was first planted in Italy in the thirteenth year of the reign of Servius Tullius, the sixth king of Rome. The Romans appear to have paid great attention to its culture, and considered it next in value to the vine. According to the best authenticated accounts, the olive was introduced into England in 1570; and although it has been so long an inhabitant of this country, it is cultivated in but few places, and in these few it is generally known in the greenhouse as an ornamental plant. In its native country, the olive is extensively cultivated for the sake of the oil extracted from the berries; but the variableness of our climate renders the probability of crops of the fruit very precarious out of doors, and they are not of sufficient value to grow extensively under glass. The oil of olives is contained in the pulp only, and not in the nut or kernel, as in most other fruits. It is obtained by simple pressure: the olives are first bruised by a millstone, and then put into bags, after which the liquor is pressed out by means of a press. The bags are either made of linen, hemp, or rushes, and occasionally woollen ones are used; but as these are apt to become dirty and rancid, they are not in much repute. Those of linen or rushes are reckoned the best. Olive oil is the main support of commerce in some provinces in Italy. The quantity imported into Britain in the course of a year is upwards of 2,000,000 gallons, the duty on which amounts to about L.75,000. The most valuable is imported from the south of France. Besides the extraction of oil, olives are used for pickling and preserving; and Gerard, in his 'Historie of Plants,' enumerates many medicinal properties which they possess. It is stated that two glass jars of olives, and olive oil, have been dug out of the ruins of Pompeii, both of which were fit for use.-Magazine of Botany. MUTUAL BENEFICENCE. Nothing is more unpleasing than to find that offence has been received when none was intended, and that pain has been given to those who were not guilty of any provocation. As the great end of society is mutual beneficence, a good man is always uneasy when he finds himself acting in opposition to the purposes of life; because, though his conscience may easily acquit him of malice prepense, of settled hatred, or contrivances of mischief, yet he seldom can be certain that he has not failed by negligence or indolence, that he has not been hindered from consulting the common interest by too much regard to his own ease, or too much indifference to the happiness of others.-Rambler. The arms by which the ill dispositions of the world are to be combated, and the qualities by which it is to be reconciled to us, and we reconciled to it, are moderation, gentleness, a little indulgence to others, and a great deal of distrust of ourselves, which are not qualities of a mean spirit, as some may possibly think them, but virtues of a great and noble kind, and such as dignify our nature as much as they contribute to our repose and fortune; for nothing can be so unworthy of a well-composed soul as to pass away life in bickerings and litigations, in snarling and scuffling with every one around us. We must be at peace with our species, if not for their sakes, yet very much for our own.-Burke. AIMING AT PERFECTION. There is no manner of inconvenience in having a pattern propounded to us of so great perfection as is above our reach to attain to; and there may be great advantages in it. The way to excel in any kind, is to propose the brightest and most perfect examples to our imitation. No man can write after too perfect and good a copy; and though he can never reach the perfection of it, yet he is likely to learn more than by one less perfect. He that aims at the heavens, which yet he is sure to come short of, is like to shoot higher than he that aims at a mark within his reach.-Tillotson. TO MY WIFE. BY JOHN BOLTON ROGERSON. THY cheek is pale with many cares, Thy gentle eyes are not so bright As when I wooed thee first; Yet still they have the same sweet light, When all without looks dark and cold, For thou, my love, art aye the same, A shadow comes across my heart, Whene'er I think thou mayst depart, And leave me desolate; For, as the wretch who treads alone My beautiful, my wife! If thou wert dead, the flowers might spring, The merry birds might soar and sing- And those dear eyes have shone through tears, For shattered hopes and troubled years, Thy pure and trusting heart to mine. When, at the eventide, I see My children throng around, To earth, despite of every care: So long as thou my lot dost share, My beautiful, my wife! [The above piece is copied directly from an American newspaper; but its author is a poet of English growth-residing, we believe, in Manchester-who has published several volumes of his effusions, from one of which probably the above is extracted.] DISAPPOINTMENT. Men are very seldom disappointed, except when their desires are immoderate, or when they suffer their passions to overpower their reason, and dwell upon delightful scenes of future honours, power, or riches, till they mistake probabilities for certainties, or wild wishes for rational expectations. If such men, when they awake from these voluntary dreams, find the pleasing phantom vanish away, what can they blame but their own folly ?