*&s*!**&ii>*#**iM [Ttie followingjoeniifaU ofbe&uty and Under no«. sijjmared many'yojira ago in «p .Inch n«ws papai. W* oayar U&rMd Whtt»K»t* it. but Should !l^a:tokttow.i—Bd Oh: ortKllo me on tby knae. m»mra». And slug nie the holy strain TniH.ftW.uV me muh, *W) ,uu fbuui,/ prt-ai,; My glowiogoheek toyout aoftwhjrt breaat,... tfor l BMr> aesno when I slumberd but •■!#•;'i ,, ‘, ,s- Andsmlle as you then dSd smile, tiuuaia*, Apdwoep as yoothon did Weep; . Thett.fi* on nwthyglUt’ntng eye, . -.- ;•■ ' Andgase, and gan-; ((11 the teajr bo dry;. . FprXdresm’da toTenly W*?^ ll ** , ’ ' "While sTamberinjt on thy kneer'"-'' t And I liv’d in «land .where foijb* 4^ n * ) rnino, Again that land to y I fancied we roam’d in a wow, mamma, ■And we rested, as under aperagh.; > * >, Then near me'aoutterflyflauuted in pride, Ahdlohaa’d-itaway;thWugU the forest wide, ' And'the hight eatne on? and ! lost my guide, ■ . ,; Ahd I knew not what to do: \ ' My heart Krewsloi with fear/xnainma, ... for thee;—; • .• . 1 ' But a white reo’d-maiden appear’d m the air, k .- And ouritfof:hw golden hair, And sholtWdinb fioftly.ore'Twas aware,*. ■ ri , gull’d, •? . ; ,ASd^dedhrielar4way;-■ , . Wdeater’d the door of the;dark, dark tomb; «’: e. pa«[’d'through a long,‘toDg vault of gloom; - Theft"open’d our eyes dnalana ofbloom,- ff sky of endless day. "y; ; •* ;. 1 / weteAherejtnainma, 1 Andlov'oty ch'drahshrighti”',,- ; ' l ' * *' They smilldwhen fh6ysaw‘nie,hutl was.amas’d, And vr,ohderingi>round me I ada’d and gaVa;,, AnajsQngslheard, andaannybeams blai’d-r, . AU glorious in.the land of fight,-, - - But soon camo a shining lluong, mamma, ~QE white- wing’d babes, to mor 2 Tlielr eyes look’d love, and their sweet lips smil’d, And r they'•marvel’a to mo«t withftn eirth-born • ohUd; fi '- And.they gloried that X from the earth was exil’d. - W!J!. ■- ‘ Xhed I inii’d throftg, minimal WHh eherttb’and seraphim fair; -. . y And saw, as I roam’d the regions peace, The spirits which came from this world of distress; An I there joy no . express,; jFor they knew no sorrow them. / Bo you mind when sister Jane, mamma, Lay /lead a shirt rime agone? /- 0h J yon'giued oa the' sadf but IdvilyWok,’ With ftfull flood <6f woe you could not check And your heart was so Boro,yoa wish'd it would break, *. »v ‘ , But it lov’d and you, eye, eobb’d on! But, ohr’had with'koi , ‘ -, r \ ' In thorealms of unknown'eare, ~w . Andseenwhat XBaw,yQuue’erhadcned, pretty Jana ia the grave when; For shtoing with the blest, and adorn’d like a bride,; Sweet Jane whs there!. . < Doyou mind of that silly old man, mamma, - WhtMMUine late to our door, : ; And th* night was dark. ahd Uib temperi; loud,' r And his beortwasweaki bnt hishoul was proud, ’And'hifi ragged ftld mantle serv’d lor hfs anrotid, . , , Brh ihe mldmght.watoh. was o’er ? y i Woe/tnamma, , ; - -Made heavy each long-drawn’ eigh, ' - I As ,the gpodp Id.mansat onpapa’a o|d chair, u ; .WJAh.tEeramdn'pplddowpfromhisthlngreyhßir, And f«t as the big tear of speeoUess care . ... i Bandowh.frommsglacingey^r/.; whafc a heavehwaid mamma, Flash’d thfough.e&eh trembling aye, l .As.hoMd bow he went to the bayon’s stronghold,', /-.Oh!, let me in, for the night.is so cold; 5 But,the non man cried, “do steep in the wold, ,2‘ Forwe shieldne beggars here.” • • WiU! he was in glory too, ,mamma,'- . . - As blest eanbe : '• - - ■- \ He needed no alms in the mansions of light, ' > FOrhe satwith.the patriarchs, Olothld' m white—; And there was not a seraph had a otownmore bright, A Hor a oostller robe than hi: *: /'/,*. A / - ! Now, sing, for I fain would sleep, mamma, r ; And dream as I drain’d before;. . Foif ioundWas my J aihmber, > mid sweet was my-reat, f While my spirit in the kingdom of life was a guest— And the heart that haa, throbb’d In the olimes of ' ;Ah* blest .. 1 . „ j-Oajkwfthisworldno.more..’ THESELFISHBOY. There mis not a lad in the school where my earlydays were spent; who had a better allow* ance than Gilbert Lane;- he was' the only sod , of; wealthy and respectable parents.' They were possessed of at least three" thousand a year, as Gilbertwell knew, and certainly were . most: generous to their, petted.son, who, had heyOrbeehcontradictedm his life: before'he • L HSuejt p'-eeISjSH:-: ”: v { -jAldUby-House 8ohool, : we fhad ontytwejya boys) dhr piaster was an honest, upright man j 'iW-foad-of: discipline as your friend the village schoolmaster, ana.mbnim, ifot at all disposed “to spare the: rod, and spoil tlio child.l’ " {*• ’■ Gilbert was. not only aVeiy handsome, but a very; 'clever 'boy j he would; hit ofT inteij . minuteswbat would take any other lad twenty! '-hhXhisVlong, curling'hair, : of« brighfipld color, 1 ' flowing over his shoulders, his 'lioge grby' ey'e'B and brilliant complexion, gained ~ Sint; -.fitey naqie- of •'« Mw.Beatdty," adiijtliief rtlmfladS irimy timO’Wcro hot'siifibai'bijs tO#bi tain,',B[e!certdnly ; wan lnmdsomei.'and would •haye been very