lands of Scotland the boughs, cut in the summer, spread over the fields, and left during the winter to rot, are found to answer as manure. The catkins dye green. If planted in a low meadow, the ground surrounding it will become boggy; whereas, if Ash be planted, the roots of which penetrate a great way, and run near the surface, the ground will become firm and dry. In Japan the cones are used to dye black, and sold ready dried."-WITHERING.

"Of old they made boats of the greater part of this tree, and excepting Noah's Ark, the first vessels we read of were made of this material.

When hollow Alders first the waters tried.-GEORG. I.
And down the rapid Po light Alders glide.-GEORG. II.

“And as then, so now, are over-grown Alders frequently sought after for such buildings as lie continually under water, where it will harden like a very stone; whereas, being kept in an unconstant temper, it rots immediately, because its natural humidity is of so near affinity with its adventitious, as Scaliger assigns the cause. Vitruvius tells us, that the morasses about Ravenna in Italy were piled with this timber to superstruct upon, and highly commends it. I find also they used it under that famous bridge at Venice, the Rialto, which passes over the Grand Canal, bearing a vast weight. Joan. Banhinus pretends, that in tract of time it turns to stone; which perhaps it may seem to be, as well as other aquatics, where it meets with some lapidescent quality in the earth and water.EVELYN.

"The poles of Alder are as useful as those of Willow; but the coals far exceed them, especially for gunpowder. The wood is likewise useful for piles, pumps, hop-poles, water-pipes, troughs, sluices, &c. The bark is precious for dyers, and some tanners and leather-dressers use it, and with it and the fruit, instead of galls, they make ink. The fresh leaves alone applied to the naked sole of the foot, infinitely refresh the surbated traveller. The bark macerated in water, with a little rust of iron, makes a black dye, which may also be used for ink. As to other uses, the swelling bunches which are now and then found in the old trees, afford the inlayer pieces curiously chambleted and very hard.-EVELYN.

HYMNS AND POETICAL RECREATIONS.

On the wild heath of nature cast,
I wandered far and wandered long;
And found but vanity at last

In nature's paths, for all were wrong.

I knew not then the living way
Which leads to true and lasting bliss;
Knew not 'twas folly led astray,

To seek it in a world like this.

How often had I sprung to greet
The meteors dancing here and there;
How often ran with eager feet

To follow what appeared so fair.

The eye of God beheld his child

That eye of love which cannot sleep, Looked on the wanderer and smiled

Nor ceased to watch, nor failed to keep—

At length he sent a gracious word,

Which bid the weary heart rejoice; That blessed sound the wanderer heard, And said, "It is my Father's voice."

I turned to see from whence it came, When, lo! a wond'rous cross appeared, Whereon in sorrow, sin, and shame, Hung He who had my spirit cheered.

Jehovah's radiant glory shone

Around that patient sufferer's head; Brightly it beamed and beamed alone For all the meteor fires had fled.

I heard it said, my sins had nailed
The victim to th' accursed tree:
I heard his merits had prevailed
To open heaven wide to me.

Then tears that give the heart relief
Began alternately to roll,

I wept-my soul was pierced with grief;
I wept for joy possessed my soul.

I looked again-exalted high,
Was he who on the cross had hung:

I saw his throne of majesty,

I heard his praise by angels sung.

It was not where the dew-drops lay, It was not where the sun-beams play, Blossom'd that lovely thing

'Twas where the winter wind was cold, And summer heats their thunders roll'd, And clouds hung menacing.

It was upon the dreary space
Of an unshelter'd wilderness,

That grew that gentle flower

It bore the briar, it bore the the thornBut never, never had it borne

A single flower before.

And there it grew, and there it grew,
Whether the winds of winter blew,
Or summer thunders roll'd-
Shining in peerless beauty there,
The only good, the only fair,
And lovely to behold.

But 'twas not till a foe more rude
And pitiless than storm or flood,
Came of that desert forth,
And, loathing of its beauty, press'd
A villain foot upon its breast,
And crush'd it to the earth-

It was not until cast away,
And bruis'd and broken, fall'n it lay
With stem and branches riven-
That, sweetest in the deepest grief,
The perfume of its wounded leaf
Exhal'd itself to Heaven.

Was such the fate, and such the charm,
Of Aaron's Rose, or Gilead's Balm?
Or tell it we of One,

Fair where was nothing fair beside,

But never, never till he died,

In all his sweetness known?