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The divine law, the divine favor, has made us not merely secure, but, as it were, sacred from the injuries of men; nor would seem to have brought this darkness upon us so much by inducing a dimness of the eyes, as by the overshadowing of heavenly wings; and not unfrequently is wont to illumine it again, when produced by an inward and far surpassing light."

llilton.

A THRIFTY WALKING-STICK.

When the old Laird of Dumbiedikes gave to his son the memorable injunction, "Jock when ye hae nae thing else to do, ye may be aye sticking in a tree; it will be growing Jock, when yo're sleeping," his advice had a deep significance, which few are wise enough to profit by. The sound philosophy of the precept was vividly brought to our mind, a day or two since, by the sight of a big apple, the history of which is fit " to point a moral or adorn a tale." Some four or five years ago, a lad, passing an orchard when the proprietor was thinning out and trimming his tree<>, picked up a very slender sapling, which had been thrown away to serve as a temporary walking-stick. Having used it for4his purpose, ho carelessly stuck it in the ground when he returned home, and left it, thinking no more of the circumstance. There it remained undisturbed until it took root, and there it is still, being now a flourishing tree, in bearing condition, producing Astrachan apples, a noble specimen of which, of this season's growth, brought to us by the young man, has suggested this article. Is not this occurrence a striking illustration of the wisdom of the suggestion of the old Scotch Laird ?—Salem Register.

Think how many times thou hast been mistaken in thy own judgment; and learn, by that experience, not to be positive and obstinate.

BEWAHE OF SLIGHTING ANYTHING USEFUL.

To beware of slighting anything, on account of it- supposed insignificance, is the grand precaution for those who would pleasantly and profitably study nature ; but there are a few others. We must not abstain from the examination of anything on account of the ignorant having a prejudice against it. It has been already said, that no production of nature is ugly ; and it may be added, that when we are properly acquainted with them, none of the productions of nature are injurious. It is true, that there are some that would poison us, if we ate them; others would burn the body, if they came in contact with it; and others, again, offend, and even waste and wear our organs of sense. But it is our own fault, if we allow them to produce any of these bad effects. We need not swallow

arsenic, be bitten by rattlesnakes, offended by the sight of toads or neuts, or sickened by noxious effluvia. We should find out their properties, and shun those that are hurtful, at the same time that we turn to advantage those that are beneficial. Deadly as the white oxide of arsenic is when taken into the human stomach, arsenic, used for proper purposes, is a highly valuable substance. Some of its oxides are beautiful paints, others give purity to glass, hardness to the metal of printing types and the mirrors of telescopes ; and even the deadly poison itself is the most effectual remedy in some diseases. Prussic acid, again, which in certain states is a more deadly poison, perhaps, than even arsenic, is not only in other states a valuable medicine, as well as a most essential ingredient in some of the roost grateful tastes and odors, but it is highly probable that it tends as much, and perhaps more than any other substance in nature, to produce the colors of those flowers which render the fields and the gardens so gay. These are, no doubt, extreme cases ; but they are cases to the purpose; and with them before us, we must learn not to have an aversion to, or to despise, any one of nature's productions, until we can be sure that we know all its properties and all the purposes that it will answer. And as that is a degree of knowledge at which we never can arrive, it is tantamount to saying, that we should never despise, or cease further to examine, any natural object whatsoever; because, even in the most common and neglected one, there may be properties more really useful than those of that upon which we, with our present knowledge, whatever the extent of that knowledge may be, set the highest value. There was a time, when people little dreamed that common coal might be made to circulate in pipes like water, and light up streets, roads, and dwellings, and yet be nearly as serviceable as ever for common fires, and more serviceable in all cases where smoke is objectionable; and there was also a time when, if any one had said that the elements of water, mixed in the same proportion in which they form that liquid, could, by being burned from the state of two separate airs to the state of liquid water, produce about the most intense heat that could be produced, the statement would have been treated as the dream of a distempered imagination. There are innumerable cases, too, in which that which has for centuries been thrown away as the refuse, has, upon further discovery, been found to bo the most valuable part of the whole composition. The ore of zinc, which, united with copper, forms brass, used to be considered as an useless incumbrance by the miners in several parts of the country. Th<> bones of meat, which were once scattered both unsightly and unprofitably over the waste places, are now, in consequence of a few very simple discoveries, made probably more valuable, weight for weight, than the meat itself; and the very dost and rubbish of the houses, which, in the places where it collects, is absolute filth, is found very serviceable in many of the arts, so that large fortunes are made by people who collect it at their own expense. It is scarcely possible to turn one's attention to any one branch of industry in which there shall not be found some substance of the greatest importance and value, which used on former occasions to be despised. Therefore, as we must beware of neglecting small things, so also we must not refrain from observing and examining any thing, though tbat thing may be neglected or despised, or even derided; for a thing, which is any or all of these, may contain the substance of the most valuable discovery that is possible for us to make. There is no substance and no event independent and of itself alone. They belong to the great family of nature and the vast succession of appearances; and whatever their aspects may be to our mere gaze, they may have a long tale to tell of the past, and a most important revelation to make of the future. To the unreflecting observer the chalky cliffs of Kent, with their dispersed nodules of flint, may seem very dull and senseless instructors ; and yet those beds of chalk have once been sea shells, and those flints have once been sponges ; so that the two together tell us that those very cliffs, which now stand beetling over the ocean, must at some period or other have been far below its surface. Indeed, there is not a substance with which we meet, or an appearance that can strike any of the senses, but which, if we will hear it, has got an interesting story; and whether we visit places thickly tenanted with animals, places thickly planted with vegetables, the barren wilds, the ocean shores, the wide expanse of its waters, or the wastes of drifting sand,—nay, even if we could mount up from the earth altogether, and visit the region of clouds, we should find enough to exercise all our observation, occupy all our thoughts, and gratify and delight us to the full measure of our capacity for enjoyment. We speak of the waste and the wilderness; but, in truth, there are none such in nature: the only deserts in creation are human senses which do not observe, and a human mind which cannot compare and think.

