Patriot, say not such hopes may die; ON THE PRINCESS VICTORIA'S BIRTHDAY, MAY 24, 1837. BY THE AUTHOR OF "ROSE BUDS RESCUED," LADY, bright hope of royal line, Fair Albion greets thy natal day! She would not soon her throne were thine, Not soon; for soon she could not spare The hand that wields her sceptre free: Long live the king!-thus speeds her prayer;And, sooth, not soon, in love to thee. For, Lady, 'tis a dizzy height, And who may say what storms shall fall? Snares may be rife, and dark the night : God shield thee, Lady, 'midst them all! Then would she not such tender flower Too early life's rough gust should bide; But bloom awhile in sheltered bower, The more to cast its fragrance wide. Yet since in nature's course thy brow Shall one day throb with Queenly care, She antedates the loyal vow, And fondly breathes her patriot prayer. She asks not for thee wider realm Than girds thy patrimonial crown; Ne'er on her bounds the sun goes down. Bright gems and spicy forests glow, And Arctic ice-bound barriers flow. Thrice goodly realms! but light it were To sing in plausive minstrel guise, Her heroes brave, her maidens fair, Her wealth, her arms, her pageantries. Of such oft-chequered frail behest Whose good and ill men scantly know, Heaven knows the brightest and the best; That bright and best may Heaven bestow. But most, fair Peace to deck thy reign; -Lady, be such the high decree ;— With meek Religion's hallowed train And Health, and smiling Liberty. Should strife, which many a realm hath marred On earth fond hearts, thy diadem. To smile as opes a brighter sky, Where kings may reign, nor spurned the slave; Redeemed by no mean agony, To endless life from wintry grave. May children's children crown thy age, Each youth a gem in history's page, Each maiden an Elizabeth. That thus eclipsed full many a name Which long hath crested glory's tide, Alfred or Edward's youthful fame, Or hers who quelled the Armada's pride ; Bards, when they sing of mighty ones, "Our monarchs are Victoria's sons; Nor count fond omen flattery's voice; Princes to reign in love were given; To 'scape earth's crown, and reign in heaven. Patriot, then cheer thy careful brow, Nor vex bright morn with omened knell; Large be thy heart as warm thy vow: Heaven listeth prayer-all shall be well. S. C. W. A BLIND HARPER. THE following is the description which Dr. E. D. Clarke gives of a blind female Harper, of Aberystwith, and of the first effect of the native music of the country upon his feelings. Here we had, for the first time since we entered Wales, the pleasure of hearing the music of the country, in its pure state, from a poor blind female harper. She could speak no English, nor play any English tunes, except Captain Mackintosh and the White Cockade. There was so much native simplicity in her appearance, and the features of sorrow were so visible in her countenance, that no one could behold her unmoved. She was led in by the waiter, dressed after the style of her country women, in a coarse woollen gown, and a hat of black beaver. She had seated herself in a corner of the room, and by an involuntary motion, I drew my chair close to hers. A predilection for Welsh music would alone have disposed me to listen to the harp; but our blind minstrel, with her untaught har mony, called forth all our admiration, and attention became the tribute of pity. When she touched the strings, she displayed all the execution and taste of the most refined master. Her mode of fingering was graceful, light, and elegant; her cadences inexpressibly sweet. We had never before heard such tones from the harp. She ran through all the mazes of Welsh harmony, and delighted us with the songs of the bards of old. She seemed to celebrate the days of her forefathers, and fancy led me to interpret the tenour of her melody. It sung the fall of Llewellyn, and broke forth in a rapid tumultuous movement, expressive of the battles he had fought, and the laurels he had won. All at once she changed the strain; the movement became slow, soft, and melancholy-it was a dirge for the memory of the slaughtered bards, the departed poets of other times. An air was introduced after a momentary pause, which vibrated upon our very heart-strings. With trembling hands, and in a tone of peculiar melody, she told us the sad tale of her own distress. She sung the blessings of light, and portrayed in cadences the sorrows of the blind. Without any support but her harp, deprived of her sight, friendless, and poor, she had wandered from place to place, depending entirely upon the charity of strangers. We were told that she contrived to obtain a decent livelihood by her talents for music nor did we wonder at it, for who can refuse pity to the sufferings of humanity, when the voice of melody breaks forth in its behalf? [BISHOP OTTER's Life of Dr. E. D. Clarke.] WHAT avails all the pomp and parade of life which appear abroad, if, when we shift the gaudy flattering scene, the man is unhappy where happiness must begin, at home! Whatever ingredients of bliss Providence may have poured into his cup, domestic misfortunes will render the whole composition distasteful. Fortune and happiness are two very distinct ideas; however some who have a false idea of life and a wrongness of thinking may confound them.