The different courses which the brothers

had pursued, had naturally produced a wide and striking difference in their habits and manners, their modes of thinking and acting. Jacob, who had stuck to the shop till it grew into a warehouse-and he himself was transformed from a trader into a merchant, was one of those men who are coiled, as it were, within themselves, and like that little animal which is classically known, and delicately called the oniscus armadillo, roll themselves up out of harm's way, the moment anything like trouble or danger approaches.

John, on the contrary, was polished, polite, and plausible: he could promise with fluency, and refuse with grace and elegance. He had flirted, and loved, and married a beauty, who had left him a widower with one daughter. All he had to live upon was the well-merited pension which his services [in a government office] had secured him; nor had he in more profitable times done anything in the way of what Jacob called

laying by something for a rainy day;" so that his beautiful and accomplished child, besides her face, figure, and accomplishments, had nothing in the way of fortune except that which her uncle Jacob at his death might bequeath her.

Hence the frequent invitations of Jacob to John's house; hence the passive submission with which John heard the lectures of his wealthy relative, feeling at the same time for all his worldly maxims and prudential recommendations the most sovereign contempt.

Jacob was perfectly aware of the inducements which actuated John in all his proceedings towards him, and chuckled at his own perception, and perhaps at the antici

pation of the disappointment of his brother's expectations, which after all, might occur.

"I tell you, Jack," continued Jacob, "that you are wrong:--it is nothing to me; but it's all nonsense filling the girl's head with notions of high connexions and titles, and all such trumpery-your carriages and your horses, and your dinners-psha! you can't afford it; and what's worse, you sin with your eyes open-you know you can't afford it."

"My dear brother," said John, who seldom ventured to call his impracticable relation by his Christian name, "I really do nothing more than is expected of a man holding a certain place in society."

"Expected by whom?" said Jacob. "The world," replied John. "The world !" said Jacob. " Umph! You mean the two or three hundred families that live up in this part of the town, not one of whom would care if you and your daughter were barred up in Newgate. The world !what would the world do for your child if you were to die in debt, as you will? You are insolvent now, and you know it. All these trumpery things about your rooms, that have cost you mints of money, would'nt fetch five-and-twenty per cent. of their prime cost at auction, whenever you break up, or die."

"Why there's a difficulty," said John. "To be sure," interrupted Jacob: 66 you have ruined your constitution by early dissipation, and now your life's not worth a farthing."

"But, my dear brother," said John, "it would be impossible to bring Helen forward if I did not indulge a little in the gaieties of the world."

"There goes the world,' again," said Jacob: "I'm sick of the word."

"When my girl is established," said John, "I shall, of course, alter the whole estab lishment, and live quietly."

"But how is she to be established ?" said Jacob. "She has no money; and where are you to find the man who will take her as he would buy a doll, without a dump ?',

[The father has two lovers in view-Lord Ellesmere, and Colonel Mortimer, to either of whom he would assign his daughter-(she prefers the Colonel)-the uncle is an advocate for an old alderman.]

"Colonel Mortimer," said Jacob, "is the man, I think, who ran away with some body's wife-plays a good deal, runs horses, sails yachts, and all that sort of thing, eh?" "It is the same Colonel Mortimer," said John, "who did all these things, but so en⚫ tirely changed, that not a vestige of his for

mer character remains. He married the lady, who, in point of fact, ran away with him: they subsequently lived happily toge ther, in the most domestic manner, and he nearly died of an illness brought on by the loss of her."

"Very fine-very fine, indeed!" said Jacob: "that's your version of the history, is it? He runs away with his friend's wife; they live domestically-that is, because the world' won't visit her; she dies-perhaps of a broken heart-and he is near going off the same way from remorse: may'nt that be true? It's all nothing to me; nothing will ever break my heart; and I never mean to run away with anybody's wife; only, if I had a daughter, I would sooner cut her legs off than let her marry such a man."

"I assure you," said John, "that I have spoken upon this very subject to one or two women of the world."

"The world! there you go again."

"Well, but what I mean is, women who really understand the ways of society, and they all agree in the eligibility of the match, and since you doubt the possibility of Helen, without a fortune, marrying a rich man, I may as well say at once that Mortimer has at least ten thousand a-year unencumbered."

