A POET'S THANKS. By Bernard Barton. (Lond. Mag.) Nay let not sorrow cloud thy brow, nor thus in thought repine, My feelings, still, as fondly thrill'd whene'er I turn to thee. I know, although thou speak'st them not, the thoughts which fill thy mind's Thou think'st thy minstrel's earthly lot unworthily assign'd; Could wish of thine that lot dictate, much brighter it would be, Yet far from cheerless is his fate who finds a friend like thee. I own I should rejoice to share what poorest peasants do, To breathe heaven's heart-reviving air, and hail its vault of blue; Yet more, far more, 'twould soothe my soul with thee, dear friend, to stray, Where ocean's murmuring billows roll in some secluded bay ; The silent cliffs, the speaking main, the breezes blowing free, These could not look, speak, breathe in vain, if felt and shared with thee. Yet though such luxuries as these remain to us unknown, We from our scanty store may seize some joys of tend'rest tone : Had Fortune on our prospects smiled and sunshine round us flung, The bird whose soft and plaintive song is heard alone at night, Thy voice in care, in grief, in pain, has been to me as dear While some, as every joy decreas'd their sympathy denied, Though I may darkly pass away, as in the noon of life, Believe it not! the love that gives to life its truest zest, And should some fragments of my song, which thy applause endears, WE HISTORY OF THE GARDEN OF PLANTS.* (Extracted from Blackwood's Mag.) E have lately received a very delightful book, from a very delightful friend, and, being anxious that the world should become as happy, and as well informed, as ourselves, we lose no time in requesting the numerous individuals of which it is composed, men, women, and dandies, the "intermediate link," to order each and all of them, his, her, and its copy. Every body knows something now-a-days of the Garden of Plants, or at least ought so to do; for it has been ascertained, that even "Tims" has bearded the Douglas in his den; that is, has stood within a few paces of the Menagerie without any fear of being driven to atoms by the tuft of the lion's tail. -- The Garden of Plants is certainly a most interesting spot. What can be more delightful than to wander about in the twilight of a fine autumnal evening, beneath those magnificent rows of ancient lime-trees, when the air is perfumed by the balmy breath of many thousand flowers-to listen, amid such a scene of stillness and repose, to the multitudinous voice of a mighty cityor to contrast a sound composed of such discordant and tumultuous elements with the wild and plaintive cries of some solitary water-fowl,which inhabits the banks of a little lake, in the centre of this Garden of Paradise! On the other hand, during the day-time, if less interesting to your sentimentalist, it is certainly fully more amusing to the ordinary class of visitors. Great part of one side of the Garden is laid out as a Menagerie, in which all sorts of wild animals are confined, or, more properly speaking, detained the extreme comfort and extent of the dwellings, with their beautiful conformability to the pursuits and manners of their inhabitants, almost entirely precluding the idea of any thing so harsh and rigorous as confinement. There the elephant, "wisest of brutes," occupies, as he ought to do, a central and conspicuous situation. He is not lodged, as he is with us,in a gloomy crib,in which he can scarcely turn himself round with sufficient freedom to perform the little devices taught him by his keeper, and which one sees how much he despises by the calm melancholy expression of his eyes. He dwells in a large and lofty apartment, opening by means of broad folding-doors into a capacious area, which is all his own. In this he has dry smooth banks to repose upon, and a deep pond of water, into which, once a day, he sinks his enormous body, causing the waters to flow over every part, except his mouth and proboscis. Nothing can be more refreshing than to see him, after basking for some hours in the morning sun, till his skin becomes as parched and dry as the desert dust of Africa-to see him calmly sinking down amidst the clear, cool waters of his little lake, and re-appearing again, all moist and black, protruding his huge round back, more like a floating island, or a Leviathan of the ocean, than an inhabitant of terra-firma. In this neighbourhood, too, there are camels and dromedaries, the "ships of the desert," as they are so beautifully called in the figurative language of the east, either standing upright, with their long, ghost-like necks, and amiable, though imbecile countenances, or couched on the grass," and bedward ruminating," apparently well pleased to have exchanged the burning plains of Arabia for the refreshing shades of the Jardin des Plantes. No fear now of the blasting breath of the desert, or of those gigantic columns of moving sand which had so often threatened to overwhelm them, and the leaders of * History and Description of the Museum of Natural History and Royal Botanic Garden of Paris. Translated from the French of M. Deleuze, assistant Botanist. By A. A. Royer. 