" Come, and breakfast with me to-morrow,' "Listen to me now with great attention, added she: 'you are richer than you ima- my dearest Julia. I am hardly double your gine; but you stand in need of an agent, age, yet I dare not flatter myself; I am and my husband will undertake with plea- nearer the term of my dissolution than you sure to discharge that office. Your fortune may imagine. If heaven should take me would be soon reduced, if attention were from this world, what would become of not paid to increase it. Believe me, Madam, you? it is therefore incumbent upon me to Mr. Dormeuil, whilst managing your pe- look out for a family that will adopt you. cuniary concerns, will less adhere to the Your birth prohibits such pretensions as directions he has received, than in confor- your fortune might entitle you to, but gramity to the sentiments with which you || titude, perhaps, points out to us the use we have inspired us.' are to make of that property. Mr. Dormeuil has left an only son, who is possessed of every qualification that can make a man agreeable: his mother, my only friend, is acquainted with every circumstance concerning me; we lie under great obligations to her deceased husband: let his son become yours, and we shall at once discharge several duties. Three days hence l shall introduce you to Madame Dormeuil; you shall see her son, and let me know candidly what you think of him. Forget not that I wish for your happiness alone, and that I should act contrary to my own inclination were I to address you in any other language than that of true friendship." "I thanked her for her kindness, and accepted her invitation. I delivered into Mr. Dormeuil's hands the whole of my property, which he told me amounted to two hundred thousand francs. This money he worked as he thought proper; I signed whatever vouchers he presented to me, and received from him one thousand francs monthly. "From what I am going to relate, my dear Julia, you will be able to judge whether any man ever deserved more to be confided in, and whether I can do too much for his widow. 6 "Six months ago Mr. Dormeuil, in consequence of some repeated heavy losses which he had sustained, thought it advise- In the above manner was I made acable to call a meeting of his creditors. Not quainted with the secret of my birth. It fully satisfied that he could honour all their would be impossible for me, my dear child, demands, he called upon me, apprised me to describe the effect produced upon me by of his embarrassed circumstances, and thus that confidence, which could nevertheless addressed me: My first care is to save you add nothing to my affection for Madame from ruin; therefore I shall never consider || Depreval; it was so easy a thing to love you merely as one of my creditors. You her, that it did not even require being oblighave hitherto been so successful in all youred to her to prefer her to all other women. speculations, that, besides the monies which || My ideas were fixed upon the apprehension you have already received, the original sum of losing her, and the solitude in which I which you entrusted to my care and mashould find myself in case that misfortune nagement for now fifteen years has nearly should befal me as speedily as it appeared doubled. Withdraw it, Madam, whilst it inevitable: in the mean time I could reflect is yet time, and place it so as to secure but with grief and terror on the necessity yourself against future events.' I requested of uniting my destiny to a man whom I of him to keep the money for his own use knew so little of. My heart had already and purposes, which proposal he refused. made a choice, or rather, my imagination He soon after settled his affairs, paid the had been dreaming; but is there any mean. whole amount of his debts, but had so verying in the first dream of an imagination of little left to live upon that he soon died sixteen? broken-hearted. (To be continued.) THE NEW SYSTEM OF BOTANY; WITH PRACTICAL ILLUSTRATIONS OF THE PHILOSOPHY OF FLORA, &c. &c. &c. We are now arrived at, perhaps, the most interesting, at least, certainly the most curious division of the kingdom of vegetable nature; a division which the immortal Swedish botanist has ranked as CRYPTOGAMIA, including the whole tribe of Mosses, Fungi, Lichens, Ferns, &c.