-SEed. YOUNG men in the conduct and management of actions embrace more than they can hold, stir more than they can quiet, fly to the end without consideration of the means and degrees, pursue some few principles which they have chanced upon absurdly, care not to be innovate, which draws unknown inconveniences; use extreme remedies at first, and that which doubleth all errors, wil' not acknowledge or retract them.-BACON. MAGNESIA. It often happens that the commonest things are those of which the least is known. As it is probable that some of our readers, who, from their childhood, have been accustomed to use Magnesia, or to see it used by others, may not have taken the trouble, or may not have had the opportunity, to make themselves acquainted with its origin, and the methods by which it is prepared, we hope the following details will not be unacceptable. Magnesia is usually denominated one of the earths, a definition which, for ordinary purposes, is sufficiently accurate. We shall have occasion, however, to say something more about this in a future paper. The native combinations of Magnesia with other substances, both solid and liquid, are not very numerous, but some of them are very extensively diffused. In the waters of the ocean*, and in those of several mineral springs, it exists in union with sulphuric acid, (oil of vitriol,) and with hydrochloric acid, (spirit of salt.) Combined with the first-mentioned acid, it occurs in some places in a crystallized form, constituting sulphate of magnesia, (Epsom Salt.) Magnesian minerals exhibit peculiar properties. Their colours approach more or less to yellow or green. Only a few of them possess any lustre; and to the touch most of them appear of a soft, or, more properly, of a soapy texture, whence one variety has received the name of soapstone. Magnesian Limestone, called also Dolomite, is the form in which Magnesia exists as a mineral product in the greatest abundance. It consists chiefly of lime and magnesia, in variable proportions, combined with carbonic acid, and which are hence called carbonates. Some of its varieties, as obtained in the northern counties of England, yield from 25 to 40 per cent. of carbonate of magnesia. A native carbonate has been found in Piedmont, Moravia, the East Indies, and at New Jersey, in America. At the latter place, and at Unst, in one of the Shetland Isles, Magnesia has been discovered in a state of greater purity than any of those previously mentioned; it is called native hydrate of magnesia, which means that it is composed of Magnesia chemically combined with water. This curious mineral is of a greenish colour, and its structure is soft and lamellated, that is, consisting of thin layers or flakes. The Magnesia known in commerce, and so generally used as medicine, is of two kinds; one is called common, and the other best, or, more properly, calcined Magnesia. For the first of these the more correct name is carbonate of Magnesia; but this, although sufficiently descriptive of its character for any practical purpose, is not perfectly accurate. Carbonate of Magnesia is usually prepared by the mutual decomposition of sulphate of Magnesia (Epsom Salt) and carbonate of Potash (Pearlash), or of Soda, (common Soda.) The latter salt is generally preferred, on account of its being obtained in a purer form than the Potash. The process may be thus described;-six parts, by weight, of carbonate of soda, and five parts of sulphate of magnesia, are separately dissolved in five or six times their respective weights of boiling water. The two liquids are then mixed, and carbonate of Magnesia is precipitated. The solution must be boiled for a short time, after which it is suffered to cool, and the magnesia separated from it by drawing off the superabundant liquor, and by filtration. It is then repeatedly * See Saturday Magazine, Vol. X., p. 156. washed with pure water, dried, and made into small cubes, such as may often be seen in show-glasses in druggists' windows. Suppose we now, in a very plain way, go through some parts of this process again, in our remarks on it laying