with them; and unguents of tar, or nets steeped in fetid birch oil, are scarcely sufficient to protect the case-hardened cuticle of the Laplander from their bite."

In the Crimea, a part of Russia, Dr. Clark states, that the soldiers are obliged to sleep in sacks, as a defence against gnats, and that in spite of every precaution, several die in consequence of mortification produced by their bites. The bodies of himself and his companions, notwithstanding the protection of gloves, handkerchiefs, etc., were one entire wound, producing great swelling and fever. The noise they make in flying cannot be conceived by those who have heard gnats only in England." It is a "most fearful sound."

If we pass from the northern to the tropical regions, we find the pest still raging. Humboldt says, "Between the little harbour of Higuerote and the mouth of the Rio Unare, the wretched inhabitants are accustomed to stretch themselves on the ground, and pass the night buried in the sand, three or four inches deep, leaving out the head, which they cover with a handkerchief." Here the mosquitos carry on the warfare by day, the temporaneros (a kind of culex) by twilight, and the zancudos (another species of culex) by night; so that there is no cessation from their attacks.

Insects, like other conquerors, have given their name to territories; as, for example, Mosquito Bay, in St. Christopher's; Mosquitos, a town in Cuba; and the Mosquito country, in North America. Armies have yielded before them; Papor, king of Persia, was compelled to raise the siege of Nisibis, by a plague of gnats which attacked his elephants and beasts of burden, and caused the rout of his army." See Theodoret, Hist. Eccl.

66

"The Fly," however, to which the writer alludes in the passage, Isa. vii. 18, 19, at the head of this paper, is productive of consequences far more dire and disastrous than any we have yet alluded to. We say is, because it would appear, that "the fly," is still known and dreaded in the upper regions of the Nile. It is the Tsaltsalya, or Zimb, of Bruce, a native of Abyssinia; and most probably belongs to the family termed by entomologists, Tabanida.

"Small as this insect is, we must acknowledge the elephant, rhinoceros, lion, and tiger, vastly his inferior. The

appearance, nay the very sound of it, occasions more trepidation, movements, and disorder, both in the human and brute creation, than the whole herds of the most ferocious wild beasts, in tenfold greater numbers than they ever are, would produce. As soon as this plague appears, and their buzzing is heard, all the cattle forsake their food, and run wildly about the plain till they die, worn out with fatigue, fright, and hunger. No remedy remains for the residents on such spots, but to leave the black earth, and hasten down to the sands of Atbara, and there remain while the rains last. Camels, and even elephants and rhinoceroses, though the two last coat themselves with an armour of mud, are attacked by this winged assassin, and afflicted with numerous tumours. the inhabitants of the sea-coast of Belinda, down to Cape Gardefui, to Saba and the south of the Red Sea, are obliged in the beginning of the rainy season, to remove to the next sand, to prevent all their stock of cattle from being destroyed. This is no partial emigration; the inhabitants of the countries from the mountains of Abyssinia, northward to the confluence of the Nile and Astabolas, are once a year obliged to change their abode, and seek protection in the sands of Beja; nor is there any alternative or means of avoiding this, though a hostile band were in the way capable of spoiling them of half their substance." See Bruce's Travels.

The Zimb.

All

This insect (Bruce informs us) is a little larger than a bee, and of stouter proportions. A pencil of three stiff hairs projects from the head; and the limbs are serrated and covered over the inside with down. The above engraving is a copy of Bruce's figure, which shows the fly somewhat magnified. M.

BOTANY.-No V.

THE whole face of nature is now covered with luxuriant vegetation: as yet, in some places, the mower has not stripped of its glory the flowery meadow; nor have the myriads of green leaves, which present to the eye so cheering and refreshing an aspect, been scorched by the summer's most intense heat; nor do they show signs of that decay which mournfully but certainly succeeds to maturity.

