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on the production of one effect: the second being also prepared to follow and complete what had been commenced by the first. It is a further proof of such a regular and fore-ordained plan, that while the general inclinations and structures of the plants destined to this end are peculiar, so is there among them a still further gradation of inclination and structure: a succession of distinct desires and powers, which enable some to commence that portion of the general duty which others are to take up, and others again to terminate, while none of these can perform the office of their associates in the work. In every case, even under the absence of all analogy, we must grant that such a mode of proceeding bespeaks a design it is impossible to doubt it for a moment, when we find man himself pursuing the same system, and, whether he knows or not that he is imitating nature, sowing vegetation to secure and consolidate the mud which his piers and dams have detained, that he may gain a new territory from the waters.

In the proceedings of nature, however, the plan is more perfect; and while the results are more numerous, the provisions for each are as minute and accurate, as the effects themselves are unfailing. Not only is the new land consolidated, but the plants are constructed with powers to detain what would otherwise have floated on with the stream, to be lost in the ocean; that most valuable portion of the whole deposit, on which the unceasing fertility of these new lands is to depend. And while the living plants serve to detain and to bind, the dead ones are ordained, in their generations, to fertilize, and, still further, to aid in elevating the new plains beyond the eventual inroads of the waters. A short list, selected from a numerous catalogue of plants, will furnish that detailed evidence which the reader can easily verify and extend.

In the sea, it is the Zostera chiefly, which, with its long, numerous, and firm roots, lays the first foundation of that which will afterwards become a saltmarsh; acting beneath the water, like those far different plants which consolidate the dry sands of the adjoining shores. In fresh-water lakes the Scirpus ocicularis, Subularia aquatica, and others, perform the same initial duty: and when we find that all these plants have been created to live and to propagate entirely under water, we cannot doubt that they were appointed to the very office which they execute so well. But in fresh waters, if not, with us at least, correspondently, in the sea, the detension and consolidation of earthy matters are effected by many more plants, not purely subaqueous; but of an amphibious nature. These root beneath the water, but grow above it; acting by means of their stems and their crowded growth, in detaining what their roots consolidate, or checking that action of the waves which would diffuse the earths along the bottom, and retard the desired effect. Such are the bulrush and the common reed. The student of nature should examine for himself the various plants, Nymphoeas, Charas, Hottonia, Butomus, &c., which take their shares in this useful work. But it is most important to remark that there is some one, or more, adapted to every possible situation and circumstance under which this work may be carried on. Thus have structures and inclinations been provided, not merely for the sea and for fresh water, but for every variety of each: for the pure ocean, and the brackish æstuary of a river, for the clear lake, the rapid river, the alpine pool, the heated pond, and the foul and stagnant ditch. The Scirpus maritmus and the Ruppia thrive where the bulrush and the Potamogetons could not exist; the Lemna does its best to reclaim that pond

which would bear no other plant: the Lobelia shuns the poisonous ditch which the Hydrocharis prefers, and the Ranunculus aquatilis, appointed to this duty in that shallow pool which the first heats of Summer evaporate, is equally content to live beneath the water, and on the dry land; amply provided with means, as with inclinations, for each mode of life. But he who would scan the whole of this great design, must investigate all this; while, if he would see, under one striking view, what the Author of nature effects in this manner, he must not confine himself to the rivers or the lakes, the marshes or the coasts of our own country, but turn the eye of botany and geography on the singularly rooted mangroves, the gigantic reeds, and other uncounted plants, which cover the swamps of the torrid climates, and are daily converting unnumbered miles of sea, and river, and lake, into habitable land. He will not doubt the ultimate value of the result, when he finds the marshy woods of Borneo, occupying hundreds of square miles, all gained from the ocean by the labours of the vegetable world.