-and the investigation of which will lead us to the most recondite, and, at the same time, amusing researches into the first efforts of nature to fulfil the behest of a wise and bounteous Providence. In this research, though we shall particularise each distinct species, yet it will tend much to the edification and amusement of our fair readers to generalise upon the va rious secrets of these productions of a "clandestine marriage:" for such is the literal translation of the term Cryptogamia, derived from the Greek words cryptos, concealed, and game, which signifies marriage thus united and adopted because the parts and properties of fertility are less evident than in the other offerings of Flora to the scientific botanist. It is true that, to a casual observer, the species now under consideration may appear too contemptible for notice; but then it must be recollected, that things apparently the most trivial are alike the work of an Almighty hand; and surely Christian observers will not deny that meed of admiration which a Heathen philosopher has already paid to Almighty power, when he said, that "Nature never appears more perfect and wonderful than in her minutest works." If the truth of such a position could for a moment be doubted, still we trust that a candid perusal of the following lectures will tend to confirm its justice and accuracy. In this investigation we shall adhere to the Linnæan classification, as that, though still imperfect in this instance, comes nearest to truth and propriety. It is true, indeed, that other plants, not strictly of this order, might be arranged under this definition; such as some of the grasses, and even so large a tree as the fig, whose flowers No. 60.-Vol. X. are actually shut up within the fruit, so that the fruit itself must be dissected, or at least pierced, to get at them: an operation which nature has caused to be performed by small insects, which, after feeding upon the male flowers, proceed to the fruit-buds on the female species, and there deposit the pollen which they have rubbed off from the anthers of the other species. So necessary is this operation in the culture of the fig, that it is artificially done by the Spanish and Italian peasants, with as much care and attention as an English gardener attends to the grafting of his most curious specimens. It has been attempted to get over this difficulty in nomenclature, but not successfully, inasmuch as the want of anthers was adopted for the distinction; but as that is the case with some other plants, the same objection holds good against it. This, indeed, may be considered as a part of the subject not exactly fit for female investigation: we shall therefore merely add, that the most elaborate research has yet only ascertained the sexual distinctions of a few of the class; but on a mature investi. gation of the external conformation and the correspondence of the most obvious parts of each, it will be found that the cryptogamous plants constitute several natural orders or families, which are mutually related to each other, and approach more or less to other families of plants, called Phænogamous. Simple and trivial as, at first glance, appears the subject of our present research, yet our immortal Avonian Bard thought it not beneath his notice, when he so sweetly introduces it as one of the ornaments which the birds would bring to Fidele's sad grave: sweetness; but as botany in Shakespeare's days was but in its infancy, we must refer, for more scientific allusion, to the lines of the poet of the Derwent, who, in speaking of the first efforts of vernal nature in Alpine situations, exclaims most energetically: "There, as old Winter flaps his hoary wing, And, lingering, leaves his empire to the Spring, Pierc'd with quick shafts of silver shooting light, Fly in dark troops the dazzled imps of night,Awake, my love! enamoured Muschus cries, Stretch thy fair limbs, refulgent maid arise; Ope thy sweet eye-lids to the rising ray, And hail, with ruby lips, returning day." In addition to this Dr. Darwin observes, that the species of MUSCHUS, called the Coral Moss, vegetates beneath the surface of the snow in northern re to the curious eye the most palpable affinities amongst these remarkable assemblages of plants. This writer adds, that most of the cryptogamous plants agree in one particular circumstance, that whilst they are destitute of any distinctly developed organs of fructification, their propagation is most effected by elongation, buds, tubers, and other kinds of roots, than by dissemination. Still must it be remembered, that not only the mosses, but also the ferns, are provided with true seeds, which, whether spread by nature's bounty, or artificially cultivated by men, will always germinate like more perfect plants. It was, indeed, formerly supposed that the mosses were only excrescences, produced from the earth, or from trees, though now well ascertained to be no less perfect as plants than productions of vegetable na ture of greater magnitude. gions, where the degree of heat is always about forty, or in the middle between the freezing point and the common heat of the earth. It thus serves for many months as the sole food of the rein deer, who digscribed them accurately; so that little more furrows in the snow to find it. Darwin's observation