2 vols. 8vo. with 17 plates. This work has been composed, by authority of the French government, from materials furnished by the Professors and Administrators of the Museum. their tribe-no delusive mirage, tempting them still onwards, amongst those glaring, glittering wildernesses," with show of waters mocking their distress." Even the wilder and more romantic animals seem here to have found a happy haven and a fit abode. The milk-white goat of Cachmire, with its long silky clothing, is seen reposing tranquilly, with half-closed eyes, upon some artificial ledge of rock, forming a beautiful and lively contrast to the dark green moss with which it is surrounded. Deers and antelopes repose upon the dappled ground, or are seen tripping about under the shade of the neighbouring lime-trees, while the enclosures, with their surrounding shrnbbery, are so skilfully arranged and so intermingled with each other, that every animal appears as if it enjoyed the free range of the whole encampment, instead of being confined to the vicinity of its own little hut. The walks are laid out somewhat in a labyrinthic form, so that every step a person takes he is delighted by the view of some fair or magnificent creature from " a far countrie." Birds of the most gorgeous and graceful plumage, peacocks, golden pheasants, and cranes from the Balearic Isles, solicit attention in every quarter, and are seen crossing your path in all the stateliness of conscious beauty, or gliding like sunbeams through groves of ever-green, star-bright, or brightIn whatever direction you turn, you find the features of the scenery impressed with characters very different from those which are usually met with in European countries. At the head of the Garden, beyond the house which was once the dwelling of the illustrious Buffon, there grows a magnificent cedar, its head rendered more picturesque by a cannon-ball which struck it during the Revolution ;* and from a little hill in the neighbourhood, there is an ex er." tensive and beautiful view, not only of the Garden of Plants, with its fine groves and shady terraces, but also of the city itself, with Mont Martre rising like an acropolis in the distance, the old square tower of the Cathedral of Notre Dame, and the golden dome of the Hospital of Invalids. Between the Garden of Plants properly so called, and that part of it which is devoted to the uses of the Menagerie, there is a broad and deep sunk fence divided by stone walls into several compartments. These are the dwelling-houses of the bears, the awkward motions and singular attitudes of which seem to afford a constant source of amusement to the visitors. Bare leafless trees have been planted in the centre of some of these enclosures, to the top of which Bruin is frequently seen to climb, as if to enjoy the more extended view of the garden, and of the groups of people who crowd its walks. Some of these animals, when they perceive any one looking over their parapet, erect themselves on their hind legs, and, stretching forth their great paws, seem to ask for charity with all the importunity of a moaning beggar. Indeed, they are so much accustomed to have bread and fruit thrown to them by strangers, that the slightest motion of the hand is generally sufficient to make them assume an erect position, which they will maintain for some time, till their strength fail them, and they drop to the ground, testifying by a short and sullen growl, their displeasure at having been oblig ed to play such fantastic tricks to so little purpose. An unfortunate accident befel one of the largest of these creatures some years ago. He was sitting perched near the top of his tree, when his foot gave way, and he was precipitated to the ground. A broken limb was the only disagreeable result "The largest of the pine tribe on the hillocks, is a cedar of Lebanon, P. Cedrus, the trunk of which measures twelve feet in circumference. The history of this tree, as recited to us by Professor Thouin, is remarkable. In 1736, Bernard de Jussieu, when leaving London, received from Peter Collinson a young plant of Pinus Cedrus, which he placed in a flower-pot, and conveyed in safety to the Paris Gardens. Common report has magnified the exploit by declaring, that Jussieu carried it all the way in the crown of his hat It is now the identical tree admired for its great size."-Neill's Journal of a Horticultural Tour through Flanders, Holland, and the North of France. of this misfortune. His temper of mind does not,however,appear to have been much mollified by his decreased strength of body, for it was this same animal which caused the death of the unfortunate sentinel who had descended into his area, misled, as it was supposed, by an old button or bit of metal, which he mistook for a piece of money. The cries of this poor being were heard distinctly during the stillness of the night by those who dwelt within the garden; but, as there was no reason to dread the possibility of such an accident occurring, no assistance was offered. He was found by the guard who came to relieve him in the morning, lying dead beneath the paws of the bear, exhibiting, comparatively speaking, few marks of external violence, but almost all his bones broken to pieces. The bear retired at the voice of his keeper, and did not, in fact, seem to have been induced by any carnivorous propensity to attack the person whose death it had so miserably occasioned. It was rather what an old man in the garden characterized as a piece of mauvaise plaisanterie, for it appeared to derive amusement from lifting the body in its paws and rolling it along the ground, and showed no symptom of fierceness or anger when driven into its interior cell. Turning to the right as you enter the lower gate of the Garden, opposite the Bridge of Austerlitz, now called the Pons du Jardin du Roi, you approach the dwellings of the more carnivorous animals, which are confined in cages with iron gratings, very similar to our travelling caravans. Here the lion is truly the king of beasts, being the oldest, the largest, and in all respects the most magnificent, I have ever seen. There is a melancholy grandeur about this creature in a state of captivity, which I can never witness without the truest commiseration. The elegant and playful attitudes of the smaller animals of the feline tribe being so expressive of happiness and contentment, prevent one from compassionating their miefortunes in a similar manner; while the fierce and cruel eye of the tiger, with his restiess and impatient demeanour, produces rather the con trary feeling of satisfaction, that se savage an animal should be kept for ever in confinement. He appears to lament the loss of liberty, chiefly because he cannot satiate his thirst for blood by