The plants, however, which had performed the work thus far, can do no more when once the new land has surmounted the surface of the water. A new set therefore has been appointed to carry it on to its completion. The Salicornia, Arenaria, &c., perform, on the sea shores, that for which there are provided, near fresh waters, marsh plants beyond numbering, including even trees, like the willows with us, and the palms in hot countries, which aid in the great work. Thus does the marsh at length become a plain, fitted for pasturage or agriculture, or demanding only the further labours of him for whose use it was rescued from the waters. The last race has deserted it, as preceding ones had abandoned what they had produced: yet each is still performing its appointed duties: and, if excluding itself by its own actions when it could no longer be useful, continuing to prepare a new place for its successors, to surrender it again when it has executed the will of Him, of whom it is the blind but obedient agent.

An analogous but different proceeding must here be noted, independently of water. This consists, fundamentally, in the deposition of sand on sea shores; the winds performing, in this case, what the water does in the other. And however injurious the consequences may occasionally be, in the overwhelming of fertile lands, I have little doubt that the general results are beneficial, as that the whole was designed. Mankind is ever more ready to complain of injuries than to be thankful for advantages.

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If this sand is not universally calcareous, it is such far most commonly while, as the produce of sea shells, the levity of the fragments allows this kind, at least, to be most widely dispersed, so as to become calcareous manure to places within its reach, and thus producing valuable collateral effects, in addition to the accession of territory thus gained from the bottom of the sea.

Here, as in the case of deposits from water, the prime object was consolidation, that the winds might not destroy what they had produced; and the second was to induce a more fertile surface, by the addition of vegetable matter. And both are accomplished by the same means, through a special creation of plants, provided with inclinations to occupy those places, and powers to effect these purposes. All of them are willing to grow in sand and some will grow nowhere else; while the others, equally prospering on the incipient pasture, form the connecting link through which it is to be completed. Here alone we see the proofs of design: but no doubt can remain

when we examine the long roots of these plants, tenacious as they are numerous, and intersecting the sand in every direction, as if the root, rather than the plant, was the contrivance and the object, and thus rendering it a firm mass.

Among these, on our own shores, the Elymus, Triticum, Arundo, and Carex of the sand, are the most familiar, as they are the pioneers in this great work; but few can be unacquainted with the Convolvulus, Bunias, and Euphorbias, of the sea shores, with the Eryngo, the Matthiola, the Kali, &c.: while, knowing the general desires of plants for soil and water, we might wonder at a choice so apparently unreasonable, did we not know by whom that choice was directed. Though the chemical powers of nature convert the rock into soil, that operation is often slow. There are situations also where soil cannot rest; or else it becomes removed, from the flow of water. Here it is, that the vegetable agents are ordained to act, as here they are made to inhabit; and from this point their actions are most easily traced. And when we find that a specific family of plants, utterly unlike all others, in their instincts or affections, as in their nature, their structure, and their powers, execute this prime office, surrendering their places afterwards to a second, scarcely less remarkable in these respects, yet approaching nearer to the general vegetable world; as they are also the immediate precursors of those more perfect and more widely useful plants, we cannot for an instant doubt the design. It is in the multitudinous and incomprehensible tribe of lichens and analogous plants, that we find these pioneers of vegetation, seeking their places where no others could exist; demanding no water, requiring no soil; rootless, leafless, flowerless, if not seedless, perpetuated we know not how, unsusceptible of injury short of destruction, and, if not immortal, tenacious of life as are the seeds of plants themselves, and capable of almost equal dormancy. What their anatomy is, no one has ascertained; and if they do produce seeds to be spread by the winds, we have still to explain how that which must be lighter than the winds themselves, and which the microscope cannot discover, should adhere to the solid rock.

But the Creator has only to will, and it is done : nor can we contemplate this extraordinary form of vegetable life, without reflecting on the power which has given that life to such an organization, so unlike to almost all else, yet so perfectly adapted to the purposes which it was created and commanded to serve. And if the species are so numerous that they are yet uncounted, so are there kinds allotted for different qualities of rock, and for different surfaces; for the calcareous and the flinty, for the smooth and the rough, for the precipice, or the wall, or the bark of a tree. Thus also are there individuals appointed for the damp and dark forest, the sunny and arid cliff, the frozen Alpine summit, and the salt sea shore, the climate of Bengal, and the snows of Greenland.