—Dr Johnson. A HINT TO LECTURERS. I have seen many Chartist and Anti-Bread Tax lectures advertised in the manufacturing districts, but I never heard of any lectures given with a view to convey correct information to the people on the influences that regulate the natural price of labour, and yet of all information there is none which it is of more importance for the poor workmen to receive.-Kohl's England. Printed by William Bradbury, of No. 6, York Place, and Frederick Mullett Kmans, of No. 7, Church Row, both of Stoke Newington, in the county of Middlesex, printers, at their office, Lombard Street, in the precinct of Whitefriars, and city of London; and Published (with permission of the Proprietors, W. and R. CHAMBERS,) by WILLIAM SOMERVILLE ORR. Publisher, of 3, Amen Corner, at No. 2, AMEN CORNER, both in the parish of Christchurch, and in the city of London-Saturday, February 1, 1845. CONDUCTED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS, EDITORS OF CHAMBERS'S INFORMATION FOR THE PEOPLE,''CHAMBERS'S EDUCATIONAL COURSE,' &c. No. 58. NEW Series. SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 8, 1845. MORNINGS WITH THOMAS CAMPBELL. It was on a fine morning in May 1840, that I first called on Mr Campbell. He then lived in chambers, No. 61, Lincoln's Inn Fields, up two pairs of stairs. He had offered to act as cicerone, and show me the lions of London; and it was with no small pride and pleasure that I repaired to the spot, where he was so often to be seen pacing up and down in solitary meditation. He was always a great walker, and this habit continued with him to the last. I found on the outer door of his rooms, below the brass knocker, a slip of paper on which was written, in his neat classical-like hand, this curious announcement- Mr Campbell is particularly engaged, and cannot be seen till past two o'clock.' As he had expressly mentioned that I should call between nine and ten o'clock, I concluded that this prohibition could not be meant to be universal, and resolved to hazard an application. He received me with great kindness, and explained that the announcement on his door was intended to scare away a bore, who had been annoying him with some manuscripts, and would neither take a refusal nor brook delay. The poet was breakfasting in his sitting-room, which was filled with books, and had rather a showy appearance. The carpet and tables were littered with stray volumes, letters, and papers; whence I inferred that his housemaid was forbidden to interfere with the arrangements of his sanctum. At this time he was, like Charles Lamb, a worshipper of the 'great plant,' and tobacco pipes were mingled with the miscellaneous literary wares. A large print of the queen hung near the fireplace, the gilded frame of which was covered with lawn paper. He drew my attention to the picture, and said it had been presented to him by her majesty. He valued it highly: 'money could not buy it from me,' he remarked. In another part of the room was a painting of a little country girl, with a coarse shawl of network pulled over her head and shoulders. The girl was represented as looking out below the shawl with a peculiarly arch and merry expression, something like Sir Joshua Reynolds's Puck. He seemed to dote upon this picture, praised the arch looks of the 'sly little minx,' and showed me some lines which he had written upon her. These he afterwards published; but as they are comparatively little known, and are not unworthy of his genius, I subjoin them : 'ON GETTING HOME THE PORTRAIT OF A FEMALE CHILD, Type of the cherubim above, Come, live with me, and be my love! Smile from my wall, dear roguish sprite, By sunshine and by candle-light; PRICE 1d. Cast in simplicity's own mould, He marshals minds to Beauty's feast- The only things that could be given Back, and alive-unchanged-to Heaven.' The verses were written on folio paper, the lines wide apart, to leave room for correction-for Campbell, it is well known, was a laborious and fastidious corrector. The passion for children which he here evinces, led some time afterwards to a ludicrous circumstance. He saw a fine child, about four years old, one day walking with her nurse in the Park; and on his return home, he could not rest for thinking of his child sweetheart,' as he called her, and actually sent an advertisement to the Morning