Popular- Guide.

HOLLAND ABOLITION OF SLAVERY.

The Government of Holland are about to present the States General a Bill for the abolition of slavery in the West Indies—that is, in the Antilles and Dutch Guiana. The slaveholders are to receive an indemnity, and the expense is estimated at rather more than £2,720,000.

Be industrious, and difficulties will give place. Use makes practice easy; and practice

begets custom, and a habit of things, to facilitate what thou couldst not conceive attainable at the first undertaking.

From the New York Evening Post.
THE MOKAL OF THE TIMES.

In times of trouble and disaster, all our selfish instino:saie first awakened to activity. This is apt to be the case with the most disinterested, so long as they see the means of guarding themselves and their own firesides from impending harm. It is not till they find that the storm of desolation can be stayed by no human hand, and is liable at any moment to sweep over them, that they lift up their eyes and follow the lightning's shaft to the hand that directs it. Then our selfish impulses give way to more generous; emotions; we find ourselves involuntarily drawn towards our fellow-sufferers by the ties of a common brotherhood, and bow reverently to dispensations which prove in the end, to all rightthinking men, blessings in disguise.

There is much in the present state of affairs in the financial world to move our sympathy, and there is much to arouse our selfish impulses. So many and such great changes of fortune as have occurred within the last month have rarely, if ever before, been witnessed in this country. While it was supposed that the range of the storm was circumscribed, so long as the wary and the wealthy believed they could keep beyond its reach, they>natura!ly flattered themselves that they had been more prudent, and perhaps more deserving, than their unfortunate neighbors. This complacency on the one hand, and precautions for their own security on the other, left them little time, and less inclination, to concern themselves much about the troubles of others. Presently the cloud, which was no bigger than a man's hand, covers the whole horizon with its darkness. No one can any longer comfort himself with the assurance that he is beyond the reach of its accumulating terrors. The wise man begins to realize his weakness; he is ashamed of his harsh judgments of others, and his too flattering judgments of his own wisdom and goodness ; his indifference about the troubles of others, which he might have relieved, and did not, fill his heart with remorse. The curtain of selfishness which bounded his vision seems to be suddenly drawn aside, and he discovers for the first time how little he has had, himself, to do with the accumulation of property upon which he has presumed so much; how it may have been sent to him for the very purpose of being taken from him again under circumstances like these, and as the best means of revealing to him a sense of his daily dependance upon Providence and upon his fellow-man. Looked at from this point of view, who shall speak of the recent breaking up of the great deep of commercial credit as a calamity? Who knows how many, in consequence of it, will experience for the first time the enduring pleasure of obeying a generous impulse, and of sacrificing a selfish one? Who knows how many it will teach to think moderately of their own achievements, and judge leniently the short-comings of the less successful? How many will learn from it, what they never experienced before, that the acquisition of wealth is neither a test of a man's merits, nor any security for his happiuess. Can any one doubt that this crisis will develop in many a higher morality, a more enlarged and comprehensive benevolence, a more watchful domestic economy, less ostentatious habits of life, and a corresponding respect for those whose obscure and humble lives may have been teaching the inattentive world amund them, from infancy, how little tho splendid fortunes, which we spend toilsome lives in accumulating, contribute to our goodness or to our happiness?