handsome,, but for ’ian iekpres} sion of cunning which lurked in the more liicU den corners of his face i and" though his brow was fair, it was'not open.' 1 Such was the first impression he made on me; hut my father bad, always said.LKMy dear son, if-you con[ ceive a agamjt a person,, at-first ' sight, always be ■ Tesdy' to. lay it down yif in his favor, cling to it as long’ to you cin, fo'r it .iaottrduty to; avoid impressions against. our v- war.V'-. t' No boy, in the school brought so many boxelj , withhimto KabyHduseos Gilbert Lano jan# ! twp ofttao jliftle lads, discovered that one of the chests pontahmd: apples, oranges, and’; it, a wsa-to be. supposed, ' cakes, Gilbert, at his’ t ihther’s,request, .hid a shiallrobm appropriated • •'tp his bwh-use'^'ahd, we boyir weremot iony for it, for we were- very 'happy in our chant-' tey and disliked the idea, of a sfmpger much. ■, u#r .master gavtf iis a-holiday' in honor of the < fier’pttyil’.a ahiyal; ahaTitttdHpntf and.Qaleb ", wersiftdl of .eipectatroudra feastywhlch thev' ; hoped wonld niakOits ajjpearance froth Gif*' beftfs chesti: ;suehi,lio]fcyerj' ;was ;hb| tl». catof/bot when wo retired ’ to' bedj Caleb's quick ear caught tbe sound ofnmnclvmunclj, munch, fremGilbert’e room, . After the lights had; been ex®kUishbd^'jie ’ applied bis little’ eye toyhc, key-hole—a proceeding,; which I', ,''Mgb]y;'dmpprqvi^,' t bfTsWd ri ‘jaw.!tbis' j lioy, -sifting fin thß .brigbf .moonlight* sur • roundedby oranges. caVBS, and confectionery . ofaHkinds,'and eating*.first of, pine, thenof another, m a manner wMchfllied the little observer with shame, . , - , ! “ X never ,thought any one could bo sb i exclaimed. I ■•'Poor fOllowyhoftfrettlngforhisTiafcnts,? l kaidthe good lady j but webdys knew bobaa ~already broskfasted. : ' ;.; ': / ~., '' .' , :- ..Tbe yery first-day placed Gilbert Labe at ‘te top of hiS elass, .and/we eawthat the neh (Wmetwas a lad of ho mean ability';' but We ' ftlso perceived that lijs selfishces* iras iiot coq flned to eating—ho'never then; or at any other time, schoohnato, the allghlest.ajslsi anoo. . If a word "’as missed, he; never was ithtCtonc tatwMspor it toCthe.-defimltery bo would never endeavor to screen a fault. of as. i alst either abig or littlehdy ottt of a dilemma. Ho Would stand by. and hear a fellow-pupil severely reprimanded for an occurrence which his kindness might hdyo--•hrqTerited, ‘ and be would .even hear the tlon. ’ ■ • i , “Gilbert,” I said to him one day I wiis three years older than he—“ Gilbert,: w i)l never gain the hearts of. boys or men,'if you ;. ppraue. tbis splfish course,” >«| idoa’t ia/e >’ . was/his -answer, “for either the onO oltii,. - other;*' X - shall have, lots pf money; ahd'iny i.OWil'way,” .• , . it 'lfWould take hours, to describe to you the '. varitfus rainlflcations of his selfishness;, but it . ’frequently brought its own punishment, 1 to the destruction of the case, and enjoyment hc bo. destrly loved; . Ohdej X temember,' he at# as’ usual by'bimself, so largeaquantity of pluni. - Cake.'tliat hc was -confined 1 to his room for ..mote than a week ; no. one pitied him bit '.vlittle,Galeb‘, The child would stejd jo'dhfirig read: ‘to, :Gilberti. or. sit 1 silently, . V'atching.,.wiiilo he slepb-drawitig or with., i.' d.t'gwing Hie curtains so as to; shade • his eyii. j jftota. the light, and tending- hini asif he had '■tbdeh'‘a;brothdrj indeed,' to this ady.- J can navof think of Caleb without it thrill of hap:' ' l )pmeßS',.for What he, was in childhood SO wSs '•MineiS manhood—a-noble, disinterested fellow,- , ■ aUh liviDg f(jßpected bad" beloved by -ail 1 to ilfben Gilbert.grew,bet-; : ( :t%;- he ; tteatcd - bis little. friend,yfith; rather' but.-ktill nbtbing'Could, p '.fe'mpt hiuiVto forego bis 'awn" cotpfort. "sl.tSJrwjt'derid yijfcntjo pencil, ! Caleb',?’. I board; 'Biihcay, i t *.becaase I may want it before 1 ’ you. ’’'have clone with It;' and I must not' be incoa-' ', V*hienced;”, ,Tt wa3 painful to see any boy SO heartiesssTf..;;'-; 1 ;,, ’ ,>-<■’ ; , I’; . '.iOno doy h lotter was given to tho good i-tor whilei.we;) Wore atdinner, and I'beasd him :“ I must -not tell : htm iud, .-hO’danger of wounding:hls-feel replmdi-don’t you aeO'hWiS'eating: ”f r : W3(s;stet^GUbert;. i |jB»ie, , ’''Bal3 %'j‘Tfaii' ssorry to toll yp» that trot *weU.”--,“ She has .often n-of-the w; 1 ’ «bh^nlt|t ■ BT MRS. HASJ,, the docforf’ Wlnfe*}, very sorry It,** aw} hp 18$; WWous *W s«*» afl«s> haying delfisitoiy ealtod ; and! eaten',the. lasti morsel. « She is bo ill, so scry ill,” the master went on, ; evidently provoked at his coolness 'on } such »n occasion;.«that Tout fether has sent : the carriage for you; it is waiting at the eh- , trance.” Gilbert turned a little pale, and half rose from hiß seat, as if to prepare for his de- ! partnre jbut theeightofhis favorite pie, which. ; was at that moment placed upon the table, made! ‘ him Waver In his determination —he stood un- . certain how to act—rtheplo.was cut— he resumed' , AG seat—the boys murmured their dlsappro- ' bation, and the master, fixing his eyes steadily . upon him, said, “ Sir, your mother is dying, and the carriage is waiting.” ■ . .