Chronicle, making inquiries after his juvenile fascinator, giving his own address, and stating his age to be sixty-two! The incident illustrates the intensity of his affections, as well as the liveliness of his fancy-for, alas! the poet had no homeobject to dwell upon, to concentrate his hopes and his admiration. Several hoaxes were played off on the susceptible poet in consequence of this singular advertisement. One letter directed him to the house of an old maid, by whom he was received very cavalierly. He told his story-but 'the wretch,' as he used to say, with a sort of peevish humour, had never heard either of him or his poetry!' When I had read the lines, Mr Campbell retired for a few minutes. You can look over the books,' he said, 'till I return.' Who has not felt the pleasure of looking over the shelves of a library, with all their varied and interesting associations? The library of a man of genius, too, has peculiar attraction, for it seems to admit us to his familiar thoughts, tastes, and studies. Campbell's library was not very extensive. There were some good old editions of the classics, a set of the Biographie Universelle, some of the French, Italian, and German authors, the Edinburgh Encyclopædia (to which he had been a large contributor), and several standard English works, none very modern. He did not care much to keep up with the literature of the day; and his chief delight was-when not occupied with any taskto lounge, in his careless indolent way, over some old favourite author that came recommended to him by early recollections. He occasionally made marginal notes on the books he read. I happened to take down the first volume of The Beauties of English Poesy, selected by Oliver Goldsmith,' 1767. On the blank leaf of this unfortunate compilation Campbell had written the fact, that poor Goldy' had inserted among his 'Beauties,' designed for young readers, Prior's stories of Hans Carvel and the Ladle. The circumstance,' he added, is as good as the tales, besides having the advantage of being true.' I may here remark, that Mr Campbell could scarcely ever read Goldsmith's poetry without shedding tears. marked, and did not detract from his point and elegance either as a lecturer or converser. We shortly sallied out. Mr Campbell was rather nervous, and hesitated at the street crossings. I said must reconcile people to it. Never with some,' said the noise of London was intolerable, but that long usage he; I have been used to it for nearly forty years, and am not yet reconciled to it.' He certainly seemed un- | easy when within the full sound of the great Babel and her interminable roar. When we got to a quiet alley or court, he breathed more freely, and talked of literature. He expressed his regret at having edited Shakspeare, or rather written his life for a popular edition of the dramas, as he had done it hurriedly, though with the right feeling. What a glorious fellow Shakspeare must have been,' said he; Walter Scott was fine, but had a worldly twist. Shakspeare must have been just the man to live with.' He spoke with affection and high respect of Lord Jeffrey. Jeffrey,' said he, will be quite happy now. As a judge, he has nothing to do but seek and follow truth. As an advocate, he must often have had to support cases at which his moral nature revolted.' Talking of Jeffrey's criticism, I instanced his review of Campbell's Specimens of the Poets, which is copious, eloquent, and discriminating. You must have taken great pains with some of the lives,' I said. 'I did.' he replied, yet they say I am lazy. There is a washy, wordy style of criticism, and of telling facts, which looks specious, and imposes on many: I wanted, above all things, to avoid that.' You might perhaps have added to your Specimens with advantage. Part of Thomson's Seasons, for example, might have been given, as well as the first canto of the Castle of Indolence.' only answer. It must be admitted that in his selec- Under the foot of Mole, that mountain hoar, The poet soon returned from his dressing-room. He was generally careful as to dress, and had none of Dr Johnson's indifference to fine linen. His wigs (of which he had a great number) were always nicely adjusted, and scarcely distinguishable from natural hair; while about an inch of whisker on the cheek was coloured with some dark powder, to correspond with the wig. His appearance was interesting and handsome.The Castle of Indolence is a glorious poem,' was his Though rather below the middle size, he did not seem little; and his large dark eye and countenance altogether bespoke great sensibility and acuteness. His thin quivering lip and delicate nostril were highly expressive. When he spoke, as Leigh Hunt has remarked, dimples played about his mouth, which nevertheless had something restrained and close in it, as if some gentle Puritan