To rest his limbs, and watch his child at play,
And tell him o'er the labors of the day.

And when the woods put on their autumn glow,
And the bright sun came in among the trees,
And leaves were gathering in the glen below,
Swept softly from the mountains by the breeze,—
I wandered, till the starlight on the stream
At length awoke me from my fairy dream.

Ah, happy days! too happy to return,

Fled on the wing of youth's departed years!
A bitter lesson has been mine to learn,

The truth of life, its labors, pains, and fears;
Yet does the memory of my boyhood stay,
A twilight of the brightness passed away.

My thoughts recur to that sweet village still,
Its flowers and peaceful shades before me rise,
The play-place and the prospect from the hill,

Its summer verdure and autumnal dies;

The present brings its storms,-but while they last,
I shelter me in the delightful past.

J. H. B.

A CHANGEFUL PICTURE.

It was the morning of a day in Spring,

The sun looked gladness from the eastern sky;

Birds were upon the trees and on the wing,

And all the air was rich with melody;

The heaven, the calm, clear heaven, was bright on high;

Earth laughed beneath in all its freshening green;

The free, blue stream sung as it wandered by ;

And many a sunny glade and flowery scene

Gleamed out, like thoughts of youth, life's troubled years between.

The rose's breath upon the south wind came,
Oft, as its whisperings the young boughs stirred,
And flowers for which the poet has no name;
While, 'midst the blossoms of the grove was heard
The murmur of the restless humming-bird;
Waters were dancing in the mellow light,
And joyous tones, and many a cheerful word
Stole to the charmed ear with such delight,
As waits on soft light tones of music heard at night.

The night dews lay in the half-opened flower,
Like hopes that nestle in the youthful breast;
And ruffled by the light airs of the hour,
Awoke the clear lake from its glassy rest;
Far, blending with the blue and distant west,
Lay the dim woodlands, and the quiet gleam
Of amber clouds, like islands of the blest,—
Glorious and bright and changing like a dream,
And lessening fast away beneath the intenser beam.

Songs were amid the mountains far and wide,
Songs were on the green slopes that blossomed nigh;
While 'mid the springing flowers on every side,

Upon its painted wings, the butterfly

Roamed a sweet blossom of the sunny sky;

The visible smile of joy was on the scene;

'T was a bright vision but too soon to die:

Spring may not linger in her robes of green,—

Autumn, in storm and shade, shall quench the Summer sheen.

I came again;'t was Autumn's stormy hour;
The wild winds murmured in the yellow wood;
The sere leaves, rustling in the naked bower,
Were whirled in eddies to the mountain-flood;
Dark clouds enthralled the west; an orb of blood,
The red sun pierced the hazy atmosphere;
And torrent murmurs broke the solitude,

Where, straying lonely, as with steps of fear,

I marked the deepening gloom which shrouds the fading year!

The ruffled lake heaved wildly; near the shore
It bore the red leaves of the shaken tree,
Shed in the violent north wind's restless roar-
Emblems of man upon life's stormy sea;

Pale, withered leaves! once to the breezes free
They waved in Spring and Summer's golden prime;
Now even as clouds or dew, how fast they flee!
Weak, trembling on the boughs in Autumn's clime,
As man sinks down in death, chilled by the touch of time,

I looked again;-and fast the dying sun

Was fading to the melancholy west

Sending his fitful gleams, through clouds of dun,
O'er nature's desolate and dreary breast;

He lit the dew-drop's cold and frozen rest,

That slept on yellow leaves the woods among;

The seared earth's flowers, that did the glades invest,
Had perished, and were buried where they sprung,
While the wild Autumn wind their mournful requien sung!

1 marked the picture-'t twas the changeful scene,
Which life holds up to the observant eye;
Youth's spring of gladness and its bowers of green,
The streaming sunlight of its morning sky,
And the dark clouds of Death, that linger by!
Yet oft, when life is fresh and hope is strong,
Shall sorrow fill with tears the youthful eye,
And age to death move peacefully along,
As on the singer's lip expires the finished song!