«Yes, sir; but if you are goodendughtohelp me first, l shall be done in a minute 1” I shall never forgettbe groan of anger at this selfishheartlbssness, which they had never Ima gined conldbe carried to, such an extreme. Doctor Moreton’s appreciation of the youth’s, talents had made him. overlook several traits’' which unfortunately he considered of minor im portance jj for Gilbert had hardly taken tlio trouble.to conceal his selfishness even thorn the doctor., ■ If he had been ’ placed with a master .who considered greatness as jccojid to goodness, I think the fault, Instead of growing Into a crime, might have been considerably decreased. The master was painthlly shocked by this public dis playof wickedness, l'or such I must call it; and .with tears in his.eyes, gave a reproof to.,him; and a lesson to us, which I never forgot: hoSaid , thatthe talent possessed by Master Lane made hirntbo.greater sinner, for that he was perfectly aware of the difference between good and evil. He drew (tears, even from the hoy himself, who •departed frpm.the hbdse with, the dislike of all whose esteem, respect, 1 and affection ho must have commanded but for tlio ascendancy bis , besetting sin had obtained over him in every respect.- '- . , : " . His' mother, his too affectionate, too Indul gent mother, died before his arrival. Sho had heard, tlie.sound of the carriage wheels in the courtyard i had extended her hand to meet his grasp; had turned the lost light of,her dying eyes towards the door | hut the hand was stayed •J-tbe sight departed heforeheentered the rooms two minutes sooner, he would have had her blessing!—that blessing he had lost in his anx iety—for wliat 1 a piece of pie! ■ Jfqw.yotr must remember that this youth, this Gilbert Lane, possessed abilities of no common older; that he was 1 intelligent, well-informed, and of gracefulmannora and address. But both his tutor and his father, ami, above all, the servahis, felt they were only company manners [ and those immediately around him were per petually, subjected to annoyances which the re sidence of an intensely selfish person in a house is sure to create; hla equals, when they became inmates, avoided him, and oyenhis inferiors, if they oboyed his commands, spread the fame of : his.evil disposition over the country. Some , tolerated'him out of respect to his father, who, . though a weak, was a kindly man'; others be cause offals wealth, which is sure to command j the outwf rd attention of mean and groveling - minds; - a few admired bis abilities, but none 1 loved Gilbert Lane for his own sake—/or his ; own sake none loved him; and the experience I of n long life has convinced me.that it is necos | sary to’ the happiness of every living thing to be beloved: the meanest reptile that crawls the earth, however obnoxious’lt is has some thing, that loves it, a partner, or its own off spring, who see no deformity in the parent that cherishes their helplessness.. Nothing, how ever, r loved ■ Gilbert Lane; thq dogs that crouched round his feet, were so accustomed to i feel,his,foot.or the lash of his whip, when they , inconvenienced him in the slightest degree, that they obeyed from fear.' He had his own par ticular ishairs, his'favorito dishes, Ills own this, that, and the other, which no lone was to in terfere with; to his own father—his own kind, weak father, his once - loving fattier—he had become a positive nuisance i what, then, must ho have been to others ? But Mr. Lane could not .continue in tHo state of discomfort to which his son had reduced him; he resolved to marry! again'; and when he Communicated’his detor minationto Gilbert, who was theh about sixteen, this Observation was “ Marry again; sir t yon are not serious. Why, father, if yon marry again, ,what is.to become of.me l” It was my fate again to meet this selfish youth at, Oxford. His beauty, and his great attain ments, his anticipated weaith.’won him distinc tion even there. But after a little time) that distinction was for more painful than pleasing; “Lane .could do. this, and Lane could do that.” “True—hut'ho is so selfish!” was the invariable answer., Then, if a party, was form ing/" (Shall We ask Lane?” «'Ob(ne, he spoils every thiug, he is so selfish.” 