"That's it," said Jacob-"there it is. Now I see; you sell your daughter for her share of ten thousand a-year."

"Nay, but," said John, "if Helen is attached to him, if the affection be mutual, surely the ten thousand a-year are not objections to her marrying the man who has them."

"Not if the man were what a girl ought to love," said Jacob. "Now, Alderman Haddock is a man,"

"My dear brother," said John, "if you are not joking, do not talk of such a thing."

66

Chapman and Hall.

[Subsequently, after some skilful diplomacy on the part of John Batly, and no small misgiving that the game had slipped through his fingers, the marriage of Helen and the Colonel is effected: by-and-bye John once more turned his thoughts towards matrimony for himself.]

"That John Batly should feel disposed to marry again does not seem so extraordinary. John had married young, -was a young father, and as he truly said, the relative ages of himself and Helen had, in some degree, alleviated the grief which he felt for the loss of her mother, by placing her in the position of mistress of his house at a somewhat premature age, perhaps,but there she was, and as he vainly endea. voured to impress upon Jacob's mind,there was female society: he had been a sort of male coquette all his life, and loved dangling at fifty-four as much as he did when he was less than half that age; and it is astonishing (perhaps not because the case is so common) that a habit of that sort does not wear off with time as might be expected. The man of fifty-four flirts, and is not ill received; but he does not appreciate the mode of his reception; he does not feel himself much older than he was five-and-twenty years before: he scarcely sees an alteration in his own person; all that he wonders at is, the extraordinary flippancy and forwardness of boys of five-and-twenty, forgetting that when he was of that age he considered an old fellow of fifty-four a "regular nuisance." Wonderful, however, have been the changes in society within the lust half century: the march and influence of age have been neutralized to an extent which our grandfathers could not have believed, and certainly never anticipated. Fifty years ago, the idea of a man of sixty in a black neckcloth, with curls and trousers, and a fancy waistcoat, with amethyst studs in his shirt bosom, dancing quadrilles, never would have entered into the head of a human being. The dress might have been as gay or gayer, but it would have been made up of pomatum and powder, and a bag or a club, with shorts, and shoes and buckles. At one period, the pig-tail, which superseded the club-knob which had previously succeeded to the bag, would have been indispensable; nay, there are at this moment half a score matured gentlemen, who thirty years since sported. tails, knobs and pigs, with powder and pomatum, aforesaid, walking the assemblies of London in picturesque coloured wigs, fancy waistcoats, and symmetrically-cut pantaloons.

[THE lyrics which form the present graceful little volume, have hitherto been obtainable their separate publication it seems is more only in connexion with their music; and author's friends than with his own. His in compliance with the judgment of the friends were perfectly in the right, and we doubt not that all lovers of genuine lyric poetry will agree with them that many of the pieces here presented to them are enti tled to take rank among the sweetest and wittiest of modern compositions. For the present we shall content ourselves with two specimens, different in their style, and both of superior merit.]

"Well," said Time," at least let me gather A few of your roses here, 'Tis part of my pride to be always supplied With such roses the whole of the year." Poor Beauty consented, tho' half in despair, And Time, as he went, asked a lock of her hair; And, as he stole the soft ringlet so bright, He vow'd 'twas for love, but she knew 'twas for spite,

Fie! father Time! Oh! what a crime !

Fie! father Time!

its clime,

Fie! father Time!

MEMORY AND HOPE.

Oft have I mark'd, as o'er the sea

We've swept before the wind,. That those whose hearts were on the shore Cast longing looks behind; While they, whose hopes have elsewhere been Have watch'd with anxious eyes, To see the hills that lay before,

Faint o'er the waters rise.

'Tis thus as o'er the sea of life

Our onward course we track,
That anxious sadness looks before,
The happy still look back,
Still smiling ou the course they've past
As earnest of the rest,-
'Tis Hope's the charm of wretchedness
While memory wooes the blest.

Historical Sketches of Statesmen who flou. rished in the Tine of George III. First Series. By Henry Lord Brougham. Knight and Co.

[WE have just "dipped" into the above important volume, not having sufficient time for fully investigating it.

