then, the fiat of the Creator immediately gave origin to that structure and composition, which has been reproduced in every other vegetable form.

And wonderfully do these vegetable forms show forth the goodness of that Almighty Being, who commanded that the earth should bring forth grass, the herb yielding seed, and the fruit-tree yielding fruit after its kind, whose seed is in itself upon the earth.

Let him, who is disposed to observe the works of nature with reference to their utility, examine the Canadian Birch-wort, which carries at its base two concave leaves; or let him hear that each leaf of the Tilandria or Wild-Pine of the West Indies, is furnished near the stalk with a hollow bucket, containing from half a pint to a quart of water, and he will say, Surely these plants grow in a land where water is scarce, the thirsty traveller derives refreshment from them: birds also, and some animals have no other supply." The air, too, he would conjecture to be sultry, the country a parched one, and his conjectures would be right. Birch-worts grow in those trembling and frothy-looking Canadian marshes, which dry up during the hot months: their concave leaves receive and retain, for a long time, the showers that fall occasionally, and also the heavy night dews: they are consequently very important to birds, small quadrupeds, and insects, which are thus provided with plentiful supplies of pure and wholesole water, in situations where it can rarely be obtained. The habitat of the Wild Pine is similarly parched, for it abounds in the most sultry parts of the West Indies. Some kinds of Aloes, too, common to parched regions, secrete such a quantity of water in their cup-shaped leaves, as to afford a grateful refreshment for thirsty travellers.

The Nepenthes Distillatoria, or Pitcher plant, abounds in those stony and arid parts of Java, from which small birds and quadrupeds must migrate in search of water, were it not for this vegetable production. The traveller, who passes through those sultry regions, is frequently attracted by its singular appearance, and by the number of birds, that fly in and out among the branches. On drawing near, he observes a small bag, shaped like a pitcher at the foot stalk of each leaf, furnished with a neatly fitted lid, and having a kind of hinge that passes over the handle of the pitcher, and connects it with the leaf. This hinge is a strong fibre, which contracts in showery weather, and when the dew falls. Numerous little goblets, filled with sweet fresh water are thus held forth, and afford a delightful draught to such small animals, as climb the branches, and to a variety of winged creatures. They hear the pattering of the heavy rain-drops, on the dry leaves, while sheltered in their hiding-places, and when the rain is sufficiently abated, forth they come, and refresh themselves at every open cup. It is delightful to see them thus employed, and the pitcher plant is sometimes almost covered with these thirsty creatures: some drinking eagerly, others lifting up their little bills between each sip, as if grateful for the refreshing draught. But no sooner has the cloud passed by, and the warm sun shone forth, than the heated fibre begins to expand, and closes the goblet so firmly, as even to prevent evaporation. This is a beautiful, and prospective contrivance. The quadruped, bird, or insect, has had sufficient time to quench its thirst, for the heavens do not immediately become clear, and when the goblet is filled with dew, some time must necessarily elapse before the warmth of the sun is felt. But the plant also requires refreshment; rain drops

soon trickle from the arid place, in which it grows, and the nightly dews are insufficient to refresh the sloping side of its assigned locality. The pitchers, therefore, are essential to its preservation, and a sufficient quantity of fluid is preserved by the gradual contraction of the lid. As long, too, as the lid stands open, the slender bill, the proboscis, or the tongue can be readily thrust in, but as it gradually contracts, this is of course precluded; but, then, lest any poor thirsty creature should arrive late, or remain unsatisfied in the crowd, such pitchers, as are covered with leaves, remain much longer open, and it is probable that some never close at all. We may also remark that neither one, nor two, nor even ten large pitchers are assigned to each plant, but that every leaf-stalk has its own. Hence every leaf receives a necessary supply of moisture through tubes that communicate, like syphons, with its absorbing vessels. I scarcely know a single instance in which a wonderful adaptation of one part to another; of one vegetable to the animals that surround it, is more clearly evinced than in this unassuming plant.

Now if the leaves were broad like those of the common chesnut, or the coltsfoot, neither rain, nor dew could reach the pitchers: but instead of this, they slope upwards: therefore when the lid is open, the pitcher soon fills, and to its brimming goblet innumerable winged creatures eagerly resort. The insect has a long proboscis, with which to sip up the moisture; the bird introduces its narrow bill; but if the insect or bird had instead of these, mouths constructed like a fish, and those peculiar tongues, which distinguish aquatic natures, considerable difficulty would arise, and the pitcher be often broken in the endeavour to procure a sip. We may also fairly assume that the little quadrupeds, which resort thither, are furnished