'ln process; of time his father had other children, and then came the rumor that Gilbert Lane’s fortune would not bo as, largo as was Originally supposed. He knew this; and always alive ' ) lfis oWn Interests, obtained the hand of a very wealthy young lady, who, captivatcd;by his beauty, and .unacquainted witli bis previous fabaracter, consented; on a very short Intimacy; ls'hjli&iae,lisWifo. found, that she was his 'victim; she became mother: to five children, and died, I believe—if ever woman - did—of h broken heart. Still he had plenty of rlabes; his children were'admired—he liked whatever he had to bo admired—but as they grew up, thoir feelings, their education, thejr advancement in life, were sacrificed to the sel fishness of their father, imd ono by one they deserted him, .all but one pale, patient girl; whom perhaps he had regarded the least of those whom Qod had given him. • ; Accustomed as he had been to indulge in what, I dare say, boys, you have heard called j the "pleasures of. the table”—which are sure to bring pains —at an early age Gilbert Lane felt the tortures of the gout, and the agonies of continued headaches; neither his wealth per his talents could .remove these, which he. had brought upon: himself., His father was stilt a robust old man, while he was a decrepit young one; and he had the additional mortification of knowing that his step-brothers and sisters would inherit whatever portion of his father’s property he could leave them; not that ho wanted, for, as I have told you beforo, his wife’s fortune had been ample. I Hearing of his extreme suffering, I called to see him. - The servant, of whom I inquired ' particularly the State of his health, did not show any sympathy:about it; “ Mastbrwasas usual.” When I enteredhis room,it Was crowded with all the luxuries, which in themselves arc harm less and elegant, but, when unaccompanied by cheerfulness and content; show, like 1 flowers in a sepulchre. He was seated in an easy chair, his feet encased In flannels, and testing on a sofaj' his features.were bloated. - At a little distance sat his pale, fair daughter, the youngest bfhis family; she whs abbut fourteen, and had evidently been reading to him, though her eyes were red from weeping. Almost under her .dress crouched a iittle spaniel j and a basket’of 'gripes was upon a stand by,his side. Ho seemed i gl4d to,see me,andl believe lie was, for selfisft ness anch as his has few visiters; but oar con versation soon flagged; he knew I could not have forgotten his unpopularity at school, his unpopularity at college, and ho seemed as one prepared to receive reproof, find extenuate his conduct. .. ' r ’ ’ ■ , He began fay finding fault with his father, who st}U lived—told mo long stories of his sons’ in gratitude,' which brought'tears into the eyes of i hfs patient child, and then he fell to reproach ling her: “She never loved him,” ho said. « He was sure she wished for other company ; ho luted tears, she knew he did, and yet she was always weeping.” .. , , Twenty times in haifan hour did he make the poor girl adjust his pillows, and arrange his foot-stool, talking all the time of the ingratitude of a world upon which lie had never.faestowed a single blessing; upbraiding his daughter, more than once, with performing those offices coldly, 1 which at all events she’performed witli a sweet willingness that won my heart. Then he would, ya)l the little dog to him; and the 1 creature,' though it would fawn and crouch, Would not go ’ hear, him, at which he complained moat bitterly. He hod commenced life in the expectation that all should bow down to his will; ami disap pointed in this, bis selfishness'deepened Into a rooted hatred of that world which ho believed at war with him. He said he was sure he should .not live to be old. I knew that death would erd long bo busy in his dwelling, hut not with him . The selfishness that could keep a son from the bedside of a dying mother, and make' him (think only of himself when a daughter was about to be taken for ever from the domestic hearth, needs no comment of mine. My next .visit was to his dying daughter. She was indeed a sweet,unselfish child, “Do come and see poor papa, when I am gone,” she said, « and teach him to look to heaven, as you have how taught me; for in this world there will be No One to lore him.” ‘ - How vcry shocking,” observed Mark, “it must be; to have no one to lovo one—no friend, no one at ail to lovo one,” repeated the boy more than opce. “How very desolate, how very miserable St must be j no one to love oiie I ph,. sir, when that dear young lady died, how wretched that bad gentleman must have been I” “ He was certainly,” answered the clergyman, “ very.wretched; and died about five years ago, more neglected than you can imagine; ho pent for me a few houm before his death, but it w«s too fearihl an end to describe to you. My dear boys, the outline I baye given is sufficient to show you the blackness, and mis ery Ofa SELFISH BPIKIT. J “ There is no true happiness in this world,” obseryedthe good clergyman,« except in the discharge of our duties, bo they what they may. ■Wo cab only live with advantage "to ourselves, in Proportion as we perform our duty to others. AWd the peasant who brings up his family by bard but most honorable industry, deserves as; Waisc, and as much respect, too, in his I tf*’ - princtpqbo rules a province with Epitaphs. J ’ ,a * o&wJt sahl ov■ assfix. *- France’s star, Spain’s Irelilld ’ B clothe whole world’* ‘ iff PSfdtadftiitß.' •:' But now at this time beds alive -. ' j- „Tho Mthof Augustslxty.ftvo. / ... 