Several of the sketches have already appeared in print, but as parts scattered through other and much larger works. Yet great additions have been made to some of them; while the following are entirely new: Lords North; Mansfield; Thurlow; Loughbourough; Lord Chief Justice Gibbs; Sir William Grant; Franklin; Joseph II.; Chatherine II.; Gustavus III.; and the Remarks on Party. It is embellished with eleven portraits; which we think we have seen elsewhere. The selection for our first notice, is from the sketch of the American Printer, Philosopher, and Statesman-]

BENJAMIN FRANKLIN.

In this truly great man everything seems to concur that goes towards the constitution of exalted merit. First he was the architect of his own fortune. Born in the humblest station, he raised himself by his talents and his industry, first to the place of society which may be attained with the help only of ordinary abilities, great application, and good luck; but next to the loftiest heights which a daring and happy genius alone can scale; and the poor PRINTER'S boy-who at one period of his life had no covering to shelter his head from the dews of night, rent in twain the proud dominion of England, and lived to be the Ambassador of a Commonwealth which he had formed, at the court of the haughty monarchs of France who had been his allies.

Then, he had been tried by prosperity as well as adverse fortune, and had passed unhurt through the perils of both. No ordinary 'prentice, no commonplace journeyman, ever laid the foundations of his independence in habits of industry and temperance more deep than he did, whose genius was after wards to rank him with the Galileos and the Newtons of the old world.

Again, he was self-taught in all he knew. His hours of study were stolen from those of sleep and of meals, or gained by some ingenious contrivance for reading while the work of his daily calling went on.

His whole course, both in acting and in speculation, was simple and plain, ever preferring the easiest and the shortest road, nor ever having recourse to any but the simplest means to compass the end. His language was unadorned, and used as the medium of communicating his thoughts, not of raising admiration; but it was pure, expressive, racy. His manner of reasoning was manly and cogent, the address of a rational being to others of the same order; and so concise, that preferring decision to discussion, he never

exceeded a quarter of an hour in any public address. His correspondence upon business, whether private or on state affairs, is a model of clearness and compendious shortness; nor can any state papers surpass in dignity and impression, those of which he is believed to have been the author in the earlier part of the American war.

But of all this great man's scientific excellencies, the most remarkable is the smallof the means which he employed in his exness, the simplicity, the apparent inadequacy, perimental researches. His discoveries were made with hardly any apparatus at all; and if, at any time, he had been led to employ instruments of a somewhat less ordinary description, he never rested satisfied until he had, as it were, afterwards translated the process, by resolving the problem with such simple machinery, that you might say he had done it wholly unaided by apparatus. The experiments by which the identity of lightning and electricity was demonstrated, were made with a sheet of brown paper, a bit of twine, a silk thread, and an iron key.

Upon the integrity of this great man, whether in public or in private life, there rests no stain. Strictly honest, and even scrupulously punctual in all his dealings, he preserved in the highest fortune that regularity which he had practised as well as inculcated in the lowest.

In domestic life he was faultless, and in the intercourse of society, delightful. There was a constant good humour and a playful wit, easy and of high relish, without any ambition to shine, the natural fruit of his lively fancy, his solid, natural good sense, and his cheerful temper, that gave his conversation an unspeakable charm, and alike suited every circle, from the humblest to the most elevated. In religion, it is certain that his mind was imbued with a deep sense of the Divine perfections, a constant impression of our accountable nature, and a lively hope of future enjoyment. Accordingly, his deathbed, the test of both faith and works, was easy and placid, resigned and devout, and indicated at once an unflinching retrospect of the past, and a comfortable assurance of the future.

[To the above' sketch,' Lord Brougham has appended the following remarks :]

If we turn from the truly great man whom we have been contemplating, to his celebrated contemporary in the Old World, who only affected the philosophy that Franklin possessed, and employed his talents for civil and military affairs, in extinguishing that independence which Franklin's life was conse

crated to establish, the contrast is marvel

lous indeed between the monarch and the

printer.

The Public Journals.