What, after all, is the loss about which we make so much ado? The money or the property, for the want of which so many fail, is not lost. The absolute losses—such as occur, for example, by fire and shipwreck—have been less for the last six months than usual. The wealth of the country is merely changing hands. Some of those who had it, perhaps, will be fetter off without it; some will be benefitted by the trial which their pride or their vanity will experience from losing it; it will unite many domestic circles which wordly influences were separating, and it may remove unsuspected temptations from the path of young people who were not prepared to resist them. On the other hand, there are those in the lowlier walks of life who require the discipline of prosperity. The lessons of adversity may have been lost upon them. Their hard hearts may require to be broken, as the eagle is said sometimes to break the shell of the tortoise by beariug it high into the air, and then letting it fall upon tho rocks. Shall we murmur at this dispensation till we know, better than , man possibly can know, how nearly and deeply we may all be interested in the results which are to come from it?

The unexampled prosperity of this country, and the prompt reward which every species of intelligent industry commands here, have made Americans the most conceited and self-reliant people upon the face of the earth. So far as this self-reliance has emancipated us from the tyranny of traditions, and has begotten habits of independent thinking, it has served a great, we believe a Divine purpose. But it has long fulfilled that purpose, and for some years past we have been growing, as a nation, grasping, arrogant, quarrelsome, indifferent to international obligations, and tolerant of private as well as public fraud. It requires something more than self-confidence to produce an elevated national charaoter. Our conceit may help to

rid us of other people's errors, but not of our own.

Being in a measure rid of the faults which, as a nation, we inherited or were taught, it is now time that we make war upon our own; and we can conceive of no lesson more efficacious for that purpose than that we are now receiving. All our past follies are coming to light; the great men of the Exchange, to whom we bowed with a selfish idolatry, are proving to be but wooden images; the powers that we were accustomed to regard as irresistible, crumble up like paper in the fire. Nothing proves in these times to be strong, but the virtues which as a nation we have most neglected to cultivate. Their value is being proved and vindicated, and we already begin to see the fruits of it. We witness every day striking instances of forbearance and consideration for each other's troubles among commercial men. They are less disposed to judge hastily, even where there is room for censure, while multitudes spend their whole time in doing what thry can to relieve and assist their less fortunate acquaintances. There are ineii of wealth among us, who go about quietly doing good in this way, like nurses in an hospital, by night and by day, who but for some such crisis would never purhaps have revealed their own noble attributes to others, nor would they hare learned how much better and truer hearts than they had ever suspected arc beating around them.

MORTALITY.

Oh! why should the spirit of mortal be proud?
Like a fast flitting meteor, a fast flying cloud,
A flash of the lightning, a break of the wave,
He passes from life, to his rest in the grave.

The leaves of the oak, and the willow may fade,
Be scattered around, and together be laid,
And the young and the old, and the low, and the high,
Shall moulder to dust and together shall lie.

The child whom a mother attended and loved,
The mother that infant's affection who proved,
The husband that mother and infant who blest,
Each, all, are away to the dwelling of rest.

The maid on whose cheek, on whSse brow, in whose eye,

Shone beauty, and pleasure—her triumphs were high, And the memory ■of those who have loved her, and praised,

Are alike from the mind of the living erased.

The hand of the king, that the sceptre hath borne,
The brow of the priest, that the mitre hath worn,
The eye of the sage, and the hearc of the brave
Are hidden and lost in the depths of the grave.

The peasant, whose lot was to sow and to reap;
The herdsman, who climbed with his goats to the
steep;

The beggar that wandered in search of his bread,
Have faded away like the grass that we tread.

The saint, that enjoyed the communion of Heaven;
The sinner, that died with his sins unforgiven j
The wise, and the foolish, the guilty, and just,
Have quietly mingled their bones with the dust.

So the multitude go, the flower and the weed,
That wither away, to let others succeed;
So the multitude comes, who are those we behold,
To repeat every tale that hath often been told.

For we are the same things that our fathers have been,
And we see the same sights that our fathers have seen,
We drink the same stream, and we feel the same sun,
And we run the same course that our fathers have
run.