drawn from this is no less just than curious, when he says, that as the milk and flesh of the rein'deer form almost the only sustenance which can be procured during the long winters of the higher latitudes, so this moss may be said to support some millions of mankind! It is an ancient but very correct observation, that in all parts of nature the gradations are so minute from species to species, and so interwoven in the varieties of each, that it is almost impossible to ascertain where one begins or where another ends. In conformity with this, we see that the Ferns bear a strong affinity to the Palms, whilst the latter have but very little affinity with others of the cryptogamous class again, the Mosses resemble some species of Saxifrage; and, indeed, there are several polar plants which by a careless observer might be mistaken for mosses. An accurate investigator of this branch of botany avers that mosses, by means of particular species, unite with the Hepatica, which latter again unite with the Lichens; whilst these again, in one species, partake of the nature of the Fungi: thus affording Long, however, before they were noticed by Linnæus, that expert and judicious botanist, Dillenius, had examined and de was left to the Swedish botanist than to arrange the species as Cryptogamia Musci in the second order of his twenty-fourth class, and to give them specific characters, which he did by dividing them into three kinds, as having no calyptre or veil, having males and females separate, or having the males and females on the same plant. Since his time great light has been thrown upon this branch of botany by Hedwig, as well as by Sprengel and others; of whose discoveries, at least the most interesting parts of them, we shall not fail to avail ourselves. It is worthy of notice that the production of these plants by germination is of much rarer occurrence than their propagation by lateral elongation: in fact, as we shall soon have occasion to shew, the whole structure of these species is evidently calculated for the latter mode of reproduction; so that, by means of this mode of propagation (a mode so universal that even the Cryptogamous Aquatics partake of it), this whole vegetable family shews some degree of affinity to the Zoophytes, the first stage in animal creation. In short, it is asserted, both by De Saussure and by Vauchor, the Genevese philo. sopher, that they have found a species of Conferva, which is of the class under consideration, sometimes on stones, walls, and old wood, and often in fresh water, where it generally forms a thick texture like felt, and which may be seen constantly to move in all directions when exposed to the influence of light and heat. This extraordinary affinity of the vegetable and animal kingdoms of nature shall form the ground-work of our succeeding lecture in the mean time, we shall conclude the present one with some curious references of the learned and poetic Darwin, with respect to the aquatic mosses above alluded to. Speaking of a species of the Æga, which is found loose in many lakes in a globular form, floating from shore to shore to unite with other fixed species, he observes :"Night's tinsel beams on smooth Loch Lomond dance, Impatient Ega views the bright expanse: A With bended knee she prints the humid sands, Upturns her glistening eye, and spreads her hands." After such a description, a reference to the classic story of Hero and Leander might naturally be expected; and in conformity with such expectation, Darwin actually makes the allusion, describing the vege table Hero as exclaiming ""Tis he, 'tis he! my lord, my life, my love! Slumber, ye winds; ye billows, cease to move! Beneath his arms your buoyant plumage spread, Ye swans; ye Halcyons, hover round his head!" After so warm a reception we are not surprised to find, that "With eager step the boiling surf she braves, And meets her refluent lover in the waves: Loose o'er the flood her azure mantle swims, And the clear stream betrays her snowy limbs.” And all this in exact botanical conformity with her classic counterpart, the fair Hero, whom the poet describes as holding her lamp, sheltered by her robe from the winds, as a beacon for her lover, when -She guides Her bold Leander o'er the dusky tides; Wrings his wet hair, his briny bosom warms, And clasps her panting lover in her arms." she felt certain that she was not deceived in this conjecture, by the woman eyeing her, with that kind of look, which, though devoid of impertinent scrutiny, served to shew she had seen her before, but sought in her memory for the time. Cecile well recollected the court before the house, and felt now convinced she was in the same road she had travelled through before, with the steward of Madame de Lambert: she made the remark to the Palmer, who only