This expense, by the way, averaged, in the latter case, less than nine shillings to each tree; nor do we find that it excelled fifteen in any of the cases last mentioned. Sir Henry Stuart estimates it at from six to eighteen, according to the size and age of the subject; and he goes into particular calculations, founded on his own experience, to show that the difference of cost, in the transplantation of twenty-two large trees, between the common method and his own, would be as thirteen to one in his favor,-exclusively of the advantage of obtaining the use of the wood at once, instead of waiting for it thirty years.

In regard to this matter of expense, however, it is observable that the same estimates cannot be relied on in our country as in Scotland or England. The cost of the machine is not included in the calculations cited; but, setting this aside, and waiving, also, the waste of labor and money, which men less acquainted with the new system than the founder of it and his friends are, must incur, the difference in the price of labor itself, there and here, is quite sufficient to put a formidable barrier upon the introduction of the argument, if not of the system itself. This labor is, perhaps, seven-eighths of the whole cost of the process in a majority of cases, and the difference above alluded to, is, in the aggregate, as much as three to one against us. An English day's labor, for example, is rated by Stuart, at one shilling and sixpence, and that of a horse and his driver at five shillings, the former of which prices would probably be quadrupled, and the latter doubled at least, in this vicinity.

Still, we entertain no doubts that the new system will be introduced among us, to such an extent, certainly, as may enable those proprietors who have the means of indulging in what may, perhaps, be considered a luxury, to make a choice knowingly between the new and the old; and in that case, it can hardly admit of a controversy, what will be the result of their judgement. In some parts of the country, where the rage of destructiveness, heretofore alluded to, has most prevailed, full-grown trees are likely to be as much a desideratum in the decoration of grounds as they can be in England; and we trust that, in such circumstances, the same liberal taste which disposes men elsewhere to this most delightful department of the study and beauty of nature, will not be found wanting among our own countrymen. Thus far, it cannot be said to have displayed itself, excepting in a few instances, to any considerable extent, although the want of it, it must be allowed, cannot easily be overlooked by the least observing foreign tourist, who traverses the length and breadth of New-England. How many beautifully located estates are there in this Commonwealth, of which the owners, while they would not value one or two hundred dollars a year, spent in transplantation, as a farthing, have, nevertheless, ignorantly or indolently contented themselves with either neglecting the decoration of their grounds with trees for the most partunder the disheartening impression that they cannot live to see the result of their labors, or cannot expect any result at all, worth striving for, from a process which they understand so imperfectly,-or, perhaps, have had the magnanimity, (as Mr. Irving considers it,) in spite of this impression, to cover their land over with "dismal looking rows of long, leafless poles, standing in solemn uprightness, like

Aaron's rod waiting for the miracle."* After all, the expense is not much less than it would be in case of well-grown trees, which would be at once a splendid embellishment; and the difference,-waiving the advantage the Scotch system possesses in the infrequency of its failure,―would be, as we said above, equal, so far as the object in question is concerned, to that of some thirty to forty years in the life of the proprietor.

Again, how many extensive commons, squares, streets, and other grounds, are there in our cities and large towns,—not to say our villages generally,-where the destructive mania has but too frequently swept away every thing before it,-which might be ornamented and shaded, not as the Boston common has been, and is likely to be, by the toil and taste of long-succeeding generations of Mayors, but, as it were, with the magic energy which erected the Palace of Aladdin in a night. Grave-yards, especially, and church-grounds, would be essentially improved throughout this country, by such a process. The Turks themselves have gone before us, in the dutiful and beautiful regard rendered, in this respect, alike to the sympathies of the living, and the memory of the dead. We have known a few instances in this vicinity, of the transplantation of large trees,-of a sugar-maple, for example, a foot in diameter,-which proved entirely successful; we hope, however, they may speedily become quite too frequent to be matter of boastful comment on the one hand, or of distrustful inquiry on the other. In such hope, we shall conclude this article with a brief synopsis of the leading principles of the Scotch system.