had crossed the breed, and left a stamp on his face, such as we often see in the female Scotch face rather than the male.' He had, like Milton, a 'delicate tunable voice,' its high notes being somewhat sharp and painful. When a youth, Campbell was singularly beautiful, which, added to the premature development of his taste and genius, made him an object of great interest. A few literary persons still survive (Joanna Baillie among the number) who knew him at this period, and remember him, like a vision of youth, with great enthusiasm. He was early in flower-the fruit, perhaps, scarcely corresponding (at least in quan-The Mole,' said Campbell, is the Balligowra hills, and tity) with the richness of the blossom. Campbell the Mulla is the Awbeg river: they should change was quite sensible of his interesting appearance, and was by no means disposed to become venerable. He cared little for the artist who copied nature exactly. Lawrence painted and Baily sculptured him en beau. Late in life he sat to Park, the sculptor, but he would not take off his wig; and the bust (a true and vigorous one) was no especial favourite because of its extreme -fidelity. In personal neatness and fastidiousness, no less than in genius and taste, Campbell, in his best days, resembled Gray. Each was distinguished by the same careful finish in composition, the same classical predilections and lyrical fire, rarely but strikingly displayed. In ordinary life they were both somewhat finical, yet When we conceive Spenser reciting his compositions with great freedom and idiomatic plainness in their un- to Raleigh in a scene so beautifully appropriate, the reserved communications; Gray's being evinced in his mind casts a pleasing retrospect over that influence letters, and Campbell's in conversation. Gray was more which the enterprise of the discoverer of Virginia, and studious of his dignity; Campbell often acted rashly the genius of the author of the Fairy Queen, have refrom the impulse of the moment, careless of conse- spectively produced on the fortune and language of quences. When the late Mr Telford, the engineer, re- England. The fancy might even be pardoned for a monstrated with him on the inexpediency of contract- momentary superstition, that the genius of their country ing an early marriage, he said gaily, When shall I hovered, unseen, over their meeting, casting her first be better off? I have fifty pounds, and six months' look of regard on the poet that was destined to inspire work at the Encyclopædia! To these personal nuge her future Milton, and the other on the maritime hero I may add, that his Scottish accent was not strongly-who paved the way for colonising distant regions of the the names, making Spenser godfather. With equal poetical grace Spenser calls Raleigh the "Shepherd of the Ocean," and the "Summer's Nightingale," both fine characteristic appellations. I like the last particularly, for Raleigh was really a poet, and he planted all about his house at Youghal with myrtles and sweet-smelling plants. Spenser's place, Kilcolman Castle, was only a few miles from Youghal, and no doubt they saw many sunsets together.' Campbell was here on a congenial theme, and I am tempted to quote what he has said so eloquently and picturesquely on the same subject in his Specimens: earth, where the language of England was to be spoken, and the poetry of Spenser to be admired.' This would form a fine painting in the hands of Maclise, or some other poet-spirited artist. Only a few fragments of Spenser's castle remain, matted with ivy; but the situation is still lonely and beautiful undefaced by any incongruous images or associations. Some of Raleigh's myrtles have also been preserved, and his house still stands. The melancholy fate of both these great men deepens the interest with which we regard their residences. The poet, as is well known, was driven from Kilcolman by a furious band of rebels, who set fire to the castle, burning an infant child in the ruins, and causing, within a few months, from melancholy and despair, the death of the gifted Spenser. Raleigh was sacrificed to the cruelty and cupidity of James I. Let us drop a tear over their sad and chequered history, and thank God that genius, taste, and enterprise, now flourish under milder suns and happier influences! two light girandoles,'' a very large dressing-glass, mahogany frame,' and 'a three-plate bordered chimney-glass, gilt frame.' In this multiplicity of mirrors the poet could dress and admire his little undignified person, arrayed in his bloom-coloured coat and blue silk breeches. Goldsmith, though contemned and laughed at in his day, and held far inferior to his illustrious friend Johnson, now overtops the whole of that brilliant circle in real popularity and genuine fame. "The wonder is,' as Campbell remarked, how one leading so strange a life from his youth upwards, could have stored his mind with so much fine knowledge, taste, and imagery. His essays are full of thought, and overflow with choice and beautiful illustration." 