"Oh, Edward! Edward! do not touch-remember, mother

said,

That poisonous fruit in clusters grew, though beautiful and red;

And that it had a tempting look, inviting to the eye,

But if a single one we eat, that we should surely die."

"Oh, Charlotte! Charlotte! do you think that these can do us harm,

Or that such pretty fruit as this need cause us such alarm? For surely if they poisonous are, they bitter then must be, So I will taste a single one, and we shall quickly see!"

Then forth he stretch'd his little hand, and he a berry pluck'd,

And to his lips he put the fruit, and in the poison suck'd. And when he found the juice was good, he bade his sister eat ;— "For it is pleasant to the taste, so cooling and so sweet.”

These children then the berries pull'd, and of them eat their fill,

Nor did they ever dream the while, that they were doing ill : ""Tis not the fruit that mother meant," exultingly they cried, And merry was their prattling laugh, to see their fingers dyed.

But suddenly the sister stopp'd, her rosy cheek grew pale : "Oh, brother! brother! hold me up, for something doth me

ail:

I feel so weak, I cannot stand-the trees are dancing round, Oh, Edward! Edward! clasp my hand, and place me on the ground."

He gently laid his sister down, and bitterly did cry,

And every means to ease her pain, and calm her fears did try; But soon he felt himself turn sick, and feeble, chilly weak, And as he totter'd on the grass, he bruis'd his sister's cheek.

Exhausted, though that infant was, upon his tender breast
He plac'd the little Charlotte's head, that she might softer

rest;

The hapless creature did but think his sister only slept,

And when his eyesight dimmer grew, to her he closer crept.

The evening clos'd upon those babes, who slept away their breath,

And mourning o'er his cruel task, away went grieving death; And they who had the sacred trust, these cherubs dear to

keep,

Beheld them where they quiet lay, but thought they were asleep.

When they the hapless sufferers rais'd from that last fond embrace,

A half-form'd smile was seen to dwell upon each paly face; Alas! that such twin roses fair, which morning saw in bloom, Should wither in the sunny land, ere came the twilight gloom. NEW YEAR'S GIFT, 1830.

The Deadly Nightshade, or Dwale, Atropa Belladonna, on account of its baneful properties, received its generic name from one of the Fates. "How the same plant," observes a French botanist, "should come to have the gentle appellation of Belladonna, and the tremendous name of Atropa, seems strange, till we know that it was used as a cosmetic by the Italian ladies." The whole plant has a lurid appearance with dull purple flowers, drooping, solitary, and not in clusters. Its leaves are entire and ovate. The berry is a shining violetblack, about the size of a small cherry; one half of which, is said to have proved fatal. Its effects are best counteracted by drinking copiously of vinegar. The Nightshade is supposed to be the "insane root" of Shakspeare, Macbeth, i, 3. Dr. C. Milne remarks, "that Nature has been more parsimonious in her warnings with respect to this plant, than to others of the same natural family, (Lurida,) neither the smell nor the taste are repellent." It may be interesting here to mention, that among the instructions given to Sir W. Raleigh, when bound on a voyage of discovery in 1617, is the following singular order:-" And you shall take especial care, when God shall suffer you to land in the Indies, not to eat any fruites unknowne; such fruites as you do not find eaten by birds on the tree, or beastes under the tree, you shall avoide." The old adage in this instance was forgotten: "Quodque aliis cibus est, aliis fuit acre venenum."-"What is one man's food, is another man's poison." It is a wellknown fact, that birds and insects frequently feed on those plants which are injurious and even poisonous to man.

U

THE MUSICIANS OF THE GROVE.

Two nights thus pass'd: the lily-handed morne
Saw Phoebus stealing dewe froin Ceres' corne.
The mounting Lark (daie's herauld) got on wing,
Bidding each bird chuse out his bough and sing.
The lofty treble sung the little Wren;
Robin the meane, that best of all loves men:
The Nightingale the tenor; and the Thrush,
The counter-tenor, sweetly in a bush ;
And that the musicke might be full in parts,
Birds from the groves flew with right willing harts;
But (as it seem'd) they thought (as do the swaines,
Which tune their pipes on sack'd Hibernia's plaines)
There should some droaning part be, therefore will'd
Some bird to flie into a neighboring field,

In embassie unto the king of bees,

To aide his partners on the flowres and trees;
Who condiscending gladly flew along

To beare the base to his well-tuned song.

The crow was willing they should be beholding
For his deep voyce, but, being hoarse with scolding,
He thus lends aide: upon an oake doth climbe,
And nodding with his head, so keepeth time.

O true delight, enharboring the brests

Of those sweet creatures with the plumy crests.
Had Nature unto man such simpl'esse given,

He would, like birds, be farre more neere to Heaven.