aside, as much as possible, scientific terms. We shall be thus particular about what may to some persons appear as a very trifling matter, because it supplies us with a beautiful example of chemical agency, its interest being rather heightened than otherwise, in consequence of the substances operated on being so well known. Into a wine-glass let us put about half a teaspoonful of soda, having first pulverized it, that is, reduced it to a powder. Into another glass we must put a similar quantity (say rather less,) of Epsom salt, and then upon each of these substances pour three or four tea-spoonsful of boiling water, stirring the contents of each glass until the whole is dissolved. The respective liquids should now be mixed, and on doing so, we shall perceive that, although previously quite transparent, the instant they are united, the mixture becomes turbid; this is occasioned by the formation of carbonate of magnesia, which, as the liquid cools, will subside to the bottom of the glass. The liquid in the glass being carefully poured off, let its place be supplied with cold water; this is for the purpose of washing the magnesia, and must be repeated, at intervals of about a quarter of an hour each, three or four times. The magnesia may now be put upon a piece of linen or paper, and dried, when it will be found, in every respect, to resemble that which is prepared on the large scale. The changes which have been effected by the mode of operating here described, next claim our attention. Soda, it must be recollected, is called carbonate of soda, because it is composed of soda and carbonic acid. In like manner Epsom salt has received the name of sulphate of magnesia, inasmuch that it is formed by the union of magnesia and sulphuric acid. These two substances being dissolved in hot water, and their solutions mixed, the following curious transformations take place. Carbonic acid having a greater affinity for magnesia than it has for soda, under the circumstances just mentioned, it leaves the latter, and unites with the former, constituting carbonate of magnesia, whose presence is indicated by its rendering the liquid turbid. But before this change can have taken place in the character of the magnesia, it must have been separated from the sulphuric acid with which it was previously combined. Now, as it is impossible for us to conceive of what actually takes place in a process which seems instantaneous, we must be content with supposing that whether the sulphuric acid is first displaced to make way for the carbonic acid, or whether the carbonic acid is the first to move, yet no confusion occurs. The results teach us that the sulphuric acid leaves the magnesia and combines with the soda, for if the liquid holding it in solution were evaporated, we should obtain from it sulphate of soda, (Glauber's salt.) So also the carbonic acid leaves the soda, and unites with the magnesia, and hence the origin of the carbonate of magnesia. It must, of course, be understood, that the respective substances of which we have been speaking combine in certain definite and uniform proportions; so that if there be an excess of either, that will remain unchanged. Carbonate of magnesia is but very sparingly dissolved by water; requiring 2500 times its own weight of cold, or 9000 times its weight of boiling water, for its solution. Calcined magnesia, which is magnesia in its purest form, is obtained by exposing the carbonate for several hours to a strong red-heat, whereby its carbonic acid and a portion of the moisture combined with it is driven off. This process is like that employed in making lime, in which chalk and limestone, which are varieties of the same substance, (carbonate of lime,) being subjected to the action of fire, are rendered caustic. Properly speaking, therefore, calcined magnesia is caustic magnesia. When properly prepared, it is almost tasteless and without odour. It is an exceedingly refractory substance, that is, it resists a great degree of heat; but when combined with other substances, it assists their fusibility. Magnesia possesses most, if not all, the characteristics common to alkaline bodies; especially that of forming with acids neutral salts. These are distinguished by their peculiarly bitter flavour, of which we have an instance in one already mentioned, namely, sulphate of magnesia. When exposed to the atmosphere, magnesia absorbs both moisture and carbonic acid, thus returning again to its former condition of a carbonate; hence the necessity for keeping it in closely-stopped bottles. Its affinity for water is not, however, very energeticnot to be compared, for instance, with that of lime. On being moistened, the former