W. G. C.

VOL. I.

37

CRITICAL NOTICES.

A Compendium of the Flora of the Northern and Middle States, containing Generic and Specific Descriptions of all the Plants, exclusive of the Cryptogamia, hitherto found in the United States north of the Potomac. By JOHN TORREY, M. D. &c. New York. Stacy B. Collins. 12mo. pp. 390.

THIS little work was promised to the public about two years since, in the Author's Preface to his "Flora of the Northern and Middle States." It is a sort of abridgment of the larger work, and contains synoptical descriptions of all the plants described in it. To the specific characters of the plant the habitat is added, and such of the popular characters as are the most important.. These are often found useful and convenient to the botanical student; they at least inform him in what situations to search for the plant, and enable him the more easily to recognise it when found, since what are called the popular characters are ordinarily the most apparent, and strike the eye on the first inspection. The arrangement adopted in this work is the same with that used by Dr. Bigelow in his "Florula Bostoniensis," and is perhaps the best that could be devised. The genera are first given, arranged under the several classes to which they belong, and, after the genera, the species.

It is a task of no small labor to compile a good Flora of any particular district of country. It is expected, that the naturalist who does this, will fully satisfy himself, either by personal observation or from competent authority, that the plants described in his collection are natives of that district, and that all the natives are enumerated and described. A greater degree of accuracy is also required of him than in a more extensive and general work. In these the characters of plants are often obscurely and imperfectly, and sometimes erroneously given. The author who confines himself to the botany of a particular district, is expected to observe the plant in its native soil, to examine and analyze the fresh and perfect specimen, and to supply the deficiencies and rectify the mistakes of those who have described it before him. The learning and industry of Dr. Torrey are sufficient to inspire a confidence that he has done this to no small extent; and an examination of the work itself shows that this confidence is well founded.

The work comprehends all the phenogamous plants of the Northern and Middle States, within which, we suppose, our

author's personal observations have been principally employed. A few pages, at the end of the work, are also taken up with descriptions of some cryptogamous plants. It is a convenient. manual, both in size and arrangement, and probably as extensive a one as the general student, in that part of the United States for which it was compiled, has any occasion for. No well educated man should willingly remain entirely unacquainted with a branch of knowledge so readily acquired, and so agreeable in itself, as that to which this work relates. He should, at least, know somewhat of the structure and relations of a part of creation with which he has so much to do; which, in so many ways, contributes to his sustenance and to his enjoyment; which bears so visibly impressed upon it the marks of wisdom and design; which is so beautiful in itself, and connected with associations so numerous and interesting. As for the more difficult and obscure parts of the science, they may be left to those who have leisure and taste for them, to professed botanists, to the diligent and painful collectors and students of sea-weeds, mosses, and mushrooms.

Russian Tales. Translated from the French of Count Xavier Le Maistre, Author of the " Leper of Aost," &c. Philadelphia. H. C. Carey & I. Lea. 1826. 12mo.

pp. 200.

THE Volume with this title contains two rather interesting tales. The first of them, entitled "The Prisoners of Caucasus," is an account of the captivity of a Major Kascambo, a Russian officer, among a fierce and savage tribe of Caucasian mountaineers, and his liberation by means of his faithful servant. This servant is a character which is probably nowhere in the world found in such perfection as in Russia, attached to his master with an instinctive and dog-like fidelity. He is full of expedients to serve his interests; braves every danger, and endures every hardship for his sake; and does not even scruple in the least to commit a crime when he thinks it will be for his master's advantage. After killing the Georgian couple, who were constituted by the tribe the keepers of Kascambo, and who had not treated him with great lenity, he proceeds to murder the little Mamet their son, whose affection and kindness had greatly alleviated the misery of his captivity, on the pretence that the noise of taking off Kascambo's fetters might awaken him, and cause him to alarm the inhabitants of the village. This horrid action greatly diminishes our interest, both in the fortunes of him who perpetrates it, and of him for whose sake it