5 ' ISFAXTS. . - Two Sweetttf babes you Mre did w© s'k : • ThaivGod amity feed toevre* “ ’ - - ;h.[' But they wwrortakenwee agut fiUs ■ ' - And sanity, ChrwUUs of the twit COL. T. B. THORPE,- ON WHEAT, - : , [AbrldgcUXroin .liHrper'KMcgfiiiin.] tfte plants, cultivated, wheat is the nibHi tajportant, to too . welfare, of man ; for 1 >ure,wheat is the standard of food, and, more han the precious metals, the standard of all values. It is chiefly the product of temperate ' climes, hut it is, successfully cultivated within seven or eight degrees of the polar circle, and flourishes with considerable "vigor on the verge of the tropics, , The highest condition of man—tho perfection, indeed, of the race—has always been associated with wheat-producing and wheat-consuming countries) and this is ; true from the days of the Pharaohs downward to the enlightenment of the present times. ‘ The rice-eating nations are inferior to tho con sumers of wheat. In tho Arctics, where fish is the chief food, and in the Tropics, where acid fruits predominate, man approximates the inferior animals, and his cultivation is of a physical character. As we descend in the scale of human degradation, wo find the root eating Indians of America, at tho lowest ex tremity of the scale. ' We are, therefore, jus- ' titled in looking upon a grain of wheat with an interest bordering on veneration, and every thing connected with its history assumes posi tive importance. • No rocord remains of its first cultivation, and the best-informed differ as to its origin. If is maintained by, some, that wheat, as at present known; is an artificial product. In confirmation Of this hypothesis is adduced ’the faot, that wherever the early history, of the cultivation of any species is known, it is found that the husbandman first applied to his use, the imperfect plant growing wild abont him. He finds some berry, the taste of which is agreeable, and in order to have it more plentiful, he beigina Its improvement) the de sired object is accomplished, and, finally, a fruit is produced, so superior, to tho one found growing wild, that it impossible to trace any, necessary resemblance. „ Analogous to this example, it' Is thought, is Hh'e-origin of ' wheat) and botanists distinguished for their acquirements, profess to have found the im portant progenitor; in a grass growing wild on tho shores of the Mediterranean, known to scientific men by the name of agilops. - The wonderful, vitality of all seeds is® ro vtirbial. " That' of wheat is more remarkable than any other kind, for its grains arc suscep tible of being preserved to an indefinite period' of time, for It,Seems that ago neithor injures their vitality nor their value for bread. Wheat has bean known to be covered with water of floods, so long, that every kind of vegetation was utterly destroyed, and yet, on the subsi dence of tho waters, it has sprung rip from tho root, and come to perfection.', 'Quito recently a scientific gentleman, ynaking arcliteological researches in the south of France, in some of the ancient tombs; -fourteen centuries old, found imbedded with’some preserved bodies a species of wheat, it being the habit, in the days of the that Gallic kings, to place in the cqflins of embalmed persons, a few of these almost indestructible seeds. Some of this ' wheat,, was sown, and, the gentleman was sur prised\to see - it sprout forth from sixteen to twenty stalks from each grain. As they grew they became angular, and much stronger and more vigorous than toe common wheat. The ftlpily of Sir 'William Symonds, of Hampshire, .England, brought into that coun try sorno wheat from Thebes. Tlio mummy from which df was taken must have been em balmed morStoan three thousand five hundred years ago. \ This wheat was planted and thrived, and jStpduCed over' ono thousand six hundred from fifteen atoms which sprang from a single seed. There is still another inherent virtue about wheat over every .other seed; This is its pow er to tlirivo at a temperature destructive to ordinary vegetable life. While tho farmer sits cozily by Ills winter tiro, and looks out upon tho frozen landscape, ho cannot help thinking Of the delicate ypung wheat plants, of what'is their condition: do they vegetate When all else in nature istpqfid? Covered with snow as it is, toe agriculturist knows that his young wheat still vegefaies,- still, “ works,” and in spite of toe freezing blast, J and toe pervading death chill, which rests upon the landscape, extends its roots down into the soil in search of nourishment. Tho botanists inform ns gravely that, In wheat, this is « a specific vitality.” So wonderful, indeed, is the power of wheat to resist cold, that a grain dropped upon the thick ice over