exhibits scarcely any increase of temperature. The effect of water on caustic, or, as it is commonly called, quick, lime, is so well known as to require no description. To dissolve calcined magnesia requires rather more than 5000 times its weight of cold, or 36,000 times its weight of boiling, water. Magnesia is eminently useful as a medicine, correcting acidity and operating as a mild aperient. It may be safely given to children even when very young. It often happens, however, that magnesia, like some other family medicines, as they are termed, is taken in considerable quantities without the exercise ⚫ of that discrimination on which both its usefulness and its efficacy depend. For correcting acidity, for heartburn, and symptoms of a similar kind, calcined magnesia is most proper. As an aperient, the carbonate may be beneficially employed. We believe, as a general rule, it will be found that double the quantity of the latter is required to produce the same effect as the calcined. Some persons are in the habit of taking magnesia on almost every occasion when they experience unpleasant sensations. This is a practice which ought not to be persevered in, as cases have occurred in which its long-continued use has been attended by the formation of large concrete masses of magnesia in the bowels of the patients. PROVIDENCE has gifted man with reason; to his reason, therefore, is left the choice of his food and drink, and not to instinct, as among the lower animals: it thus becomes his duty to apply his reason to the regulation of his diet; to shun excess in quantity, and what is noxious in quality; to adhere, in short, to the simple and the natural; among which the bounty of his Maker has afforded him an ample selection: and beyond which if he deviates, sooner or later, he will suffer the penalty.-Prout. Ir misery be the effect of virtue, it ought to be reverenced; if of ill-fortune, to be pitied; and if of vice, not to be insulted; because it is, perhaps, itself a punishment adequate to the crime by which it was produced; and the humanity of that man can deserve no panegyric who is capable of reproaching a criminal in the hands of the executioner.JOHNSON. PRINTING FOR THE BLIND. A FEW years ago the only subsitute in the institution for PRINTING FOR THE BLIND, was the ingenious but inconvenient system of figuring on twine. Subsequently, books printed in relief, from angular types, were introduced by Mr. Gall of Edinburgh. Both of these systems, notwithstanding their respective difficulties, were mastered by the inmates of the institution, whose habits of attention overcome obstacles which a theorist would consider insurmountable. Mr. Gall's invention was a great step in advance in this kind of literature, and it does credit to his ingenuity and perseverance; but it partakes of the disadvantage common, with the exception we are about to state, to all the systems hitherto proposed for the literary education of the blind-a disadvantage arising from the mistaken notion that a unique and arbitrary character was indispensable to the object in view. Mr. Alston, the Treasurer to the Glasgow Asylum, has for some time been trying the practicability of a system as remarkable for its simplicity and adaptation to the wants of the blind, as the others have been found to be complex and inoperative. Every new experiment he made was tested by the blind themselves, and the result of the whole has been most satisfactory. We may also mention here, that the Rev. Mr. Taylor of York, to whom the Society of Arts in Edinburgh submitted the specimens of the arbitrary characters sent to them by competitors for their medal, recommended to the Society just such a system as Mr. Alston was preparing, and to which Mr. Taylor has since given his unqualified recommendation. Mr. Alston's system is simply to print in relief the capitals of the ordinary Roman character, without any arbitrary marks whatever; and we are happy to announce that he has now added to the other improvements of the Glasgow Asylum for the Blind, a beautiful fount of types, and a printing-press, which will very soon supply this and kindred institutions with the Scriptures and other books, in a character which can be read by the touch of the blind, with little less fluency than by the eyes of the seeing! To afford a practical example of the entire fitness of this admirable invention to the instruction of the Blind, a meeting was recently held in the Asylum, when the children gave specimens of their reading from portions of St. MATTHEW's Gospel, and the book of RUTH, printed at the Institution Press. The ease with which the children perused the passages pointed out to them at random, and