It is a general law for plants that water is essential to their existence, and that deprived of this, once dried, they are irrecoverably dead; though many have · been enabled to retain it with almost miraculous obstinacy under the most unfavourable circumstances. But had this law involved the lichens, it would have been fatal to their appointed duties; while their bulk and structure are commonly such as to have rendered the retention of moisture impossible. Exposed to a burning sun, on naked rocks, and without the means of resisting its influence, they are often so dried as to crumble at a touch: while this condition is sometimes of daily occurrence. Their very races might have been exterminated; but the Creator never leaves his work

imperfect. He has made an exception to the general law: the principle of life is not withdrawn, and they are ready to revive and resume their functions at the slightest return of moisture.

In whatever way the foliaceous and the shrubby lichens may assist, the result is to lay the foundation of a soil on the naked rock, partly through their own living structures, partly through their decomposition, and partly through the flying particles of earth which they detain. But the soil thus produced is unfitted to give a hold or a place to the larger and more perfect vegetables. A new tribe of plants, of a higher organization than their precursors, yet inferior to those which are to follow, has been created for this end. These are the mosses, and their variety resembles that of the lichens. These have scarcely the power of rooting themselves on a naked surface, if we except the barks of trees; but they attach themselves readily to the least quantity of soil, as formed and collected by the lichens: and that they execute the office of forming additional soil, the least observation will show.

Their office being at length performed, there is room and lodgment afforded for plants of greater bulk and more perfect structure: and he who examines the summit of a wall where the grasses, the Arabis Tunitis, Sedum, &c. are rooted in their mossy cushions, will see those plants which are destined to replace their immediate predecessors, still adding to that soil which may one day bear the trees of the forest.

Let him who reads or observes never forget that in all this, as in everything else, there is nothing casual, nothing purposeless, nothing undesigned: that good ends have been intended, as good purposes have been effected; and that all creation everywhere presents to him who will examine it, the most incontrovertible proofs of a Great Artist, intending, designing; perfect in wisdom, and absolute in power.

[Abridged from MACCULLOCH's Proofs and Illustrations of the Attributes of God.]

TO A WATERFOWL.

Whither 'midst falling dew,

While glow the heavens with the last steps of day,
Far through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue
Thy solitary way?

Vainly the fowler's eye
Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong,
As, darkly painted on the crimson sky
Thy figure floats along.

Seek'st thou the plashy brink
Of weedy lake, or maze of river wide,
Or where the rocking billows rise and sirk
On the chafed ocean-side?
There is a Power whose care
Teaches thy way along that pathless coast
The desert and illimitable air,

Lone wandering, but not lost.
All day thy wings have fanned,
At that far height, the cold thin atmosphere!
Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land,
Though the dark night is near.

And soon that toil shall end,
Soon shalt thou find a Summer-home, and rest,
And scream among thy fellows: reeds shall bend
Soon o'er thy sheltered nest.

Thou'rt gone, the abyss of heaven
Hath swallowed up thy form; yet, on my heart,
Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given,
And shall not soon depart.

He, who from zone to zone,

Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, In the long way that I must tread alone,

Will lead my steps aright.-BRYANT.

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THE MANGROVE, (Rhizophora manglier.)