The thoughts we are thinking, our fathers would
think;

From the death we are shrinking from they too would
shrink;

To the life we are clinging to, they too would cling,
But it speeds to the death like a bird on the wing.

They loved—but their story we cannot unfold j
They scorned—but the heart of the haughty is cold;
They grieved—but no wail from their slumbers may
come;

They joyed—but the voice of their gladness is dumb.
They died—ay, they died! and we, things that are
now,

Who walk on the turf that lies over^their brow,
Who make in their dwellings a transient abode,
Meet the changes they met on their pilgrimage road.

Yea, hope and despondence, and pleasure and pain,
Are mingled together like sunshine and rain;
And the smile, and the tear, and the song, and the
dirge,

Still follow each other, like surge upon surge.

'Tis the twink of an eye—'tia the draught of a breath,
From the blossom of life, to the paleness of death;
From the gilded saloon, to the bier and the shroud,
O ! why should the spirit of mortal be proud?

Self-denying, single-hearted, not for selfish ends thou j wrought—

I Just the simple truth, the kernel straight in everything thou sought,

Holdina fast the Faith sustaining, on thy rock of Duty firm,

Thou upheld thine own convictions, fearing never

man, the worm. I Not for thee a form unmeaning, only kept that men may laud,

Thou wast called to preach the freedom which befit

teth sons of God I
So thou blessed the world in walking bravely in thy
line of light,

Leaving unto God the issue of thy warfare for the
Right.

And thou lived with us in sweetness, frank and genial-
as a child,

Keeping still the morning freshness and the loving spirit mild.

But there came a change of sadness—failing Btrength

and trembling knee— And thou leaned on us, dear father, who had leaned

so long on thee I Self-forgetting, still thy spirit throbbed for bowed

and suffering man, While thy dear (ace grew yet paler, and more slow

the life-tide ran. Meekly thou accepted sickness; thou had worked

while it was day; And from all the years behind thee, memories sweet

came round thy way, And the peace of God divinely o'er thy thankful spirit rolled.

While the faithful Hand thou'd trusted led thee gently to the lold.

MY FATHER'S BIRTHDAY.

BY ANN rRESTOH.

'Tis again our father's birthday I changed, how

changed from birthdays eld, Blessed in other sunny harvests, crowned with sheaves

and waves of gold. Still the summer air is laden with the fragrant breath

of hay.

Still the rustling grain is ripening through the long and quiet day;

Birds and breezes still are singing olden songs in household trees,

And, from farm to farm outringing, sounds of gongs are blent with these;

But they call not thee, dear father, to thy place the board beside—

Summoned to another table—gathered with the sanctified;

And of all the kindred faces which around thee daily drew,

With their love, and hope, and gladness, here, to-day, are only two.

Backward, past the buried summers, have I gone in

thought to-day, Gone where Hope, the Morning Singer, chanted wild

her early lay: And along the years, O fother, firm and wise, and

just and mild, Was thy presence as a shelter dear and ample to thy

child;

There thy strong heart bore our burdens, there thy

smile and tone remain, Sweet as when thy words of soothing strangely chased

away our pain.

Oh! the sweets of many Hayings o'er yon meadow float away,

And the hearts of olden summers tremble in these

leaves to-day, On these green fields dearer beauty from thy virtues

has been cast— Unto us the ground seems holy over which thy feet

have passed.

Darkness is not left behind thee, for we know the just man's way,

As a shining light still shinetb more and more to perfect day!

Loving more, and more uplifted grow we for our sainted dead;

Blooms immortal here are watered by the tears which

love has shed. Oh! we deal with things eternal—earth is lighted from

above;

Sorrows, mysteries, wrongs, and changes, quench not

Beauty, Truth and Love?
For the rich celestial sweetness good men leave where

they have trod: , For my father boused from tempest, bless I Thee, my

'father's God.

COCO PALM.
(Concluded from page 495.)

Of course there are many varieties of coeu palms. Some of the dwarf kinds are not much bigger than umbrellas. Several varieties are not good to eat. There are spherical cocos, and needle cocos, distinguished by peculiarities iu the forms of the nuts. Difference of color mark other races of cocos (the words races, breeds, varieties, and sometimes, I may say, by the way, species, are synonymes), and thore arc red, black,

and brahma colored cocos:—the brahma color being the color of the complexions of the Hindoo caste of Brahma.