a congealed river has been known to sprout and send out through a small orifleo, a blade two or three Inches long, too roots at the same time pene trating into toe very heart of the hard-ribbed ice. When wheat is planted at a proper depth and in a favorable -soil, it vegetates slowly, pushing to the surfheo one cylindrical filament, while numerous fibres strike downward into tho earth. These supply the plant with nour ishment, and in due time a knot is formed at the surfUcc of tho soil, from which several roots and stems branch out—this is called too tillering of too wheat. As .the plant advances toward perfection, new roots near toe surface become too chief source of nourishment, and in a rich compost soil, where thereis room; numerous stems arise, forming a tuft, from each of which springs a stalk, sustaining an ear well filled with seeds; henco the power of this plant for the tremendous increase above all other usefrl grains. Tho phenomena of of toe extension of roots aro of the most curious interest, for in search of nutriment they Seem to display something more than mechanical growth; That alt vegetables ab sorb their , food in a fluid stato seems beyond contradiction, but how this is accomplished is not clearly understood. How the phosphate of lime and other insoluble substances arc ab sorbed by the delicate roots is a profound mys tery. Plants in health, however, possess the power of Intelligent selection, and tho roots of each will feed only upon such substances as are best calculated to promote their growth, and if they can find nothing genial, they will either starve, or driven by hunger, they will partake of the poison around them and die. A French naturalist, in liis endeavors to com prehend the.beautiful laws of nature, dissolved together in wafer various salts, and then placed in these solutions growing plants, some perfect, and others witli their roots cut off. The. mutilated plants absorbed indiscriminately all the salts dissolved in toe water, while the perfect ones separated from the water only those required tor their healthy existence, and rejected too remainder, absolutely acting ns doiicate chemists, and- performing ftmetions with their simple vessels, bucli as cannot he imitated by the most complicated laboratory of science. Botanists claim to know two or three hun dred kinds of wheat. M. Phlllippari, in the year 1842, professed to bo cultivating, near Versailles, no less than three hundred and twenty-two varieties. There are, however, only three principal kinds, so different in their appearance, that they need to bo particularly noticed. These are tho hard wheats., the soft wheats, and the Polish wheats. The hard variety are products of warm climates, such as belong to Italy, Sicily, and Barbary. The soft varieties are the products of the United States and of the northern countries of Eu rope, as Belgium, Britain, Denmark, and Sweden. The Polish wheats are from the country whence they derive their name, and are similar to those of temperato regions; it is only in their external form tiiat they are dis tinguished from other wheats. The hard wheats have a compact seed; nearly transparent, which when shattered, breast .short and display a very white flour within. The soil wheats peculiar to our r own fields, have an opaque coat, and when first reaped glye way readily to tho pres sure of the finger and thumb j they must bo weil dried beforo they can bo manufactured into flour. Tho polish wheats havo a long chaff, and are cylindrical in appearance. They are delicate spring wheats, but not vety pro ductive in onr country, and hence aro only cultivated by American Farmers by way of ex periment. • The hard wheats produce the greatest amount of gluten, a tough substance containing much nutriment,' and readily promoting that fermentation which makes light bread j hence it is that in Italy wo meet with so many rich pastes which form so large a part of the food of tho people of that country. The soft wheats contain, on the other hand, the great est quantity of etarcli, which fits them for vinous fermentation, encouraging brewing and distilling, and the consequent evil of tho abuse of-intoxicating liquors., No one who has the least fondness for na ture, can witness, unimpassioned, tho gradual development of the young wheat. In early spring, tho ground spreads away as far as tho eye can reach, in dark masses, slightly tinged with green j a few days pass away and the sun kissing slopps grow more luxuriant, and hour by hour wo note the changes, until a vernal carpet of more delicate hues than ever greet tho eyes of tho most favorite sultana com pletely hides the mother earth; now it is that the dclicato blades begin to multiply and strengthen under the genial influences of the ripening sun. Tho quiet days wear away, and tlie long sweeps of brilliant verdure begin to palpitate under the soft whisperings of the breeze, and tho hopeful plant