in that barren situation, it several years ago directed roots down the side of the wall, till they reached the ground ten feet below; and now the nourishment it afforded to those roots during the time of their descending, is amply repaid, having every year, since that time, made vigorous shoots. From the top of the wall to the surface of the earth these roots have not thrown out a single fibre, but are now united in a single root.

Plants, when forced from their natural position, are endowed with the power to restore themselves. A hopplant, twisting round a stick, directs its course from south to west, as the sun does. Untwist it, and tie it in the opposite direction, it dies. Leave it loose in the wrong direction, it recovers its natural direction in a single night. Twist the branch of a tree, so as to invert its leaves, and fix it in that position, if left in any degree loose, it untwists itself gradually, till the leaves be restored to their natural position. What better can an animal do for its welfare? A root of a tree meeting with a ditch in its progress, is laid open to the air. What follows! It alters its course, like a rational being, dips into the ground, surrounds the ditch, rises on the opposite side to its wonted distance from the surface, and then proceeds in its original direction. Lay a wet sponge near a root laid open to the air; the root will direct its course to the sponge. Change the place of the sponge; the root varies its direction. Thrust a pole into the ground at a moderate distance from a climbing plant; the plant directs its course to the pole, lays hold of it, and rises on it to its natural height. A honeysuckle proceeds in its course till it be too long for supporting its weight; and then strenghens itself by shooting into a spiral. If it meet with another plant of the same kind, they coalesce for mutual support, the one screwing to the right, the other to the left. The claspers of briony shoot into a spiral, and lay hold of whatever comes in their way for support. If, after completing a spiral of three rounds, they meet with nothing, they try again, by altering their course.-Mosaic History.

An evil mind is naturally suspicious. Anger restrained, is conquest gained.

POETRY & MUSIC.

Written for the Monthly Repository and Library of Entertaining Knowledge. THE LAST RETURN.

She left her childhood's home,

And with the partner of her joys, went forth
To share the trials, and privations, which attend
On those, who zealous in their master's cause
Count not their own lives dear, but for the sake
Of souls immortal, glad forego, the dear delights
Of sweet secluded home, health, and retirement,
To call poor, wandering sinners,

To the fold of Christ

Her mind was form'd, to feel acutely,
All the pains, and pleasures too, which
Such a life affords-

Friendship's shrine, had not a votary more constant,
More sincere, than the warm glowing heart

Of her we mourn,-But friendship's sacred claims
Were held, less sacred, than the cause of God-
Though all the social feelings, that first bound
Her heart, possess'd it still; yet Zion's welfare,
Was her chief delight, and cheerfully she made
Another sacrifice, and left those kindred spirits,
And congenial minds, "whose converse, formed her bliss
To meet the gaze of strangers," and to feel
That withering desolation, caused by severing ties;
But grace, celestial, heavenly, and divine,
Caused her to triumph in the sacred cross-
And when the labors of the year were done,

The wintry season past, and the sweet spring flowers
Deck'd the beauteous earth, with joy she sought
The spot where her young footsteps wandered,
And the scenes endear'd by early recollections
To cheer the kindred band, cernented by the
Double ties, of nature, and of grace-

Thus years roll'd on; and once again
That form was found, 'neath the paternal roof;
It was the last return, her wanderings were ended,
But ah! no joyful greeting now, after long absence-
No voice was there; the spirit, the wearied-
Deathless spirit, had gone up to dwell with God.
That scene was one, which fancy's pencil
Has not power to paint; 'twas at the noon
Of night; the sun that evening, sunk in brightness,
And its rays, long lingered, like the glory,
Which attends the christian's parting spirit-
And as its last beams faded-the pale, cold moon,
Shed down its cheerless light, an emblem fit
Methought, of death, without its gloom-
'Twas cold, and silent; the winds had ceased
Their raging; and with the mournful watchers-

Seemed to listen, to the rumbling sound-
Of carriage wheels, which, at the solemn hour,
Of midnight, broke the deep stillness-

Next was heard the busy footstep, the plaintive
Murmur, of infant voices, and the stifled sob
Wrung from the bleeding heart, whose fountains
Rais'd by mingling streams, burst forth

In floods of sorrow, strong and deep

Then slow, and silently, was borne, that form beloved, So often hail'd with smiles of joy-now breathless,

Shrouded in grave clothes, and in the narrow coffin placed, Its last repose

Who can describe the feelings, of those hearts

With whom, her own was bound, as on that face
Again they gazed, and saw the same sweet smile
That oft in happiest hours illumed it?