Many new observations are needed to explain the circumstances of soil and climate which produce the varieties of the coco-palm. The tendency which there is in all the forms of life to transmit and perpetuate peculiarities once acquired, is one of the great laws of physiology. The application of the great principles of physiology, however, to unveil the secrets of the lives of the coco-palms, their circulation, respiration, secretions, and races, remains to be made. Unluckily we are likely to have to wait some time for this application, as there is a decided difference of taste at present between the sciences and the palms respecting climate. The sciences prefer the temperate, and the palms the hot latitudes.

The abortions of the coco-palms, according to the observations of Dr. Charles Iteynaud, occur almost always upon marshy soils. Two nuts sometimes grow under one envelope of fibres. When the nut withers, the husks generally grow largely. Nuts are found which are not longer than a finger length, nor more than an inch thick, and which are of a triangular form. Curiosities are frequently manufactured out of nuts, one side of which has stopped growing, while the other half has grown enough for both. The trunks are, of course, not to be outdone by the nuts in drollery. The trunks sometimes split into two, three, four, and, once upon a time, into thirty trunks. Rumphius saw near Bombarde, a coco-palm which, when it reached the height of about thirty feet, divided into thirty trunks, like the branches of a candelabra. A three-trunked coco-palm was deemed the fatal tree of the Indians inhabiting the mountain called Oud-Keytello, and when it fell suddenly, they ceased fighting the Dutch, saying:

"Our power has fallen with that tree." Tho root?, as usual, however, surpass all these eccentricities. The islanders of the Mauritius, says Dr. Charles Iteynaud, frequently throw the refuse of their fruit in manure heaps over the roots of the coco-palm. A slimy mass is formed, which prevents the rain-water from reaching and nourishing the roots. A green moss then covers the trunk and by-and-by the bark peels off from below upwards, and all the central part of the trunk is transformed into a prodigious quantity of new roots, which cover over the old ones. It is said commonly in these islands that the cocopalm has remounted upon the top of the rubbishheap. The coco-palm has escaped the sullying mass, but it is at the risk of its life. The extraordinary absorption of sap enfeebles the tree for a long time, during which the leaves grow thin, the flowers are sterile, and the fruits are abortive. However, after a time the coco-palm regains something of its pristine vigor, although never recovering all its former solidity, probably

beoause it is hoisted up too high upon an un stable and sandy foundation.

The interest of these displays of vegetal life must not prevent me, however, from pursuing the products of the coco-palm. Coco bonnets are made out of the insides, of the stalks of the leaflets of the leaves, which are stripped off and plaited. The natives of the Sechell Islands used to plait excellent garden hats, which were light, cheap, and pretty. Lacking the impress of European superiority, the prestige of the London and Paris fashions, they were disdained, of course, by the ladies of European origin in the tropics. Coco fans are very curious toys. Although rare in Europe, it costs only about a shilling where it is made. When folded up it is far from having the portability and elegance of the most common European fans : yet it can be carried in the hand, or put in the pocket without inconvenience. The fan is round, and is made of a thin, white, light, and elastic material.

Human industry and ingenuity, which make fans and bonnets of the folioles and stalks, produce a vast variety of useful things from the trunks, leaves, leaflets, fibres, flowers, and fruits. Coco-wood is used to make laths, and roofs for cabins, waterpipes, bridges, scaffoldings, javellins, marqueterie, boats and ships. The boats of the Maldive and Laquedive islands are built by hollowing middle-aged coco-palms, and making flexible planks of them, which are fastened together by coco-ropes, caulked with tow of cocofibre, and pitched with a preparation of coco-oil. The Malays weave the leaflets into sails for their prahus. The sheaths of the leaves of the cocopalms are made into sieves and sacks. The green cocos are placed in these sacks to preserve them from bats. The laborers of Tahiti make coarse clothes out of these sheaths, which they wear when doing rough work. The leaves of the coco-palms are used to thatch cabins. Of the thick stem of the leaf, the Cingalese make oars for their boats, palisades for their little gardens, and the floors, ceilings, and windowsashes of their cabins. When split into little, thin, and spread-out canes, and bound together with thread, they are transformed into mats and curtains. The leaves are the food of the domestic elephants. But this is not all. The Cingalese form beautiful floral arches with the coco-leaves, on the fete-days of their idols. Nor is this all. When burnt the leaves yield the soda which is used in washing linen in Ceylon. The leaflets rival the leaves in usefulness. The woman of Tongu Tabou make combs of the nerves of the leaflets, which they sell to voyagers. They are manufactured into visors, capes, kilts, and paper. The capes consist of a couple of mats to protect the shoulders from the rain. On Palm Sundays the folioles or leaflets of the coco palms are used in the reli

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