the sacrifice of those before him; his countenance glares as fiercely, and his breath comes as hot, as if he still couched among the burned-up grass of an Indian jungle. But his companion in adversity appears to suffer from a more kingly sorrow-the remembrance of his ancient woods and rivers, with all their wild magnificence, "dingle and bushy dell," is visibly implanted in his recollection. Like the dying gladiator, he thinks only of "his young barbarians," and, when he paces around his cell, he does so with the same air of forlorn dignity as Regulus might have assumed in the prison of the Carthaginians. But while we are indulging ourselves in "a world of fond remembrances," we are forgetting Mr. Royer's book, to which we had set down with the intention of extracting an article. The King's Garden in Paris, commonly called the Garden of Plants, was founded by Louis XIII., by an edict given and registered by the Parliament, in the month of May, 1635. Its direction was assigned to the first Physician Herouard, who chose as InAt first it tendant Guy de la Brosse. consisted only of a single house, and twenty-four acres of land. Guy de la Brosse, during the first year of his management, formed a parterre 292 feet long, and 227 broad, composed of such plants as he could procure, the greater number of which were given by John Robin, the father of Vespasian, the King's botanist. These amounted, including varieties, to 1800. He then prepared the ground, procured new plants by correspondence, traced the plan of the garden to the extent of ten acres, and opened it in 1640. It appears by the printed catalogue of the ensuing year, that the number of species and varieties had increased to 2360. De la Brosse died in 1643. Such was the origin of an establishment which has since attained so high a degree of prosperity, and has become the first school of Natural History in the world. The signal success of Tournefort in the cultivation of botanical science, is universally known. He was the first successfully to define the genera of plants, and the excellence of his groups exhibits the clearness of his conceptions, and ranks him as the father of that branch of the science. He died in 1708, in consequence of an injury received from a waggon in a narrow -street of Paris, and left his collection of natural history, and herbarium, to the Garden. We shall pass in silence the unprofitable period of Chirac's administration of the affairs of the Garden, and proceed to the appointment of Buffon in 1739, who was preferred to the situation in consequence of the dying request of Du Fay, his immediate predecessor. This illustrious writer was already distinguished by several memoirs on mathematics, natural philosophy, and rural economy, which had gained him admittance to the Academy of Sciences; but he was as yet unknown as a nataralist. Endowed with that power of attention which discovers the most distant relations of thought, and that brilliancy of imagination which commands the attention of others to the result of laborious investigations, he was equally fitted to succeed in different walks of genius. He had not yet decided to what objects he should devote his talents and acquirements, when his nomination to the place of Intendant of the King's Garden determined him to attach himself to natural history. As his reputation increased, he employed the advantages afforded by his credit and celebrity, to enrich the establishment to which he had allied himself; and to him are owing its growth and improvement till the period of its re-organization, and that extension and variety which rendered a re-organization necessary. If the Museum owes its splendour to Buffon,-to that magnificent establishment he, on the other hand, owes his fame. If he had not been placed in the midst of collections, furnished by Government with the means of augmenting them, and thus enabled by extensive correspondence to elicit information from all the naturalists of his day, he would never have conceived the plan of his natural history, or been able to carry it into execution; for that genius which embraces a great variety of facts, in order to deduce from them general conclusions, is continually exposed to err, if it has not at hand all the elements of its speculations. In 1784, Daubenton the younger being obliged by bad health to resign his place of keeper and demonstrator of the Cabinet, Buffon appointed, as his successor, M. de Lacepède, who was thus fixed in the pursuit of natural history, in which he has since made so eminent a figure, both as a professor and an author. Buffon died on the 16th of April, 1788, and his place of Chief Intendant of the King's Garden was given to the Marquis de la Billarderie. The disorders of the revolution beginning at this period, M. de la Billarderie withdrew from France, and his place of Intendant was filled by the appointment of M. de St. Pierre, in 1792. St. Pierre undertook the direction of the King's Garden at a difficult conjuncture. That distinguished writer was gifted with eminent talents as a painter of nature, and a master of the milder affections; he knew at once to awaken both the heart and the imagination; but he wanted exact notions in science, and his timid and melancholy character deprived him of that knowledge of the world, and that energy of purpose, which are alike requisite for the exertion of authority. Nevertheless, he was precisely the man for the crisis. His quiet and retired life shielded him from persecution, and his prudence was a safeguard to the establishment. He presented several memoirs to the ministry, containing some very sound regulations, conceived in a spirit of economy which circumstances rendered necessary. In these memoirs may always be noticed the following words :-"After consulting the elders," by which term he designated the persons who had been long attached to the establishment, though without an official share in its administration, |