replied, that the roads in France were very similar to each other; and after they had taken an hasty meal, they ascended a more light voiture, and travelled on at a much quicker rate. After sleeping one night on the road, the astonishment of Cecile was truly great, when she beheld the next morning, after a journey of about three hours, the venerable 66 The Palmer came about ten o'clock to conduct the pale and weeping Cecile to the Chapel of St. Benedict. "This day," said he, solemnly, "marks the future colour of your life; be courageous,-be heroic,—you ruins of St. Benedict's Chapel, and the sorrows now took possession of her mind, lofty turrets of the proud Castle of St. yet flew to the succour of the old confessor; Valerie. Trembling now with dread of her || her presence seemed to revive him; she atbenefactor's anger, she severely blamed tended him with the most assiduous and herself for the rash step she had taken; bnt|| soothing care, and the next eventful mornthe Palmer, who seemed to discover what || ing, the physician who attended him, prowas passing in her mind, said, Fear not, nounced him out of danger. daughter; De Tourville will not blame you for what you have done: he will rather praise that fortitude, which will enable you || to behold to-morrow the marriage which is to be privately celebrated in the Chapel of St. Benedict. It is there that the Mar-will soon see your parents,—you will be chioness de Lambert is to receive the nup- happy as your heart can wish." Oh! how tial benediction, as she hopes to unite her impossible, thought Cecile, as she retired hand with that of St. Albert, who will on with her conductor, behind the ruined no account be married elsewhere." Cecile shrine of St. Benedict, and awaited the apclasped her hands together in silent agony;proach of these ill-paired votaries of Hyshe could not speak, she was not prepared men. Six young women, arrayed in white, for so sudden a shock: it was there, thought|| she, he first breathed his vows of attachment to me; and it is, there he becomes doubly perjured! "Be assured," resumed the Palmer, "that De Tourville respects the strong parental tie too much to withhold a daughter from embracing her mother: fear nought from him, but hasten now to the good Pauline, the nurse and careful protec- || tress of your infant years." Cecile waited || not for a second command, but leaped from the voiture, and with breathless haste,|| ran towards the castle. Pauline was seated in melancholy mood, at the great hall door, spinning: after the first congratulations, she informed Cecile || that the Count had quitted home soon after her departure, and had not yet returned, || and poor father Anselm lay at the point of death. "Alas!" said Cecile, bursting into tears of grateful tenderness, as she recalled to her mind the old man's energetic blessing on her, “how many are the vicissitudes of a few months!"-"Ah! indeed, Mademoiselle," said Pauline. "First we have never seen the light in the chapel that used to terrify us so, since you've been gone; then my good master's gone, nobody knows where, and the poor old father is dying; and then there's that old witch, the Marchioness de Lambert, going to be married in the old chapel to-morrow to a young boy; I don't know who he is, he is not yet arrived, but he will be here to-morrow, early." The amiable Cecile, however her own entered, strewing the broken pavement of the chapel with flowers. The Palmer smiled, and said, "Fit emblem of the union of spring with decayed age!" At another time Cecile would have smiled too, but she now fancied she should smile no more. Next came the agonising sight of St. Albert, richly dressed, his face lighted up with smiles of joy, leading by the hand his future bride, habited in white and silver, and her own dark hair adorned with pearls. Already she had placed her foot on the lower step of the altar, and Cecile, on the verge of fainting, sunk her head on the shoulder of the Palmer. "Fear nothing," said he, " now is the decisive moment; revive this wedding will not take place." This last sentence acted like electricity on Cecile; but she looked anxiously on the Palmer, whose cheek now glowed with a faint but beautiful flush. The priest opened the book! The Palmer darted from his concealment, threw off his disguise, and from beneath the large pilgrim's hat, fell a profusion of auburn tresses, and under the humble habit was a rich robe of blue and silver, which floated down a spare, but elegant female form, and Cecile beheld the original of the picture she possessed, with the casket given her by De Tourville. Though somewhat faded by years and sickness, it was still the same sweet countenance, which neither seemed capable of destroying. As this form stood before the Marchioness de Lambert, that lady gave a piercing |