BLACKWOOD'S

[UNQUESTIONABLY the most splendid periodical of the day-is this month more than usually

rich in its intellectual treasures: we shall extract a few morsels from a jeu d'esprit, called]

My After-Dinner Adventures with Peter
Schlemihl."

a

"Feeling myself," says the narrator, little out of sorts, with flying pains about my ancles and toes, I retired for relief to Seacombe, on the banks of the Mersey, opposite to Liverpool. After dinner, one day, whilst cogitating on the delicious savour of mock-turtle soup, and whether it was known to the ancients, when a tall, gentle, manly-looking man, entered his room, and, familarly helping himself to a glass of wine, exclaimed, Do you know me?-I am Peter Schlemihl; -I am come to take a walk with you. Do you know Liverpool?" "No," said I, bolting out a lie at once. "I thought so, and for that reason I have called upon you to go there: as, I believe, you like turtle, there are several houses in Liverpool where turtle is dressed to a per fection that would raise a chuckle in the gullet of an expiring alderman. So, come along." I felt no power to resist, but almost instantly found myself on board the steam-packet, sailing on my way to Liver pool, in company with Peter Schlemihl.

In a few seconds we were across the river and landed on the parade; but, in ascending the steps, some villain, with an iron heel to his boot, gave my toes such a squeeze, that I almost screamed with agony. Peter saw my distress, and putting an arm through one of mine, "Never mind,' said he, "I'll provide you with consolation;" and almost before 1 had time to ask whither we were going, I found myself seated with him in a room in the Mersey Hotel.

"I have dined," said I, as I almost mechanically took a spoonful; but that spoonful sufficed to drive away all remembrance of my pain, and all recollection of my dinner. It was delectable; and we ladled away with the gusto of men tasting turtle for the last time.

"How do you like it ?" said Peter, when I had finished.

"It is admirable," I replied; "who could help liking it ?"

"Well, said he, "if you are satisfied, put the spoon in your pocket, and let us march."

"The spoon in my pocket!" I answered; "do you wish me to be taken up as a thief ?"

"Quite a matter of taste," said Peter Schlemihl; " suppose you had swallowed it by accident- and you opened a mouth wide

enough to have admitted a soup-ladle, putting a simple spoon out of the questionsuppose you had swallowed it by accident, could you have been successfully accused of theft? And where is the difference to Mr Horne, the landlord, betwixt your putting his spoon in your stomach by accident, and putting it in your pocket by design? In either case, I take it, the loss to him would be pretty much the same; so the differ ence, you see, is but in words; but, come along."

So saying, he again put my hat on my head, giving it a thump, and putting my gloves in my hand, I was presently walking in his company, at a quick rate, towards the Exchange, without having any clear idea of the way in which we left the turtle-room in the Mersey Hotel.

"Is it nct a handsome pile of building ?" said Peter Schlemihl, after he had walked me round the Town Hall, and pointed out its beauties -its portico -- its frieze - its dome-and, after he had led me round the area of the Exchange buildings, and pointed out each and every part worth notice,

"Is it not a handsome pile of building?” said he.

"It is, undoubtedly, very handsome," I replied, " and does great credit to the place; but, as a piece of architecture, it is by no means perfect; and

"For mercy's sake," said Peter, "don't turn critical! if you do, I will desert you. I have known many critics in my time, but I never knew but one sensible man of the craft; and he lived to regret his taste as a misfortune. No, no! rules are very neces sary in every art, and every science; but never do you imbibe the notion, that nothing can be pleasing or beautiful that is not strictly according to rule. Now, there is a monument to Nelson-the glorious Nelsonbefore you; but, handsome as it is, and suitable as it is to a naval hero, in an important sea-port town, and standing on the high mart of foreign commerce, yet I will not allow you to look at it, for it is not strictly correct according to the code critical. By the by, did you ever see that funny affair that the Birmingham gentlemen put up in memory of the same great man? Living so far inland, they did not perfectly understand what a sailor was like, but they made a little gentleman in black, and having heard of the green sea, they set him up in business in their market-place as a green-grocer, being the nearest approach to the green sea that their imagination could suggest-what the devil business had Nelson in a market-place?

they might as well have made him a button-maker!-but, come along to the Zoological Gardens ;" and again taking my arm, and before I was aware whither we were going, Peter and I were téte-à-téte with a lion.