'Have you been to Windsor?' asked Mr Campbell. I replied that I had, and spoke of the magnificence of the palace and the parks. Ay,' said he, the old oaks-the noble old oaks. Did you notice how they spread out their gnarled roots and branches, laying hold of the earth with their talons?' and he put out his clenched hand to help the expression of his vigorous and poetical image. All Scotchmen visiting London in spring should go, he said, a night or two to Windsor, Kew, or Richmond, to hear the nightingale. also heard in full voice in the grove around Sion House, the seat of the Duke of Northumberland. He thought Milton's description of the nightingale's note correct as well as rich The Attic bird It was Campbell was keenly alive to such impressions, and loved to tread as it were in the footsteps of the departed great. He regretted that only one of Milton's London houses should be left-one occupied by him when Latin secretary in Westminster. This house looks into St James's Park, and is situated in York Street (No. 18), in a poor and squalid neighbourhood; but it was then a pretty garden-house, next door to the Lord Scudamore's.' Milton occupied it eight years-from 1651 to 1659. We went also to Dryden's last residence, in Trills her thick-warbled notes the summer long. Gerrard Street, Soho. Here glorious John' wrote his magnificent Ode and his Fables, and here he died on He maintained, also, with Chaucer and Charles James May morning 1700. The house is a respectable old- Fox (a singular juxtaposition), that the nightingale's fashioned dwelling. It was formerly occupied by a note was a merry one, and though Theocritus mentions comely dame-a Wife of Bath-who dealt in contraband nightingales six or seven times, he never mentions their laces, gloves, &c. The late Lord Holland often called note as plaintive or melancholy.' Because it is heard to see the interior; but the cautious mistress, presum- in the silence of night, generally when we are alone, and ing that his portly and comfortable presence was that amidst the gloom of thick woods, we attach melancholy of a custom-house officer or other government function-associations to it. For pure English nature, feeling, ary, kept the door in her hand, and steadily rejected and expression, read Dryden. He is the best informer the solicitations of the peer. Windmill Street, where and expositor.' We must understand this as applicable Sir Richard Steele ran off on seeing the bailiff, is in the to Dryden's late productions-not his rhyming tragedies close vicinity, and the incidents are, in character and and stiff quatrains, which are anything but natural or keeping, not unlike each other. There was also Con- pleasing.-To be continued. greve's house at Surrey Street, in the Strand; Johnson's famous residence in Bolt Court, Fleet Street (now profaned, as he would deem it, by its conversion into a printing-office for a dissenters' newspaper), and poor Goldsmith's chambers in the Temple, No. 2, Brick Court. His rooms were on the right hand ascending the staircase (as the faithful Mr Prior relates in his Memoir), and consisted of three apartments. These are now occupied by a solicitor, who pens law papers in the room where Goldy wrote his plays, or watched the rooks cawing about the time-honoured court and garden. 'I have,' he says in his Animated Nature, often amused myself with observing their plan of policy from my window in the Temple, that looks upon a grove where they have made a colony in the midst of the city. At the commencement of spring, the rookery, which during the continuance of winter seemed to have been deserted, or only guarded by about five or six, like old soldiers in a garrison, now begins to be once more frequented; and in a short time all the bustle and harry of business is fairly commenced.' And there they still bustle and hurry in spring, while Goldsmith sleeps without a stone in the Temple burying-ground. The poet's apartments were looked upon 13 airy and even splendid in their day. The walls are wainscotted, but have now a dingy appearance. Their Decupant was thought to have spent an unnecessarily large sum (L.400) in furnishing them, yet the sale catalogue (printed by Prior) shows only one department of profuse expenditure-one highly characteristic of the poet's principal foible, personal vanity. He had only one bed, one sofa, and a moderate complement of necessaries, but he had two oval glasses, gilt frames,' 'two ditto, NOTES OF A NATURALIST. Plants.