springs upward with visible rapidity, suggesting rich stores of golden fruit as the reward of the husband man’s toil. The season of fruition approaches; the brilliant tints of rapidly-circulating juices, begin ,to yield to the, gravor ones of, golden hues. The long nights of the harvest moon tempt us into the open air, and we find the precious life-preserving cereal waving its ma tured heads in ‘joy, and fairly laughing in its abundance. Now the ardent beams of the sun pour down, atid where, hut p few weeks since, was the dull fi’od. we find a vast golden shield, re flecting Back those brjlliant rays, and yet ab sorbing with gluttonous appetite their ripening effects." It is now that the woods are redolent of musio. Every bush has its carol of song- ■ The little birds: hftvd established their young in-the neighboring branches, and re lieved offhmily cares, they Join with their off spring in pouring out songs of praise at tho never-ending prospect of abundance. Tho solicitude of the husbandman ispassed. With a bright pye and a hopetbl stop, he summons his laborers to gather, in the harvest. Strong arms and merry hearts unite to revoi among the' nodding stalks, now top-heavy with their fruitage,: and.Wlththb* modest bearing of truo worth, leaning upon each ether for support. THE f P&ESS.-PHILAtfELPHiA, TUESDAY, AUGUST 4;\ 18S7:* The flashihg sickle glances in 'toe sunlight, and every- sweep of toe powerful arm that wields it, brings down toe boarded grain, while others follow in toe reaper’s wake, and bind it into sheaves. - . j;The landscape, however familiar,- at-this .Reason'-of-.toe year, presents scenes of ever changing-be&uty.. Fleecy clouds, no heavier than gossaifler'Vfipqrs, float between the aun and the earth, casting faint shadows in spots upon toe yellow undulations of toe wheat fields, literally dimpling their fattened surfaces into smiles j whils other clouds, more dense, pile up like snow-capped mountains in toe noon-day heats, and then, ns departing spirits, vanish into thin air. The open glados of woodland sparkle in the recesses, while toe preserved monarchs of the forests, which have escaped toe woodman’s axe, darken und frown, and give dignity and grandeur to the joyous scene. The streams ripple and dance over their gravelly beds, and too playful fish, Jewel sparkling, leap into tho uir, and then bury tliomselvcs away amidst a spray of diamond jets. Softened, yet clear against tho sky, are seen the spires of the distant village, bcauftilly contrasting with purple hills. Over all nature rests toe charm of rich abundance, too heart of man exults, the earth and the air are full of rejoicing. The work of the morning is well performed, and tlion comes the noontide meal. The cot tage maid trips forth, bearing the frugal yet substantial repast, such us hungry men and maidens most need. A shady spot is selected near a spring, which offers its crystal waters to the thirsting lips; and happy but fatigued reapers gather round. Jokos, keen repartee, nnd joyous laughter aro often heard, betraying tho body healthy, and the mind at ease. The toil of the after-day finished, tho sun sinks slowly towards tho west, and tho weary laborer homeward wends his way. Mingling in, the' returning throng is the woll-kept'WO&on, over flowing with luxuriant sheaves, whicli are Soon ; to be'winuowed of the chaff—for such a term ungrateflil man applies to the cunningly de vised cufoldings whicli have protected the grain in its infancy and in its matured strength. With these innocent associations, and by these grateful labors, the crop of wheat is secured, tho very toil promoting health, and every inci dent favoring serenity of mind. Among tho tilings immediately connected, by association, with tho wheat-field is the mill, where the ripened grain is manufactured into flour. There is something wonderfully cool and refreshing, in the hottest summer’s day, about these old mills. They are favorito 3pots with tho juveniles, who delight to listen to tho clatter of their machinery, as it mingles with the hum of tho surrounding forpst. Thoir situation is always romantic, for it is in some quiet nook shaded by rich trees, luxuriating beside the gurgling stream that pours in silver spray over tlio rudo dam. The surrounding rocks arc covered with spray, and where tho shadows on the water aro the deepest and cool est, the sun-flsh disport themselves, tempting the angler’s art. Tho old moss-covered wheel, as it rolls over and over, is musical by its in dustry, and tho falling water quiets the most disturbed mind into sweet repose. Charles Millor, of tho Botanic Gardens, at Cambridge, England, in Juuo, 1776, selected a grain of wheat that seemed ready to branch out, pulled it up, and on the Bth of August, divided it into eighteen parts, each of which he re.planted separately. Every one of these new plants put forth several lateral shoots, when they were again uprooted in