their promptness in announcing chapter and verse, called forth the warmest admiration. Still further to exemplify the extreme practicability of the system, and that the facility with which the children read was not the result of previous conning, the Chairman wrote a sentence, which was carried to the printer, put in type, and copies thrown off for the use of the com pany. This was placed in the hands of the blind children, who, unassisted, read aloud the sentence at once. It is gratifying to observe the pleasure with which the poor blind children have received Mr. A's books -one of them remarked that he would now be able to read the inscriptions on the grave-stones in the church-yard. Acting on this hint, Mr. Alston despatched a number of his children to read the epitaphs in the High Church burying-ground, in which they amply succeeded. A little blind girl pleased the company very much by playing on the fine-toned piano forte presented by the ladies to the institution, -the privilege of performing upon which is reserved for the highest excellence in the Asylum POPULAR LEGENDS AND FICTIONS. IX. SUPERSTITIONS OF THE WELSH. THE Welsh peasantry are highly superstitious; living as they do, in so rude and secluded a country, and amidst scenery so wild and imposing, divers strange phantasies have been handed down from father to son, which have influenced their imagination, more or less, according to the intensity of the impression produced upon their minds. The inhabitants, indeed, of all pastoral and mountainous countries are more generally affected with superstition, than those who dwell in plains, and well-cultivated regions. That the scenery of a country has a considerable influence upon the habits of the natives, is indisputable. Hence it appears that the dispositions and general character of mountaineers are more hardy, robust, hospitable, and impetuous, than those of lowlanders; and their imaginations— Darkened by their native scenes, Create wild images and phantoms dire, Strange as their hills, and gloomy as their storms. This is particularly exemplified in the mountaininhabitants of our own island; and more especially in the Scottish highlander, and the Welsh mountaineer, to both of whom certain superstitious customs and opinions are peculiar, although resembling each other very considerably in their general outline. In the retired and pastoral counties of Merioneth and Caernarvon, there is scarcely a glen, a wood, or a mountain, that has not its due quota of fairies and spirits; and every district in North Wales, can boast of no scanty number of supernatural inhabitants. But of all the popular superstitions prevalent among the Welsh, their idea of fairies is the most poetical; at all events, it is the most ancient. In Wales there appear to have been two distinct species of fairies; the one sort, of gentle manners, and well-disposed toward the whole human race; the other, maliciously inclined, and full of mischievous sportiveness. The former is denominated Tylwyth Tég, or the Fair Family; the latter, Ellyllin, Elves, or Goblins. The Tylwyth Tég are a mild and diminutive race, leading a life completely pastoral, and befriending fond and youthful lovers, pretty dairymaids, and hospitable and industrious housewives. They are the inspirers of pleasing dreams, and the assiduous encouragers of virtue and benevolence; and never fail to reward the faithful servant, or the affectionate child. But the most prominent attributes and pastimes of this gentle race are sweetly set forth in the following stanzas, the production of a gentleman, whose name has frequently been rendered subservient to the best interests of the principality : CAN Y TYLWYTH TEG; OR, THE FAIRIES' SONG. From grassy blades, and fenny shades, Now day declines, bright Hesper shines, From noonday pranks and thymy banks, For our's the joy, that cannot cloy, And mortals cannot share. The light-latched door, the well-swept floor, The blaze so clear, the water near, The pleasant circling seat, And day shall haste to tinge the east, But first I'll creep where mortals sleep, And form the blissful dreams; I'll hover near the maiden dear, That keeps the hearth so clean : Shall bless her longing arms. And flowers their fragrance shed; In jocund pairs advance, No voice be mute, and each shrill flute, When morning breaks, and man awakes, His empire of the day. Who does not admire the beautiful instruction which is so pleasingly conveyed in this credulity? In a country so completely pastoral as Wales, something more than the sage precepts of mere experience and wisdom was necessary to inculcate in the minds of the people the more homely virtues adapted to their condition; and