losing some of its old plumage, an equal quantity of new is coming forward to supply its place.

Now, in trees in hot countries the leaves are changed, though not so often as with us, but there is no general moulting. The trees are constantly losing leaves, but as constantly repairing the loss; so that they are always clothed, and present no change that can be denominated the fall of the leaf.'

With respect to the colour of leaves, it is almost unnecessary to say that in most plants it is green; but in different species the green varies much in intensity. Some plants have a foliage coloured very differently from green, and many, whose leaves are of this colour on the upper surface, are of a different hue on the under. Scarcely any plant has a more beautiful, satiny, deep green above than the shining-leaved begonia, but beneath it is universally reddish, and traversed in every direction by reticulated dark-red veins. Some species have naturally several colours in the same leaf, and by art and culture this circumstance is rendered frequent, as may be observed in the many variegated plants of shrubberies and gardens. This variegation, which may be considered as a sort of disease, is much more common in petals than in common leaves, and hence the endless varieties of the tulip, hyacinth, &c. Red is a very common colour in the leaves of many plants, when they begin to decay, and in some long before they fall; as in the common dog-wood, the Virginian creeper, many species of the rose, &c.

The changes of colour in the leaves of plants, especially of trees, which take place in autumn, are familiar to every one, but are more particularly interesting to the eye of the painter, and the contemplation of the moralist. The one finds in them some of the best subjects for the warmth and beauty of his pencil; the other contrasts these changing leaves with the races of men, which having flourished through the spring and summer of life, fall at last, in the autumn of their existence, into decay, and are swept by

the wintry breath of age into the tomb, and are no more found. Trees have thus been ever considered as emblems of the human life, and, in all ages, affecting views and comparisons have been drawn of their progress from debility and infancy to youth, strength, maturity, and inevitable final decay. The heathen and the atheist have found in them emblems of eternal oblivion, to which they suppose man with all his high-born hopes is to be consigned. As the leaves of the tree fall and perish for ever, so they represent that, when man returns to his mother earth, it is only to mingle with the unthinking elements; that never more shall he be conscious of existence; and that he, his virtues, and his crimes, sink into irrevocable annihilation. Yet as no particle of matter is ever lost, though it may undergo a thousand changes of the most extraordinary kind, so we may rest satisfied that mind is equally indestructible; and though it be impossible for us to trace its flight or modifications after death, there is no reason for a moment to question its future existence, and its immortality. Every thing revealed and rational teaches us that the soul is destined to survive the wreck of elements and crush of worlds,' and that it may go on in increasing knowledge and happiness for ever.

All is in change-yet there is nothing lost:
The dew becomes the essence of the flower
Which feeds the insect of the sunny hour-

Now leaf; now pinion ;-though the hills were tost
By the wild whirlwinds, like the summer dust,
Would not an atom perish ;-Nature's power
Knows not annihilation, and her dower

Is universal Fitness never crost.

Is all eternal save the mind of man-
The masterpiece and glory of the whole,
The wonder of creation?-Is a span
To limit the duration of the soul-
To drop ere its career is well begun,
Like a proud steed far distant from the goal?

POETICAL PARAPHRASES OF SCRIPTURE TEXTS.

NO. IX.

Jeremiah ii. 13.

Thro' the lone waste a silver stream there gildes
The softest verdure well adorns its sides;

The pilgrim there may sit the live-long day

And with its varied sweets, wile the dull hours away.
Can slake his thirst on that pure fountain's brink,
And when he tastes the stream, new vigour drink,
This silver stream seems for the pilgrim made,

Its waters give him strength, its trees afford him shade.

But lo! perverse of heart and proud of soul

He leaves the fount from which such pleasures roll,
Goes madly on thro' the hot, sandy wild,

Where never streamlet ran, and never flowret smiled.
Then with his palm, scoops the parched sand away
That he may force some hidden spring to day;

This having found he hastes the bliss to share,

But bitter is the well which his own skill discovered there.

Then, late, he mourns that e'er his heart should spurn
That lovely spot;-and now would wisdom learn:
The boon which God bestows he now does prize;

He soon regains the stream, and lifts to heaven his eyes.— "Thou living fount! from which pure pleasures roll, Thyself alone can satisfy my soul!

The cisterns which these hands did madly rear

Did bitter waters hold,-no living spring was there!"

SELECT THOUGHTS.

How often do we suffer events and occurences to distress us, which in the sequel, prove to have been highly to our advantage! When the aged patriarch, lamenting the loss of his favorite children, exclaimed, "All these things are against me," how little did he imagine that the one was being conveyed to the embraces of his long absent brother, and that the distress which he had experienced at the supposed death of the other, was but a necessary preliminary to the final preservation of the whole family from the horrors of protracted famine!

When the disciples "had sorrow," because their Lord was taken from them, they considered not that his exaltation though suffering was indispensable, both to purchase their redemption, and that he might become, in a more efficient manner, their everlasting intercessor.

There are times in the experience of every one, when an accumulation of adverse circumstances, the unkindness of those we esteem, or the unrelenting persecution of enemies, are suffered to wound us bitterly, and make life itself appear burdensome. In such cases, it will certainly be found, that there is some peculiar defect, either in our principles or practice, which the present uneasiness is intended to

counteract.

That man is perhaps the best fitted to reprove the mistakes of his brother, who feels the most unwilling to undertake the office. Unless a reproof be administered with kindness, it had far better be withheld. "Let the righteous smite me, it shall be a kindness, an excellent oil, that shall not break my head." Psalm cxli. 5.

Secret sorrow for offences, whether in or out of the church, is, of the two extremes, a safer course to be pursued than rigid and officious interference. Such was the feeling of the inspired Psalmist, when with feelings of tender sympathy, he penned that affecting lamentation, "Rivers of waters run down mine eyes, because men keep not thy law." Psalm cxix. 136,

Suspicious christians are, possibly, of much service to the church at large, as watchers and guardians of its general welfare: but, it is to be feared, that the service, which they occasionally render to others, will hardly be commensurate with the sacrifice of their own happiness.

Amongst the many methods which have been adopted, particularly in the present day, for the more general cultivation of religious principle, in the poorer classes of society, private intercourse has perhaps not been sufficiently valued. The minister of religion, as well as the private christian, will ever find this a most fruitful channel of improvement,

both to themselves and others.

There is probably no exercise which puts our own faith more to the test, than that of visting the afflicted. Here, if ever, we feel the need of a divine unction, to fit us for the path of duty. Without it all is gloom and vexation of spirit.

Speaking generally, every duty will be more or less difficult or delightful, as it is undertaken in reference to God. Martha, who was busied with external ceremonies, soon grew tired of her charge, and called upon her sister to help her.

In like manner, it will generally be found, that in proportion as we undertake any thing in our own strength, we shall be induced, like Martha, to think the more of it, the more it in reality becomes insignificant, and, like her, proudly to call that "a service," which weariness has already pronounced to be worthless.

The Scriptures have given us a beautiful illustration of the folly of self-dependence, in the case of the disciples, who having put to sea without the Lord, and finding, as might be expected, the wind to be contrary, attempted to accomplish their journey by rowing. What was the result? After an exertion of several hours, even till the fourth watch of the night, they had reached, in the whole, not thirty furlongs! When the Lord came to them, 'immediately they were at the land whither they went." It is better trusting to the sails than the oars.

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