THE trees of this tribe are peculiar to the shores of the oceans and large rivers of the tropics, where they form dense forests, reaching almost to the waters. The Mangrove is a tree about fifty feet in hight, and its mode of growth is very singular, resembling that of the banian, or Indian fig. The tree is only found in marshy places: its branches, after growing for some time in the usual manner, suddenly bend downwards and grow towards the earth; as soon as they reach the moist soil, they take root, and thus each branch forms a stem capable of supporting itself without dependence on the parent tree; in this manner one tree will, in course of time, form a complete grove. The forests thus formed by an assemblage of Mangrove trees are almost impenetrable, and in addition to the difficulties offered by the thickness of their growth, their recesses are the favourite haunts of myriads of musquitoes, sufficient to deter the most enduring from the attempt to explore them. An innumerable quantity of birds, chiefly aquatic, take shelter under their branches, while the shallow pools which abound among them form the lurking places of thousands of crabs and of aquatic insects. These amphibious forests are at times inundated by the sea, and on the retreat of the water, numerous oysters and other shell-fish are found adhering to the trees. So that, although the difficulty of penetrating these thick shades is very great, the enterprising sportsman is tolerably sure of being well rewarded for the dangers he has to undergo by an abundance of game.

A singular fact is attached to the history of the Mangrove, namely, the germination of the seeds while they are yet attached to the branches of the tree; these afterwards fall and take root in the ground.

The wood of the Mangrove is good for little else

THE regard to the general rules of morality is what is properly called a sense of duty; a principal of the greatest consequence in human life, and the only principle by which the bulk of mankind are capable of directing their actions. There is scarce any man who, by discipline, education, and example, may not be impressed with a regard to these general rules of conduct, as to act upon almost every occasion with tolerable decency, and through the whole of his life, avoid a tolerable degree of blame. Without this sacred regard to the general rules of morality, there is no man whose conduct can be much depended upon. It is this which constitutes the most essential difference between a man of principle and honour, and a worthless fellow. The one adheres on all occasions, steadily and resolutely to his maxims, and preserves through the whole of his life, one even tenour of conduct. The other acts variously and accidentally, as humour, inclination, or interest, chance to be uppermost.-ADAM SMITH.

THE willow which bends to the tempest, often escapes better than the oak which resists it; and so, in great calamities, it sometimes happens, that light and frivolous spirits recover their elasticity and presence of mind sooner than those of a loftier character.--SIR WALTER SCOTT.

YoUTH is the time of enterprise and hope; having yet no occasion of comparing our force with any opposing power, imagine that obstruction and impediment will give way we naturally form presumptions in our own favour, and before us. The first repulses rather inflame vehemence than teach prudence; a brave and generous mind is long before it suspects its own weakness, or submits to sap the difficulties which it expected to subdue by storm. Before disappointments have enforced the dictates of philosophy, we believe it in our power to shorten the interval between delays of brooding industry, and fancy that by increasing the first cause and the last effect; we laugh at the timorous the fire we can, at pleasure, accelerate the projection.-JOHNSON.

LONDON:

JOHN WILLIAM PARKER, WEST STRAND. PUBLISHED IN WEEKLY NUMBERS, PRICE ONE PENNY, AND IN MONTHLY PARTS, PRICE SIXPENCE.

Sold by all Booksellers and Newsvenders in the Kingdom.

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QUEEN ELIZABETH; HER PROGRESSES AND PUBLIC PROCESSIONS. No. V.

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CONFINEMENT OF THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH IN THE TOWER-HER REMOVAL TO WOODSTOCK,

In our last paper upon this subject we related how, immediately upon the breaking out of Sir Thomas Wyat's rebellion in February, 1554, the Princess Elizabeth was arrested in her house at Ashridge, by the orders of Queen Mary, and brought up to London with as much speed as was compatible with her delicate state of health. When the princess reached Whitehall, she was shut up a close prisoner, under the charge of the chamberlain and vice-chamberlain, without being permitted to hold communication with any one, for nearly a fortnight. On the Friday before Palm-Sunday, Gardiner, the Bishop of Winchester, and nineteen others of the council, came from the Queen, and charged her with being privy to Wyat's conspiracy, alleging that she was concerned with the Carews, and other gentlemen in the west. The princess positively denied the accusation, and steadily asserted her innocence; but her visitors informed her that it was the Queen's will and pleasure that she should go to the Tower, while the matter underwent examination. Elizabeth was terrified at the idea of being sent to so "notorious and doleful a place;" she again asserted her innocence, and desired the councillors to intercede with her sister on her behalf. VOL. XII.