The bliss, that fill'd the soul at parting,
Seem'd to leave its impress on the clay;
'Twas lovely still; the spirit like the evening sun
Had pass'd away in brightness, and we felt assured
That like that sun, she too should rise again
And clothed in stainless robes, be found
Among the blissful throng of ransom'd ones
That shine for ever, near their risen Lord.

A NEW YEAR'S EVE. "A New Year's Eve! methinks 'tis good to sit At such an hour, in silence and alone,

Tracing that record, by the pen unwrit,

Which

every

human heart has of its own, Of joys and griefs, of hopes and fears unknown To all beside; to let the spirit feel,

In all its force, the deep and solemn tone

Of Time's unflattering, eloquent appeal,

Which Truth to every breast would inwardly reveal.
"Nature herself seems, in her wintry dress,
To own the closing year's solemnity;
Spring's blooming flowers, and summer's leafiness,
And autumn's richer charms are all thrown by.

I look abroad upon a starless sky!

Even the plaintive breeze sounds like the surge
On ocean's shore among those pine trees high;

Or, sweeping o'er that dark wall's ivied verge,
It rings unto my thought the old year's mournful dirge.
"There is a joy in deep thought's pensive mood,
Far, far beyond the worldling's noisiest mirth;
It draws from purer elements its food,

Higher and holier is its heavenly birth;

It soars above the fleeting things of earth,

Through faith that elevates, and hope that cheers;

And estimates by their enduring worth,

The cares and trials, sorrows, toils, and fears, Whose varied shadows pass across this vale of tears,"

FROM LAYS OF THE EARLY MARTYRS.

No. 1.

The iron chain hath bound him
Which mercy never broke;
The echoes sleep around him
Which gladness never woke;
No bright ray cheers his dungeon gloom,
Meet prelude to the darker tomb.
His young bride knelt imploring,
They recked not of her prayer;

His aged sire was pouring

The plaints of wild despair:

In vain--they dragged him to his cell,
Scarce might he pause to breathe-farewell.
Yet calmly is he sleeping

On earth, his only bed;

While armed guards are keeping
Their vigils o'er his head;

And voices through the midnight gloom,
And hurrying steps proclaim his doom.
A tyrant's wrath enchains him

To die the death of shame;
The only guilt that stains him,
He bears a Christian's name :
That name-unhonored-unforgiven-
So loathed by man-so loved by Heaven,
Now joyous morn is breaking
Bright o'er the empurpled sky,
The fettered captive waking
Remembers death is nigh:

Yet his firm step and placid brow
Nor sign of doubt, or fear avow.
A quenchless hope shall cheer him
In nature's weakest hour;
His Lord is ever near him

With arm of matchless power:
And guilt may fear, or falsehood fly,
The faithful Christian dares to die.
One prayer for her, the dearest,
His own beloved bride,
In peril's hour the nearest,
And firmest, at his side:

Then on, without a tear or sigh,
On to the scene of agony !

But soon shall he awaken,

On realms more bright and fair;

Here lorn-though not forsaken;
By angels welcomed there.

Where death shall then thy triumph be,
And where, O grave, thy victory?

(From the New-York Christian Lyre.)

BUNKER HILL.

Ah! guilty siu ner, ruined by trans-gres- sion, What shall thy

doom be when array'd in terror, God shall command thice, cover'd with pol

lution, Up to the judgment? Up to the judgment?

THE VOICE OF WARNING.

Ah, guilty sinner, ruin'd by transgression,
What shall thy doom be, when array'd in terror,
God shall command thee, cover'd with pollution,

Up to the judgment?

Wilt thou escape from his omniscient notice,
Fly to the caverns, court annihilation?
Vain thy presumption, justice still shali triumph
In thy destruction.

Stop, thoughtless sinner, stop awhile and ponder,
Ere death arrest thee, and the Judge, in vengeance,
Hurl from his presence thine affrighted spirit,
Swift to perdition.