-In watching the development of plants, one is sometimes almost inclined to believe that their movements are the result of premeditation and thought, so nearly do they approach to the actions of animals. A few plants of sweet pea, dug up when very young, were placed upon a table with their small springing rootlets turned half way round from a wet sponge placed within two inches of the seed lobes. In two days the rootlets had twisted completely round till their extremities touched the sponge, from which they could derive the moisture necessary for their growth. In another experiment a potato which had begun to germinate was placed in a dark box, in which was a small hole exposed to the sun. The potato was placed two feet from this hole, and at a little interval two stones were placed in a line between the potato and the hole. At the end of two weeks the white slender stem of the potato had crawled forward, but, meeting with the opposing stone, it made a bend round one side of it, and again grew out in nearly a straight direction, till, coming again in contact with the second stone, which still obstructed the light, it made a similar bend round it, but more in an upward direction, so as to reach the opening and the desired light. On the same principle of seeking nourishment, strawberry plants set on the border of a gravel walk will send the whole of their roots into the garden soil, and not into the dry gravel. These movements may be all explained by supposing a strong attraction to subsist between the fibres of the plants and the moist soil by which they are drawn together; and, in the case of the potato, of all plants for the light of the sun. But the well authenticated instance of the shrub planted on the top of a stone wall, as related by Sir E. Smith, is of a more complicated nature. An ash tree was observed to grow from a scanty portion of soil lodged in a crevice on the top of a garden wall. The stem advanced to a certain height, when, apparently from want of due nourishment, it made a stop. Soon after this pause in its growth a rootlet was seen growing out from the plant, which continued rapidly to shoot downwards, till at last it reached the soil at the bottom of the wall: no sooner had this taken firm possession in the ground, than the main stem again commenced growing with renewed vigour. Now, this was apparently as near a resemblance to the deliberative acts of animal instinct as it is possible to conceive. There is an aquatic plant, the spiral valisneria, which is common in the ditches of Italy. This plant has the male and female flowers growing on different stalks, and at the period of seeding, it is singular to mark the means by which fructification is produced. The greater part of the plant grows below the surface of the water, and the female flower is produced on the extremity of a long slender stem, twisted round and compressed like a screw or coiled-up piece of wire. When these flowers are ready to blow, the compressed and twisted stem suddenly relaxes, and is consequently lengthened, so that the blossom mounts up and floats on the surface. At the same time the male blossoms are evolved from other plants; they also mount to the surface, but immediately break off from the stem. The slightest breeze then floats them along, until they reach the female blossoms, around which they are seen to cluster in great numbers. The spiral stems afterwards shrink, and the female buds return under water, there to mature their seeds. The ground nut of South America (arachis hypogea) has a very singular mode of planting its seeds. It is an annual plant, with long trailing stalks, furnished with winged leaves composed of four hairy lobes. The flowers grow singly in long stalks, and are of the pea family. They produce oval pods, containing two or three oblong seeds. As the flowers fall off, the young pods are forced into the ground by a particular motion of the stalks, and are thus buried to a considerable depth in the soil. When great drought prevails for a considerable time, all plants hasten onwards to fructification. They immediately cease to throw out new leaves or branches; but summoning, as it were, all their remaining vigour, they push out the seed-stalk and the fructifying organs, in order to secure a succession of offspring before they die. There is a beautiful palm, the taliput, or Palmyra palm, a native of Ceylon, which does not produce flowers till its eightieth year, the last also of its existence. At this period, when it has attained its full growth, the flower-spike, which is then as white as ivory, bursts with a loud report. In the course of fifteen or twenty months it showers down its abundance of nuts. This effort to provide a numerous succession proves fatal to the parent. Thus it presents the singular phenomena of a long-lived plant only blossoming once during its existence, when it dies, and, in dying, like the fabled Phenix, sheds the seeds of a future generation around it. Mr Bennet