hence even superstition was rendered subservient to the purpose, in a manner at once mild, persuasive, and impressive. Thus, it is a common opinion, in many parts of the principality, that if, on retiring to rest, the cottage-hearth is made clean, the floor swept, and the pails left full of water, the fairies will come at midnight to a spot thus prepared for their reception, continue their harmless revels till day-break, sing the well-known strain of Toriad y Dydd, or the dawn of day-leave a piece of money upon the hearth, and disappear. The suggestions of intellect and the salutary precautions of prudence are easily discernible under this fiction: a safety from fire in the neatness of the hearth,-a provision for its extinction in the replenished pails, and a motive to perseverance and industry in the expected boon. Like the popular superstitions of Germany, there is always more or less of moral in the Fairy Tales of the Welsh, and the following curious narrative, related by Giraldus Cambrensis, was probably held forth as a warning against stealing. It affords also a good idea of the popular opinion of the manners and customs of the Tylwyth Tég of the twelfth century. A short time before our days, a circumstance worthy of note occurred in those parts, (Neath, in Glamorganshire,) which Elidorus, a priest, most strenuously affirmed, had befallen himself. When a youth about twelve years of age, in order to avoid the severity of his preceptor, he ran away, and concealed himself under the hollow bank of a river; and after fasting, in that situation, for two days, two little men, of pigmy stature, appeared to him, and said, "If you will go with us we will lead you into a country of delights and sports." Assenting, and rising up, he followed his guides, at first through a path, subterraneous and dark, into a most beautiful country, murky, however, and not illuminated with the full light of the sun. All the days were cloudy, and the nights extremely dark. The boy was brought before the king, and introduced to him in the presence of his court, when, having examined him for a long time, to the great admiration of the courtiers, he delivered him to his son, who was then a boy. These people were of the smallest stature, but very well proportioned, fair complexioned, with long hair, par ticularly the females, who wore it flowing over their shoulders. They had horses and hounds adapted to their size. They neither ate fish nor flesh, but lived, for the most part, on milk and saffron. As often as they returned from our hemisphere, they reprobated our ambition, infidelities, and inconstancies; and though they had no form of public worship, they were, it seems, strict lovers and reverers of truth, for no one was so utterly detested by them as a liar. The boy frequently returned to our world, sometimes by the way he had gone, sometimes by others; at first in company and afterwards alone, making himself known only to his mother, to whom he described what he had seen. Being desired by her to bring her a present of gold, with which that country abounds, he stole, while at play with the king's son, a golden ball, with which he used to divert himself, and brought it in haste to his mother: but not unpursued, for, as he entered the house, he stumbled at the threshold, let his ball drop, which two pigmies seized, and departed, showing the boy every mark of contempt and derision. Notwithstanding every attempt for the space of a whole year, he never again could discover the track to the subterraneous passage; but after suffering many misfortunes, he did, at length, succeed in securing his intimacy with the mysterious race. THE ELLYLLIN, OR MISCHIEVOUS SPRITES. As the Tylwyth Tég usually fixed their abodes in “grassy shades," and on sunny knolls, so the Ellyllin frequented the rock and the mountain; and woe betide the luckless wight who encountered those merry and mischievous sprites in a mist for they had a very inconvenient practice of seizing an unwary pilgrim, and of hurrying him through the air; first, giving him the option, however, of travelling above wind, under wind, or below wind. If he chose the former, he was borne to the region with which aëronauts are familiar; if the latter, he had the full benefit of all the brakes, briers, and bogs in his way his reiterated contact with which, seldom failed to terminate in his discomfiture. Experienced travellers, therefore, always kept in mind the prudent advice of Apollo to Phaëton, (in medio tutissemus,) and selected the middle course, which ensured them a pleasant voyage at a moderate elevation, equally free from the brambles and the clouds. Dafydd ab Gwilym (the British Ovid,) who was