The first of the four chiefly insisted on, regards the adaptation of the subject to the soil. This applies to every individual tree, in respect to the exposure in which it has been reared. Young woods, for example, are apt to be crowded with tall, thrifty-looking plants, which appear, to the unpractised eye, the fittest subjects for removal; but whose situation, or education (so to speak,) has been precisely such as to make them least capable of sustaining the changes they commonly undergo in the process. Even the adaptation of certain species of trees, however, to certain soils and aspects, is almost wholly overlooked in this country. The London Quarterly, for 1828,-in an article attributed to Sir Walter Scott,-admits that nine out of ten transplanters in England, have no better system. Sir Henry Stuart, who considers their ignorance " portentous and incredible, if it were not proved by daily experience," supports that charge by the following anecdote -He says, that a friend of his, some years since, having broached this subject in a large company, who disagreed with him, offered a bet of five to one that no gentleman present could, within three months, name three persons, land-holders in the county, who had made large plantations, and had an income yearly of from five hundred to five thousand pounds, or more, that were able to "state precisely what were the different soils to which twelve of the principal forest-trees planted in Britain were best adapted." The bet was laughed at, but was taken up at once, and the taker began his search the next day,-not doubting, though ignorant of the subject himself, that every planter would know the soils best suited to his

* North American Review, for October 1832.

trees, as much as the farmer those suited to his crops. The result was, that only one person in the county could fulfil the prescribed conditions!

Sir Henry's second rule is, to avoid that old-fashioned dismemberment and mutilation, which generally has deprived the tree of a third part or more of its size and strength, as well as the whole of its beauty, at the very time when it needs them most. The old planter, Miller, well remarks, in his Botanist's Dictionary, that if the same course were taken with the same trees unremoved, it would require several years' growth in them to recover from the shock, and that they never would attain the size under these circumstances, which they otherwise might. One writer aptly compares the "disgusting and miserable spectres," which handsome trees are commonly reduced to before removal, to the " unhealthy and maimed tenants of a military hospital after a great battle."

Another improvement in the Scotch system upon the old one, is in the management of the roots of the tree, and of the soil attached to them, both before and after removal. The advantage gained in this way, is, particularly in the stability of the tree removed, and its consequent power of dispensing with every external species of support, even in the most inclement exposures. The fourth principle of Sir Henry relates to the subsequent treatment of the subject, down to the complete re-establishment of its thrift; and for this discussion we must be content to refer to his volume. It will be found full of instruction upon the whole subject of arboriculture, from the beginning of its history to its end.

PATRICK'S EXAMINATION.

Ir happened, not long since, that Patrick came o'er,
And safe and sound landed on Liberty's shore,
Where most of the people most happily share

In the blessing requested in Agur's wise prayer.

He soon was addressed, by a good-natured Yankee :

"Do you wish to hire out?"-says Pat, " Yes, sir, I thank ye.

The bargain was stricken, and Pat introduced'

To a house, there to work, and to eat, drink, and roost.

Our Yankee was happy, as most Yankees are,

In a bright, little, chubby-cheeked, three-year-old fair,
With a book in her hand, who asked Patrick to tell
What letters were wanted if calf he would spell.

Says Pat, "I can't spell, for I never larned how:"-
Says Miss, "If you cannot spell calf, then spell cow:"-
Says Pat, "That 's a task that 's much harder by half
To spell a big cow, than to spell a small calf."

HIEROCLES IN BOSTON.

THE GENIUS OF THE LIBRARY.

ONE cold, dreary, and drizzly afternoon in autumn, some years ago, I found myself in one of the proudest cities of the old world, threading its circuitous streets and alleys, with the view of passing the remainder of an exceedingly uncomfortable day in one of the largest libraries of Europe. I was led to this place more from curiosity than any other motive, and determined for the time to shut out the noise and turmoil of the world. "Let it rain, blow, and drizzle," said I to myself; "let the clouds gather above, and the sky become lowering and dark; here, at least, within this sanctuary of great and good minds, it shall be all bright sunshine to a weary traveler like myself." The shadows of evening were falling thick and fast, much earlier than usual, and I feared I should not be able to look into any of the numerous volumes before candle-light. As soon, however, as the librarian had pointed me to an old arm-chair, which, from its dimensions, might have held a fat abbot and three or four spare and lean monks, I took an old, musty, cobweb-covered folio from a shelf, and, seating myself in the farthest alcove of the apartment, was soon lost in deciphering its strange and antique characters. The volume was written by one of those patient scholars, and sharp controversialists in metaphysics, who wielded their pens against false systems of philosophy, whose names have now passed away, or are known only to the student, and whom it is the fashion for modern writers of the same school to decry, as having added nothing to the sum of human knowledge. I insensibly found myself giving utterance to my thoughts, now in the language of the old, and almost forgotten philosopher, and now in my own.