mentions that the flower is occasionally thirty feet in length: this gentleman witnessed several of the singular explosions of these palms in the forests of Ceylon. The broad leaves of this tree are used by the natives as fans; and all their books are written upon thin laminæ of the leaves. Tents are also constructed of them; and the pith of the trunk furnishes a substance like sago, which is used for food. Animals. Much has been written on the instincts or mental gifts of animals, but much is still required to throw light upon this curious subject. Authentic anecdotes of the habits and actions of brutes are always interesting the more of these that can be collected, the more are we likely to know of what may be called the psychology or history of the mind of the inferior animals. It appears to me that, in the general manifestations of the animal mind, some one of the senses is employed in preference to the others; that sense, for instance, which is most acute and perfect in the animal. In the dog, for example, the sense of smell predominates, and we accordingly find that, through the medium of this sense, his mental faculties are most commonly exercised. A gentleman had a favourite spaniel, which for a long time was in the practice of accompanying him in all his walks, and became his attached companion. This gentleman had occasion to leave home, and was absent for more than a year, during which time he had never seen the dog. On his return along with a friend, while yet at a little distance from the house, they perceived the spaniel lying beside the gate. The gentleman thought that this would be a good opportunity of testing the memory of his favourite, and accordingly arranged with his companion, who was quite unknown to the spaniel, that they should both walk up to the animal, and express no signs of recognition. As they both ap proached nearer, the dog started up, and gazed at them attentively, but he discovered no signs of recognition even at their near approach. At last he came up to the stranger, put his nose close to his clothes, and smelt him, without any signs of emotion: he then did the same to his old master, but no sooner had he smelt him than recognition instantly took place; he leaped up to his face repeatedly, and showed symptoms of the most extravagant joy. He followed him into the house, and watched his every movement, and could by no means be diverted from his person. Now, here was an instance of deficient memory through the organs of sight, but an accurate recollection through the organs of smell. I have been more than once surprised, during the sunny days of summer, and in the smoke and din of the city, to find my box of fragrant mignionette visited by the hive bee. I could not but admire this laborious creature as I saw it alight and diligently explore every expanded blossom, collect the treasured sweets, and then, without loss of time, wend its way again through the smoky atmosphere, bearing its treasure to its distant rural hive. What could have led it into such a Babel of stone and lime, and smoke and hubbub, but its exquisite sense of smell, which could even at a great distance discriminate the odour of a flower from the other noisome scents with which it must have been mingled? To our obtuse sensations, such a refinement of smell is almost inconceivable. Yet such powers are manifested by many other animals. The story which Dr Franklin tells of the ants and cup of treacle is well known; but I suspect the doctor's deductions are erroneous. Finding a number of ants eating up a quantity of treacle in a cup, he took and suspended it by a thread to the roof of the room, in order to isolate it completely. One end of the thread, however, he inadvertently left communicating with the floor, and with the pin in the ceiling. A single ant, which had been left in the cup, found its way along the cord to the ceiling, and from thence, by the continuation of the string, to the ground. In a few minutes hundreds of the other ants were seen ascending by this string, and descending to the cup; from whence the doctor concludes that the single ant had made some communication of the circumstance to its companions, by some natural signs analogous to language. Now, I would rather suggest that the ant, in making its escape by the cord, had thus left all along it an odour of treacle, and that this being quickly perceived by its companions, was the immediate and sensual means of the communication; and that, guided solely by smell, they retraced the path of their companion. Mr James, in his account of Travels to the Rocky Mountains, mentions that the smell of the bison is so acute, that when their party advanced within two or three miles to windward of flocks of those animals, even though they were not yet in sight of each other, the wild cattle immediately took |