But they assured her that there was no remedy, and departed.

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About an hour afterwards, the Lord Treasurer, the Bishop of Winchester, the Lord Steward, and the Earl of Sussex, entered with a guard, and removed all the servants of Elizabeth, substituting others of the Queen's; and there were stationed " of Northern soldiers in white coats, watching and warding about the garden all that night; a great fire being made in the midst of the hall, and two certain lords watching there also, with their band and company."

Upon Saturday following, (says Holinshed, that is on the next day,) two lords of the council, (the one was the Earl of Sussex, the other shall be nameless,) came and certified her grace that forthwith she must go unto the Tower, the barge being prepared for her, and the tide now ready which tarrieth for nobody. In heavy mood, her Grace requested the lords that she might tarry another tide, trusting that the next would be better and more comfortable. But one of the lords replied that neither tide nor time was to be delaied. And when her Grace requested that she might be suffered to write to the Queen's Majesty, he answered that he durst not permit that: adding, that in his judgdoing. But the other lord, more courteous and favourable, ment, it would rather hurt than profit her Grace in so (who was the Earl of Sussex,) kneeling down, said she should have liberty to write, and as a true man, he

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would deliver it to the Queen's Highness, and bring an answer of the same whatsoever came thereof. Whereupon she wrote the following letter:

To the Queen.

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time, and the same lord offered her his cloak, but, putting it back with her hand with a good dash," she stepped forth, and as she set her foot upon the stair exclaimed, "Here landeth as true a subject, being a prisoner, as ever landed at these stairs, and before thee, O God, I speak it, having none other friend than thee."

On entering within the building, she expressed her surprise at finding the guards and warders drawn out in order; and being informed that it was the custom on the reception of prisoners, she desired that if it were so, for her cause they might be dismissed; "whereat the poor men kneeled down, and with one voice prayed. God to preserve her, for which, on the next day they were all discharged." Proceeding a short distance she sat down on a stone and there rested herself. The lieutenant pressed her to rise out of the rain, but she answered," Better sit here than in a worse place, for God knoweth whither you will bring me;" and turning to her gentleman usher, who was weeping, she rebuked him, saying, You ought rather to comfort than dismay me, especially for that I know my truth to be such, that no man shall have cause to weep for my sake." She then arose and was conducted to her prison.