September, divided, and re-planted. The seventy-six shoots thus obtained, underwent a similar ope ration in the courso of the ensuing Maroh and April, Anally developing in all five hundred plants, from which camo twenty-one ‘housand one hundred and nine cars, producing tbrty seven pounds and a half of grain, or four mil lion seven hundred and sixty-eight thousand and forty seeds. Hardy as wheat is, it is subject to many dis eases, and also suffers from insects. Tho weevil is quite familiar,! Its young is supposed to ha." deposited in the ear of whoat, whicli' they' leave about August, and go into the ’ground, where it is .probable they remain dur ing the winter in the pupa state, and become flics the next season, when tho wheat is|in bloom. “ Pop goes the weasel,” is an expres sion on overy one’s tongue, yet few under stand tho origin of the saying. By giving its history, we may also learn something of the habits of tho weevil. According to « reliable tradition,” a famous Methodist preacher, by the name of Craven, was onco preaching in the heart of Virginia, when he spoko as fol lows i “ Here are present a great many pjofes-, sors of religion, who are sleek, Pat, and good looking, yet something is the mate with you. Now you havo seen wheat which was plump, rouud, and good-looking to tho eye, but when you weighed it, you found that it was only for ty-flvo or perhaps forty-oiglit pounds to the bushel, when it should be, if a prime article, sixty or sixty-three pounds. Tako a kernel of tliis wheat between your thumb U!1'1 finger, hold it up to the light and squeeze it, and < pop goes the weevil.’ Now, yoij good-looking protbssors of religion; you are plump and round, but you ouly forty-five or forty-si* I pounds to tho bushel. What .is tho matter?' Ah, when you ara taken between tho thumb of the law aiid the fore-finger qf the Gospel, ‘ Pop goes your weevil.’ ” In rainy seasons, wheat is subject to a dis casu known us tho blight. On examining a grain thus affected, with a powerful micros cope, it is found to consist of hard shell filled with while powder, tho dust containing no traco of sfarcii; it consists entirely of micros copic threads which aro dry, stiff, worms. When placed in water, these Worms exhibit hygroscopic motion for a few moments. When tho wheat is new, thoy soon make other mani fold movements which aro unmistakable signs of life. When the grain is old, It requires several hours, or sometimes even days, before | they resume motion and life. In a single grain of affected wheat, tliero aro generally sevoraj thousands of these worms. They havo no sexual distinctions; they aro the offspring of' other forms. Before a blight comes on, tliero are found from ten to twelve largor worms in each kernel which is about to ho affected, and tho females of these larger worms have boon observed to lay eggs. If blighted wheat is sown with sound, the worms, after a few weeks, and when the sound wheat lias germinated, are awakened into life by tho moisture of tho oarth, break through tho thin shell which has confined them, and follow the dictates of indi vidual enterprise. Tho great mass of them die, but a few reach tho germinated whoat, and effect a lodgment in the stalk under the form ing leaves. They aro carried up in dry weather by the growth of tho plant, and in wet by their own exertions. As they arc dried up most of tho time, thoy suffer no consider able cliango until they enter iqto tho forming kernels and lay thoir eggs. By tho timo the wheat is ripe the parent insect is dead. Those remaining are dried into almost nothing, tho egg-shells are absorbed, and the grain is appa rently filled with nothing but white powder. A new Zealand chief, when on a visit to the English settlement tn New Holland, on leaving to return home, was observed tb tako with him a quantity of wheat. On reaching his friends ho greatly surprised them with the information that it was tho grain from which the English made tho biscuit which they ate on board tbp ship. He divided his precious store among tiioso present, recommending them to plant what thoy received in tho ground. A few fol lowing ids directions, the wheat sprang up and grew well; but tho barbarians, ipipatient for the product, and expecting to find it, like the potatoc, gathered round the loots, dug it up, and finding no bulbous formation', burnod up tho crop is disgust. Tho highest} prico that floor has reached during a period of sixty years, was in 1796, when it sold at sixteen dollars a barrel. In 1817, it was quoted at fourteen dollars. In 1817, the period of tho Irbjh famine, flour never exceeded ten dollars. The prices of breadstuff's were higher in 1856, than for sixty years, if wo except tho seasons of 1796 and 1817. From tho minutes kept at the office of tlio Van Honssolner Marisioij at Albany for sixty-one years, where large amounts of rents aro payable in wheat, or a cash equivalent, oh tlio Ist of January of each y