Nature is in hey-day, and not only do the vegetable tribes flourish and abound, but living creatures of almost every kind are, according to their various capacity, sharing the universal enjoyment. How many living creatures derive pleasure and support from the productions of the earth! How much of the pleasure of those who delight in the study of nature arises from witnessing the happiness of other, though they be inferior creatures. What, indeed, is gratitude, which is so pleasing to God, but taking pleasure in his mercies? Now is every hour not only of the day, but even of the night, burdened with sounds expressive of the happiness of some of these creatures. About two hours after midnight, before the nightingale has concluded his song, up springs the lark, sweet bird, so susceptible and full of pleasure, that the night, short as it is, seems too long for it, although throughout the live-long day, it soars and strains its little throat with its thrilling music. The cuckoo, too, rises before the sun, and makes the valleys echo again with his often heard, but ever welcome and gladdening shout; then follow trains of crows, about to visit for the day their accustomed provision grounds. Then, as soon as the sun arises, are thousands of creatures, great and small, aroused from inactivity to life and enjoyment.

Not only the cattle upon a thousand hills, and the birds of heaven, but myriads of insects that crawl the earth, or float in the light breezes by which they are wafted about like an army in voluntary and unanimous motion, and myriads upon myriads of animalcules, many of which are hardly to be discerned with even the most efficient artificial sight these, all according to their nature, are enjoying their little day; each one in the pursuit of some object, and answering, though unconsciously, the designs of a benevolent and wise Creator. Some

we see flitting from flower to flower, ensuring vegetable fertility; and some feeding upon the noisome and putrifying moss, and thereby preventing an infectious atmosphere. But let us turn from these to "the grass of the field," which though endued neither with motion nor voice, yet has irresistible charms for those who love the country.

How rich is the botanist at this season of the year! Yes, rich; for he has a property in every flower that meets his eye; and even if he cannot transplant to nourish and cherish, yet every individual has a tribute for him, which he appropriates for the enriching and improving his heart and temper; every flower is a book, where he

"May read, and read, And read again, and still find something new, Something to please, and something to instruct, E'en in the noisome weed."

It is generally the case that flowers are associated in our minds with some pleasing time or event in our past lives; but however that may be, when we have once become acquainted with a flower, that acquaintance continues through life, and is still more confirmed, by every fresh interview. Flowers are never out of temper with us, and whatever be our mood, we cannot be out of temper with them; we even forgive the scratching thorn of the rose, for the rose is still sweet and lovely: and whether the violet or the clematis speak to us of joys which a few summers since were in the germ, and being still continued to us, are now advanced and realized; or of pleasing and sanguine anticipations, which have proved more withering than themselves, still they are welcome-welcome as was the season of which they still remind us: even in the case of blighted hopes they kindle a holy, melancholy contemplation, with which, if we could, we would not part. Their endless variety of hue and of outline refreshes our vision; their inimitable beauty speaks to us of a "paradise lost," but speaks to us also of a "paradise prepared," as they are some of the ten thousand proofs of the continued love of God, even to sinful creatures.

Walking by the sandy hedge-bank, we are struck with the beauty of the little speedwell, (Veronica chamadrys,) which is sufficiently abundant to be well known. Fig. 2, is the magnified flower. It deserves to be taken from its wild state to ornament the flower bed or rock work; *See p. 53 of this volume.

its sky-blue flowers, which last for a considerable time, vie in beauty with the forget-me-not.

If we cross a shallow running stream, the brooklime (Veronica beccabunga) catches our eye, being remarkable for the bright green of its leaves, and blue flowers; this (if known) may be safely gathered and used as a salad; it is in high repute as a purifier of the blood.

By the river-side we may find in abundance the forget-me-not, (Myosotis palustris,) with its roll of flowers of incomparable azure. This plant may be taken up with a little earth, and if placed in a pot standing in water, will thrive in almost any situation.