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If any ever did try this olde saynge, that a kinge's worde was more than another man's othe, I most humbly beseche your Majesty to verefie it in me, and to remember your last promis and my last demande, that I be not condemned without answer and due profe; wiche it seems that now I am, for that without cause provid I am by your Counsel frome you commanded to go unto the Tower; a place more wonted for a false traitor than a true subject. Wiche, thogth I knowe I deserve it not, yet in the face of al this realme aperes that it is provid; wiche I pray God I may dy the shamefullist dethe that ever any died, afore I may mene any suche thinge: and to this present hower I protest afor God, (who shal juge my trueth whatsoever malice shal devis,) that I never practised, consiled, nor consented to any thinge that migth be prejudicial to your Person any way, or daungerous to the State by any mene. And therfor I humbly beseche your Majestie to let me answer afore your selfe, and not suffer me to trust to your Counselors; yea and that afore I go to the Tower, if it be possible; if not afore I be further condemned. Howbeit, I trust assuredly, your Highnes wyl give me leve to do it afor I go; for that thus shamfully I may not be cried out on as now I shal be; yea, and without cause. Let consciens move your Hithness to take some bettar way with me than to make me be condemned in al men's sigth afor my desert knowen. Also I most humbly beseche your Elizabeth's imprisonment in the Tower was of the Higthness to pardon this my boldnes, wiche innocency most rigorous description. After she had been for procures me to do togither with hope of your natural kind- some time closely confined, permission was granted, nes: wiche I trust wyl not se me cast away without desert; through the intercession of Lord Chandos, the lieuwiche what it is I wold desire no more of God but that you tenant of the Tower, for her to walk in the queen's truly knewe. Wiche thinge I thinke and beleve you shal lodgings, in the presence, however, of the constable, never by report knowe, unless by yourselfe you here. I have harde in my time of many cast away, for want of the lieutenant, and three of the queen's ladies, and on comminge to the presence of their Prince: and in late condition that the windows should be shut. She was days I harde my Lorde of Sommerset say, that if his then indulged with walking in the queen's garden, brother had bine sufferd to speke with him he had never for the sake of fresh air, but the shutters of all the sufferd; but the perswasions wer made to him so gret that windows which looked towards the garden were he was brogth in belefe that he could not live safely if the ordered to be kept close. Admiral lived; and that made him give his consent to his dethe. Thogth thes parsons are not to be compared to your Majestie, yet I pray God, as ivel perswations perswade not one sistar again the other; and al for that the have harde false report and not harkene to the trueth knowin. Therfor ons again kniling with humbleness of my hart, bicause I am not sufferd to bow the knees of my body, I humbly crave to speke with your Higthnis: wiche I wolde not be so bold to desier if I knewe not my self most clere as I knowe my selfe most tru. And as for the traitor Wiat, he migth paravantur writ me a lettar; but on my faithe never receved any from him. And as for the copie of my lettar sent to the Frenche kinge, I pray God confounde me eternally if ever I sent him worde, message, token, or lettar by any menes; and to this my truith I will stande in to my dethe.

Your Highnes most faithful subject
that hathe bien from the begin-
ninge and wylbe to my ende,
ELIZABETH.

I humbly crave but only one worde of answer from your selfe.

I

The princess was taken to the Tower on the following day. As that happened to be Palm Sunday, an order was issued throughout London, with the view of enabling her removal to be effected with more privacy, that every one should keep his church and carry his palm. Besides the two lords and the guards, there went with her three of the queen's gentlewomen, three of her own, her gentleman usher, and two grooms of her chamber. In passing London Bridge the whole party narrowly escaped with their lives, in consequence of the great fall of the water. On reaching the Tower the barge was directed to the dismal entrance, known by the name of the Traitor's Gate. Elizabeth felt strongly the indignity thus put upon her, and would have refused to land, but that one of the lords, whose name Holinshed has withheld, plainly told her that she should not choose. It rained at the

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About the end of May Elizabeth was removed from the Tower, under the command of Sir Henry Bedingfield and Lord Williams of Thame, to the royal manor or palace at Woodstock. "The xx daye of May," says an old chronicle, my lady Elizabeth, the queene's sister, came out of the Tower, and toke her barge at the lower wharffe, and so to Richmond, and from thens unto Wyndsor, and so to Wodstoke." It was at Richmond that the princess rested the first night of her journey; she was there watched carefully by the soldiers, her own private attendants being prevented from having access to her. These measures of severity led the princess to suppose, that orders had been given to put her to death privately, when she called her servants together to take leave, she desired them to pray for her, For this night," she added, "I think I must die." The servants broke into tears and lamentations, and the gentleman usher went down to the Lord Williams in the court, desiring him unfeignedly to show whether his lady and mistress that night were in danger of death, whereby himself and fellows might take such part as God would appoint. "Marry, God forbid," exclaimed Lord Williams, "that any such wickedness should be intended, which rather than it should be wrought, I and my men will die at her feet." On the second day she reached Windsor, where she was lodged in the dean's house, near St. George's Collegiate Chapel. She then passed to Lord Williams's seat at Ricot, in Oxfordshire, where she was "verie princelie entertained, both of knights and ladies."

On arriving at Woodstock Elizabeth was lodged in the gatehouse of the palace, in an apartment which remained complete in the early part of the last century, with its original arched roof of Irish oak, curiously carved, and painted blue, with sprinklings

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