WILLIAM BROWNE.

The awakening of our British Birds, is thus beautifully sketched by Mr. Knapp :-" At one period of my life, being an early waker and riser, my attention was frequently drawn 'to songs of earliest birds;' and I always observed that these creatures appeared abroad at very different periods, as the light advanced. The rook is perhaps the first to salute the opening morn; but this bird seems rather to rest than to sleep. Always vigilant, the least alarm after retirement rouses instantly the whole assemblage, not successively, but collectively. The restless robin now is seen too. This is the last bird that retires

in the evening, being frequently flitting about when the owl and bat are visible, and awakes so soon in the morning, that little rest seems required by it.-The cheerful melody of the wren is the next we hear, as it bustles from its ivied roost, and we note its gratulation to the young-eyed day, when twilight almost hides the little minstrel from our sight.-The sparrow roosts in holes, and under the eaves of the rick or shed, where the light does not so soon enter, and hence is rather a tardy mover. It retires early to rest.-The blackbird quits its leafy roost in the ivied ash; its chink-chink is heard in the hedge; and mounting on some neighbouring oak, with mellow sober voice, it gratulates the coming day. "The plain-song cuckoo grey,' from some tall tree now tells its tale. The lark is in the air, and the martin twitters from her earth-built shed,' all the choristers are tuning in the grove; and amid such tokens of awakening pleasure, it becomes difficult to note priority of voice. These are the matin-voices of the Summer season: in Winter a cheerless chirp, or a hungry twit, is all we hear; the families of voice are away, or silent; we have little to note, and perhaps as little inclination to observe."

TO THE TURTLE-DOVE.

DEEP in the wood, thy voice I list, and love
Thy soft complaining song,-thy tender cooing;
O what a winning way thou hast of wooing!
Gentlest of all thy race-sweet Turtle-dove.
Thine is a note that doth not pass away,
Like the light music of a Summer's day!
The merle may trill his richest song in vain-
Scarce do we say, "List, for he pipes again,'
But thou that low plaint oft and oft repeating
To the coy-mate that needs so much entreating—
Fillest the woods with a discursive song
Of love, that sinketh deep, and resteth long,—
Hushing the voice of mirth and staying folly,-
And waking in the heart a gentle melancholy.

D. CONWAY.

The note of this elegant species, Columba Turtur, is singularly tender and plaintive in addressing his mate, the male makes use of a variety of winning attitudes, cooing at the same time in the most gentle and soothing accents: on which account the Turtle-dove has been represented in all ages, as the most perfect emblem of connubial attachment and constancy."-Bewick.

From Mrs. C. Smith's beautiful poem of the Truant Dove, we quote the following lines, being descriptive of this bird :-

O my dear love! you sought not then to range,
But on my changeful neck as fell the light,
You sweetly said, you wish'd no other change
Than that soft neck could show; to berries bright

Of mountain ash, you fondly could compare
My scarlet feet and bill; my shape and air,
Ah! faithless flatterer, did you no. declare
The soul of grace and beauty centred there?
My eyes you said were opals, brightly pink,
Fnchas'd in onyx; and you seem'd to think,
Each charm might then the coldest heart enthrall:

Those charms were mine. Alas! I gave them all,-&c. &c.

THE TULIP.

'Tis beautiful, most beautiful! most splendidly it shines, Rich in its glowing colours, and its softly pencill'd lines; Most lavishly doth Nature in gay profusion shower

Her gifts of gorgeous beauty, on this bright and stately flower, But scentless is this lustre, and soon beneath the sway

Of Summer's warm dominion, it will wither and decay: And then we seek those lowly flowers, which leave a balmy breath,

Of sweet and innate fragrance, when their leaves are clos'd in death.

When frowning o'er the sultry sky, the thunder cloud is shed, Beneath the storm and gushing shower the tulip hangs its

head,

While from the wild blue violet, or sweet Egyptian weed,

A fresher burst of fragrance to its fury will succeed.

So the innate worth of soul, and the loveliness of mind,
Are better far than outward beauty, fashion, grace combin❜d:
The step of time, the hand of care, the last will soon efface,
But the memory of the first, e'en death will not erase.

S. H.

The Tulip was introduced from the eastern part of the globe, and derives its name from a Persian word, which signifies a turban. It is well known that the Tulip became, about the year 1635, the object of a trade unparalleled in the history of commercial speculation. All the great cities of Holland became infected with this Tulipomania, and the evil rose to such a pitch, that the Dutch authorities were at length under the necessity of interfering to prevent this species of gambling. See an amusing paper on this subject in the Tatler: No. 218.