extend to the north and south of Loxa, and which is so valuable in intermittent fevers. The discovery of this remedy was owing to one of those occurrences, which men call accidents, but which ought rather to be attributed to the goodness of that Being, who liberally provides for the necessities of his dependent creatures. A heavy gale of wind having blown some Peruvian barktrees into a pool of water, it became so bitter that every one refused to drink it, until one of the neighbouring inhabitants being seized with a violent paroxysm of fever, and finding no other way to quench his thirst, was forced to drink of this, and was in consequence completely cured. He immediately related the circumstance to his friends, many of whom were suffering from the same complaint, and to whom it proved equally efficacious. The use of this excellent medicine was not, however, much known till the year 1638, when a signal cure having been performed by it on the Spanish viceroy's lady, the Countess del Cinchon, at Lima, the Peruvian bark came into great request, and was called the countess's powder. This lady, afterwards, distributed a large quantity to the Jesuits, in whose hands it acquired still greater reputation, and by them was first introduced into Europe.

Witness, also, the Palma Christi, so important in the West Indies. The Quassia of South America, a specific in the malignant endemick fever which frequently prevails at Surinam; and the Ginseng, so valuable in Tartary and China for many of the disorders that are incident to that climate.

We could enlarge much on this interesting portion of our subject, and point out the adaptation of many other forest-trees to the sites they occupy, and to the wants of

man.

But this would lead us too far; we shall, therefore,

briefly notice the admirable construction of the vegetable kingdom, and then pass on.

What a wonderful variety is every where discoverable in this part of the creation. Trees of all shapes, and every variety of use! Some are employed in building, others for household purposes: the timber of one is soft, of another hard; some rise to a commanding height, others creep upon the ground; a considerable number yield valuable fruits; a few, medicine. All have some purpose to fulfil in the great economy of nature.

We may speak also of their structure. The loftiest oak is fixed firmly in the ground by means of roots, which descend far into the earth, and enable it to resist fierce winds, and beating tempests; from out of these ascends the stem, that mighty pillar, which bears up the branches, and presents both leaves and flowers to the sun. Up that stem, and along those branches, and throughout the leaves and flowers, the vessels pass, that convey sap to every part, and nourish the whole tree, by means of their exquisite and varied machinery. What an astonishing combination of cells and vessels! what arrangements! what chemistry, exists in every forest-tree; many of which, during a period of, perhaps, two hundred years, prepare nutritious food, raise the moisture of the earth, to the height of frequently an hundred feet, convey it down again to the root, deposit in the bark, or roots, or leaves, secretions diametrically opposite in their qualities, yet often highly beneficial. They also conceal beneath a rough and hard bark, and inanimate layers of a woody substance, all the movements of organized life. How curious, too, is the mechanism of the leaves and flowers. Every little leaf, which shines and quivers in the sunbeams, is an organ of respiration to the parent

plant, supplying, by means of absorbing vessels, in a great degree, the want of water to the roots; drawing in the atmospheric air, purifying the most obnoxious, and breathing it out again in a state fit for respiration. They are, moreover, defended by a coating from external injury, and enabled, by a curious mechanism, to turn their upper surfaces to the air and light. And how wonderful is the thought, that every branch, and leaf, and even the juices of the tree, swarm with inhabitants, some of which are obvious to the unassisted eye, whilst others are discoverable only by the highest magnifiers; yet all are endowed with life, and motion, capable of pleasure, and susceptible of pain. Beautiful too is the formation of every blossom. Take, for instance, those of the chesnut, or the apple, the cherry, or the pear. How elegant they are, how fragrant, how finely tinted, how perfect in every part; whether we consider the pistil, or the stamens, the anthers, or corolla. All tending to the same ends, that of producing fruit or seeds; the one good for food, the other to preserve and to increase different species of trees, or vegetables. How wonderful is the construction of seeds, and how admirably are they adapted for the purpose to which they are assigned. Some are fitted for taking long voyages, and these grow on trees by the water-side; some are furnished with little wings, and are thus scattered by the autumnal breezes; such as affect a peculiar soil fall directly upon the ground; but if they are so small and light, as to be wafted by the slightest breeze, they are often furnished with one or more hooks, to prevent them from being carried too far. Thus the seeds of the oat have only one hook; those of the agrimony and goosegrass are provided with many. The kernel of the pine has small wings, by which it flutters to the ground; while

others are suddenly thrown out from the capsule, which contains them, by means of a peculiar mechanism. The cocoanut, as it falls from the lofty tree, on which it grows, is heard to a considerable distance; such also is the case with the fruit of the Genessa of the Antilles; while the black pods of the Canneficers, when ripe and agitated by the wind, produce, in clashing one against the other, a sound resembling the tic-tac of a mill. Warned by these sounds, many guests resort thither in quest of a repast: the monkey, and the squirrel, the paroquet, and nutcracker, hasten to the feast, and the fragments are as eagerly sought after, by the numerous little insects that frequent the trunks of high forest trees. The fruit of the genessa is peculiarly grateful to land-crabs. This tree rises to a considerable height; its fruit is consequently inaccessible to them, as they cannot climb; but the difficulty is obviated by its falling to the ground, and they are warned, by the rebounding noise, that their favourite repast is spread. How widely different is the construction of the dandelion, with its broad yellow flower! that gay looking plant, which often grows at the root of the towering genessa, and delights especially in dry and elevated places. Its seeds form a beautiful globe of barbed arrows, which fly off, by the help of the wind, towards the summits of the lofty mountains, which it is designed to embellish. The seeds of the dandelion are far more elegantly constructed than those of the majestic cedar. They are light and buoyant, and borne rapidly by the slightest breeze. A tempest is required in order to bear, to any distance, the cones of the cedar, or the heavy fruit of the majestic cocoa; but the breath of the zephyr is sufficient to sow the seed of the dandelion. This unassuming plant is invaluable to several sinall birds and quadrupeds,

which live principally upon its seeds. It is also salutary to the human species, especially in the spring; and hence our poor neighbours gather its young shoots as a sallad. It universally thrives in dry places; and even in the cracks of pavements; and carpets, says St. Pierre, the court-yards of those deserted mansions, which its goldencoloured blossoms mantle with a luxuriant vegetation. Beautiful they look, and among them occasionally a feathered sphere rises from out a bed of verdure.

We have spoken of green leaves, as organs of respiration to the parent tree; they have also other uses equally important, and illustrative of the manifold purposes which every created thing is designed to answer.

When summer passes by, and the sun declines in the ecliptic; when the night grows cold, and frost begins to whiten the fields, the flowers to close up, and all the summer birds are gone; seeds, scattered by the wind, lie thick upon the ground, into which they are daily drawn by earth-worms, or forced by heavy rains; and innumerable plants require some assistance to defend them from the cold. About this time, leaves, beginning to lose their vital powers, imbibe so much moisture from the atmosphere, that they turn brown, and hence that exquisite variety of intermingling hues, which so vividly diversify an autumnal landscape; but when the nights grow colder these leaves begin to fall.

They lie soft and thick upon the ground, not with a heavy pressure, to crush the feeblest insect, or to bruise the tenderest seed, but light and warm, a sufficient covering for every thing that requires shelter. Leaves, too, are non-conductors of heat, and hence, whatever degree of warmth remains, is rather augmented than diminished;