In the deep shade of the wood we meet with the humble woodruff, or lyricon fancy; (Asperula odorata;) we never lose an opportunity of depositing in our waistcoat pocket a few sprigs of this plant, which will for months and years, if taken care of, give out a most grateful odour, like the sweetest hay.

Many of the grasses are also in perfection, and are well worth the most minute investigation; they will at least show the peculiar force of that expression of St. Peter, "All the glory of man is as the flower of grass."

The following are amongst the most remarkable British flowers of the present month.

Utricularia vulgaris, the greater bladderwort, in standing water.

Lemna minor, lesser duck-weed, on the surface of ditches.

Lycopus Europaeus, Gypsy weed, on river banks.

Salvia pratensis, meadow clary, in meadows, and sandy banks.

Salvia verbenaca, common clary, in meadows and road-sides.

Dipsacus sylvestris, wild teasel, on hedges and way-sides, common.

Scabiosa arvensis, field scabious, in corn-fields and pastures, common. Sherardia arvensis, little field mad

der.

Asperula cynanchica, smaller woodruff, on chalky pastures.

Galium, bedstraw, several species. Rubia peregrina, madder, on limestone rocks.

Plantago major, greater plantain. Sanguisorba officinalis, great burnet, in moist meadows.

Myosotis versicolor, yellow and blue scorpion grass, on walls, or in dry cornfields.

Cynoglossum officinale, common hound's-tongue, by way-sides.

Symphytum officinale, comfrey, in wet situations.

Borago officinalis, common borage, on old walls in villages, a doubtful native. Primula farinosa, bird's-eye primrose, on elevated situations, in the north of England and Scotland.

Menyanthes nymphæoides, fringed buckbean, in still parts of the Thames, and some other rivers.

Hottonia palustris, water violet, in ditches.

Lysimachia vulgaris, great loosestrife, by river sides.

Lysimachia nummularia, herb twopence, in wet pastures.

Anagallis arvensis, pimpernel, in corn-fields.

Convolvulus arvensis, smaller bird

Datura stramonium, thorn apple. Solanum dulcamara, common nightshade, in hedges.

Who loves not the shady trees, The smell of flowers, the sound of brooks, The song of birds, and hum of bees, Murmuring in green and fragrant nooks,

The voice of children in the spring,
Along the field-paths wandering?
Who has not stood at morning's dawn,
When all the eastern sky was gold,
When pearly dew bedropt the lawn,
And shone on waving wood and wold,
When dappled clouds were blue and white,
And felt his soul move like the light?
England has many a flowery vale,
Wild heath, and hill, and twilight grove,
Where yet the lute-tongued nightingale
Makes answer to the low-voiced dove:

O, leave your towns, and come with me,
Under the shady greenwood tree.
T. MILLAR.

DIVINE FORGIVENESS.

THE forgiveness that there is with God, is such as becomes him-such as is suitable to his greatness, his goodness, and all the other excellences of his nature; such as that therefore by which he will be known to be God. What he says concerning some of the works of his providence, "Be still, and know that I am God," may be much more said concerning the great effect of his grace; "Still yourselves, and know that he is God." It is not like that narrow, difficult, halving, and manacled forgiveness, that is found amongst men; but it is full, free, bottomless, boundless, absolute; such as becomes his nature and his excellences. Owen.

over

THE POMEGRANATE.

THE pomegranate was long considered as a member of the myrtaceous order or family, the leading characters of which were touched upon in our description of the myrtle.* To this charming family it has an obvious affinity in the structure of its flowers, habits, and general appearance. The peculiar formation of the seed, and the absence of pellucid dots upon the leaves, supplied hints for separating the pomegranate from an association in which for a long time it had, by common consent, held a legitimate place. All the commendations, however, we bestowed upon the myrtaceous assemblage, taken as a whole, appertain to the individual now under consideration; and we are insensibly led, though scientific considerations might say no, to unite it, in imagination at least, with that delightful company of trees and shrubs, whose peculiar beauty exceeds all praise.