"Yes! true it is, old Patriarch! thou sayest well! Miserablemiserable, indeed, should we be, if what thy antagonist asserts, were true. Let not the world contemn thee and thy host of followers, who consumed their days and nights in battling it with those vain sophists, that think death puts an end to our spiritual as well as our physical being. Thou hast fought the battle manfully and well! Mid all this ocean of words, sharp and keen though they be, thou hast fathomed the depths of the soul, and, diving into the heart of man, hast brought up that imperishable jewel-Truth. The Mind die! The soul suffer annihilation! Well dost thou write, All Nature cries out against it!' Well dost thou say to thy opponent, Thou art thyself a refutation of what thou dost aver.' The demigods of the heathen world-the sages and philosophers of a remote age, ay, and the untutored child that roams the wilderness, have embraced as it were by intuition what thou in thy blindness wilt not grasp, although the morning-star of Revelation has beamed upon thy vision. Plato, Socrates, and Cicero knew the glorious truth-and thou, vain reasoner, deniest it! The thousand rushing waters of the earth make it the burthen of their ever tolling anthem. The birds at morn and even proclaim it with their sweetest song. It comes to us on the wings of the breeze,—in the air,and it is written in undying lines upon the blue sky above us. Every living thing sends back a thrilling response to the involuntary exclamation that comes from the hearts of myriads of human beings-‘We live hereafter!' And who art thou, pretender to wisdom! that pro

claimest thyself a light in a dark age, and wouldst teach the nations of the earth that they will die, and go, without a torch to light them to their tomb-with no ray to illumine the darkness and make bright the path onward to Eternity? Canst thou shut out the light that every thing sends to thee? Life hereafter! If Reason unfolded the glorious truth to a few of the mighty ones of the heathen world, to the Hindoo, as well as to the Grecian and Roman sage, thinkest thou to sit in thy dark cell and persuade man that it is all a dazzling dream? Open thine ears to the glad tidings that are breaking the shackles which have kept the mind so long in bondage. Hearken to that burst of praise and song, that will sound in the remotest corners of the earth! Away! vain sophist. Knewest thou not that the Creator would not suffer the sublime Truth, which thou art assailing, to die away, or be hid by all the subtleties which thou and thy disciples can weave around it?

Look! the light of Revelation is sending its beams into the darkest cell, and writing the golden truth upon its walls! Open thine eyes, then, envious, but misnamed Reasoner!-its radiance is streaming from a thousand points, and showing the world every film of thy finespun and unsubstantial subtleties. Rise up and shake off thy false philosophy, and embrace the Truth ere thou dost die !"

Thus, in almost the language of one of those controversialists of the middle ages to whom I have alluded, did I involuntarily give utterance to my thoughts. There are subjects, that will for a time lock up the senses, and make the man a mere passive being. Among them are those themes, the grandest that dwell upon our lips, which concern our immortal destinies, and have the power of curbing and guiding the thoughts in unison with them, and making the will their slave. So it was with me, as I was following this old reasoner, whose words at once went to the heart, and buried themselves in the inmost recesses of the mind. My eyes were fixed, absorbed as I was in thought, upon something, indistinct in the distance and twilight, at the farthest side of the library, with an intensity and earnestness of gaze like that of Hamlet, when, for the first time, the semblance of his father comes upon his vision. A sound like the sliding of folding-doors came to my ears; the alcoves widened and grew larger, expanding and spreading away as far as the eye could reach, as if obeying the potent touch of a magician's wand. The volumes also seemed to increase in size, and the names upon their backs appeared as if seen through a magnifying-glass, glowing and sparkling as if written with fire. At different points, between the two longest sides of the apartment, were placed, on marble pedestals as white as snow, the sculptured forms of the Muses, and of some of those mighty ones whom nations have delighted to honor. And, above all, I was struck with a representation of Fame, bearing in one hand a white scroll, and raising with the other a trump to her breathing lips. These forms seemed instinct with life, and gazing with rapture and admiration upon the immortal volumes around them; and, as a mellow and golden light diffused itself around upon the various objects, the whole scene realized my conception of the magnificence of a fairy palace in eastern romance.

As I sat musing and wondering at the novelty of the scene, I for the first time observed that a figure was approaching me from the farthest side of the apartment. He bore an old parchment volume under