contemporary with Chaucer, in a humorous description of his own abduction in one of these unlucky mists, says,— There were in every hollow, A hundred wry-mouthed elves, and proceeds to detail the mishaps which befell him, and which were all, no doubt, relative to the mischievous freaks of the Ellyllin. In addition to these propensities, they were gifted with all the attributes, whatever they may be, of other elves, and never failed to exercise their malicious powers whenever an opportunity occurred. A LETTER. EVERY incident about a letter has something connected with the past, the future, the unseen, the unknown; things the most simple and natural, that touch the tenderest, the sweetest sympathies of our common souls; and things the most awful, mysterious, and sublime, which awaken "the thoughts that travel through eternity," the "feelings that lie too deep for tears.' To a letter belong,-taking it under the most usual circumstances which give birth to documents of this kind—a name, a place, an occasion, and a date. What is the name? That by which an insulated individual (the writer) was known on earth from all his contemporaries; and that by which (speaking after the manner of men) he will be summoned to appear at the bar of God, in the day of judgment, to give an account of the deeds done in the body. What is the place? The locality, where he dwelt for a season, where generations had died before, and generations will live after him, to the end of time. What is the occasion ? One of those daily occurrences, the things that happen to all, of which, in the bulk, we think almost nothing, but which, to each in turn, when the particular application falls upon himself, his family, his friends, his countrymen, or any class of persons to whom he is affectionately allied, or generously attached, may be of more pressing importance while it lasts, than anything else in the world. What is the date? A visible memorial of one of the days of the years of man on the earth, perhaps the only existing register of that particular day, which came in its course, and went, when its errand was accomplished, whither all the days, and years, and ages of time, depart in peace, to await the arrival of that day when its account must be given in before the tribunal of the Judge of quick and dead. The date of such an undistinguished day is also a visible memorial of all that happened within the course of its twenty-four hours to every living man, including whatever he did, or said, or thought, or felt, or suffered. It is more than this; it is a memorial of all that was enjoyed in heaven, endured in hell, or transacted throughout the whole universe of God, in his providence, and in his grace, by Himself or by his creatures; and it is the memorial of a day, which has left upon every day that has succeeded, or shall follow it to the end, eternal influences, which, however unappreciably small or great to finite minds, are yet distinctly estimated by Him, to whom all things are known in their beginnings, connexions, and issues. This may be deemed revery and hallucination by "economists and calculators," who busy themselves wholly with things present and passing; but that man has within him powers and faculties unawakened and unapprehended, who cannot thus, by association, connect himself with all created beings and intelligences, especially those of his own species, of whom he can gain any knowledge by research on earth, or revelation from heaven; through all the things that are seen, discerning tokens and traces of things that are not seen, feeling, meanwhile, that the dignity and value of the former must be precisely in proportion to the relationship which they bear to the latter; for the things which are seen are temporal, but the things which are not seen are eternal.-J. MONTGOMERY. NOTES ON FOREST TREES. No. XV. THE CEDAR OF LEBANON, (Pinus cedrus.) Or the true Cedar there are but two kinds, that figured in our engraving, and the Cedar of India, (Pinus deodara,) but the timber of several other trees bears the name of Cedar in commerce, though improperly. The Cedar of Lebanon is famous for the frequent notice taken of it in the Scriptures; it was considered the emblem of greatness, strength, and prosperity. The righteous shall flourish like a palm-tree; and spread abroad like a cedar of Lebanon. Behold the Assyrian was a cedar of Lebanon, with fair branches, and with a shadowing shroud, and of an high stature; and his top was among the thick boughs, his boughs were multiplied, and his branches became long. The fir-trees were not like his boughs, nor the chestnuttrees like his branches, nor any tree in the garden of God like unto him in heart. H |