See page 81, of "Visitor," for 1837.

youth and freshness. Dioscorides, a Greek writer on the medicinal virtues of herbs, informs us, that the rind of the pomegranate bore an appropriate name in that ancient language, whence we are led to suppose, that it was not less distinguished in the Hebrew, which is often so peculiarly happy in the aptitude and propriety of its terms. Let us, therefore, take it for granted, that pelah, the original word translated piece, is equivalent to sidion of the Greek, and rind in English, and then every word in the passage will be called upon to furnish its part towards the meaning of the whole. "Thy temples are like the rind of a pomegranate," smooth, polished, and suffused with a delicate blush of health and joy. We are at liberty to imagine, that this comparison was made in sight of the pomegranate tree, while the fruit "burnished" upon its verdant branches, and all the charms of surrounding nature contributed to heighten its beauty.

The punica granatum, or pomegranate is characterized by the countless number of seeds lodged within the fruit, which is about the size of a large apple, and is covered by a rind of peculiar polish, and hardness. The seeds are invested with peculiar coverings, that become soft, and form the red pulp, which is eaten. The blossoms are generally of a rich scarlet, sometimes variegated with white. When in China, the writer counted several varieties, distinguished from each by the colour of their flowers. The blossoms often become double, like those favourite plants which are the delight and care of the florist: they are then called balaustium blossoms. It has long been cultivated in the hot-houses of the curious; but, at the best, the individuals we have seen, present a very imperfect sample of the tree when flourishing in the land of its nativity, under the genial influences of a southern climate. The peculiar dye of the blossom is referred to in the meaning of its first name, punica; as if we should say, "It was stained with Tyrian purple." The second, granatum, implies that the fruit is full of small grains or seeds. This latter circumstance seems to be the reason why at a very early period, the pomegranate was treated as the emblem of fertility and blessing. The rain and dews of heaven are called, by the apostle, the blessing of God. The royal psalmist, in that very beautiful

Psalm, the sixty-fifth, has blended the blessing of God with the fruitful showers of heaven, so that there is no impropriety in coupling the benign regard of Heaven with the richness and fecundity of the earth. We find traces of this sentiment among the heathen; the once fair and flourishing island of Rhodes bore the blossom of the pomegranate in her arms, and Achilles Tertius tells us, that an image of Jupiter, who was no more than an impersonation of the vital air, held a pomegranate in his hand. As the emblem of blessing, it had a consecrated place upon the holy vestments of the high priest, and on the chapiters which crowned the two pillars in Solomon's temple. The scriptural reader may safely regard it as the symbol of that blessing which maketh rich, and addeth no sorrow therewith.

We have considered the pomegranate tree, first, in reference to its botanical character, as allied to, but distinguished from, a large and beautiful order of plants; then, as the object of particular mention in the Song of Solomon, wherein we suggested a meaning for a term that has hitherto been slighted, by which the sentiment is rendered conformable to poetic usage, which ever looks at things under their most beautiful aspects; and, lastly, we have supplied an interpretation of the symbol, which is easy to sense, and consistent with the tenour of ancient philosophy.

Forbes, in his Oriental Memoirs, ob◄

serves:

"The Indian pomegranates, although sometimes tolerable, are by no means equal to those brought from Arabia by the Muscat Dingeys. These are a very fine fruit; large, and full of juice, highly flavoured. Some are red, others white. The most luxurious method of eating them is, to have the juice expressed from the seeds and interior film, by

which means the harsh seeds and bitter flavour are avoided. It is a delicate beverage; and one of those pomegranates will sometimes fill a small bason. They make a pleasant wine from this fruit in Persia and Arabia, to which there is probably some allusion in the Song of Solomon, where they are mentioned as growing in orchards. I would cause thee to drink of spiced wine of the juice of my pomegranate,'' chap. viii. 2.

G. T. L.