the severity of the weather, being extremely hardy. When loaded with fruit, it makes a most delightful appearance. There is another variety of this species of Service, that grows naturally in the south of France, in Italy, and in most of the southern countries of Europe, where its fruit is served up as a dessert.”—HUNTER.

“The wood is soft, tough, and solid-excellent for hoops and for bows next to yew. It is converted into tables, spokes for wheels, shafts, chains, &c. The roots are formed into handles for knives and wooden spoons. The berries dried and reduced to powder, make wholesome bread, and an ardent spirit may be distilled from them, which has a fine flavour, but it is small in quantity. The berries too, infused in water, make an acid liquor something like Perry, which is drunk by the poorer people in Wales. This tree appears to have been highly esteemed by the Druids, and is still found more frequently than any other in the neighbourhood of Druidical circles in the Scotch Highlands. Dr. Pulteney informs us that even in these more enlightened times, the natives of the north believe in the efficacy of a small branch carried about them as a charm against witchcraft and enchantment. In one part of Scotland the sheep and lambs are on May Day made to pass through a hoop of Roan-wood.”

WITHERING.

HYMNS AND POETICAL RECREATIONS.

Come, for all things are now ready.-Luke xiv. 17.
My soul, and why art thou so sad,

In moments that should seem so blest,
When He who spreads his bridal feast,

Has welcomed thee, his happy guest?

Why stand thus gazing on the door,

And listing to the storm without ?
In shelter here, and safe from harm,

Its menaces can reach thee not.

His canopy is o'er thy head

His mantle is about thy breast
What would'st thou more? The board is spread-

Why not sit down and be at rest?

What would I more? O pardon, Lord,

That yet content I seat me not~
The angry storm is raging loud,

And those I love are still without.

Long have I looked upon that door

And watched, and still, and still there's room And many a guest has entered in

But still the loved ones do not come. Send forth thy messengers again

Or ere they close that fatal gate; There yet is room

- bid them try. If haply they may find them yelmes

While others seat them at thy side,

And sing their carols o'er thy feast, Here let me stand in suppliant guise,

A grateful, but a mourning guest.

And O forgive-again forgive !

If bidden to honour so undue, I cannot sit me down in peace,

Till those I love are welcomed too.

THE HARP.
Sat, shall the harp so often heard

From forth the exile's tent,
Where mourning spirits guile with song

Their hours of banishment

Whose deep, and melancholy wires,

By sin, by sorrow wrung, Reverbrate every touch of woe

As if they loved the song

Say, shall the harp of poesy

That sorrow loves so much,
When joy would pass his finger there,

Not answer to the touch ?

What joy? O such as Angels share

Above yon arch of Heaven-
The wand'ring, doubting soul return'd,

And welcom'd, and forgiven

The sun, so long, so darkly veil'd

In midnight's blackest shroud, Upon the rapt and ravish'd eye

Arisen without a cloud

O if there be upon my harp

One string that joy may claim,
In silence it has slept too long-

Wake it with Jesus' name

And let the musick of its voice

Be like the Sky-Lark's lay,
When, many a sunless hour passid,

He hails returning day

Or rather let it be like that

Which spirits sing in Heaven,
When whispers reach them from the earth,

Of mortal sins forgiven.

HYMN.

My heart was weary, faint, and sad,

And heavy stole the hours;
I found but briars on a path

That once was strew'd with flow'rs.

I would have drunk the opiate draught

The world had giv'n before :
But dry and emptied was the bowl

The world could fill no more.

On the cold pillow of the tomb

I would have laid my head;
But Heaven, even to my prayer,

Denied the earthy bed.

Was Heav'n regardless of the prayer?

Oh no! From stores above,
It shed its grace upon my heart,

And told me, "God is love!'

Such love, as soothes my soul to peace,

And gave me back to bliss,
By promise of eternal joy,

In fairer worlds than this.
VOL, VII.

F

MY AIN FIRE-SIDE.
O, I hae seen great apes, and been in great ha's,
'Mang lords and 'mang ladies a' covered wi' braws;
At feasts made for princes, wi' princes I've been,
Whar the great shine oʻsplendour has dazzled my, een.
But a sight sae delightful trow I ne'er 'spied,
As the bonny blythe blink o'my ain fire-side,

My ain fire-side, my ain fire-side,
Oh, cheering's the blink o' my ain fire-side!

Ance mair, Guid be thankit! by my ain heartsome ingle,
Wi' the friends o' my youth I cordially mingle:
Nae form to compel me to seem wae or glad,
I may laugh when I'm merry, and sigh when I'm sad;
Nae fausehood to dreed, and nae malice to fear,
But truth to delight me, and friendship to chear.
Of a' roads to happiness that ever were tried,
There's nane half sae sure as ane's ain fire-side,

Ane's ain fire-side, ane's ain fire-side,
Oh, happiness sits by ane's ain fire-side.

When I draw in my stool on my cozie hearth-stane,
My heart loups sae light, I scarce kent for my ain ;
Care's flown on the winds—its clean out o' sight,
Past sorrows they seem but as dreams o' the night;
I hear but kent voices-kent faces I see,
And mark fond affection glint saft frae ilk ee.
Nae fleechings o' flattery-nae boastings o' pride,
'Tis heart speaks to heart, at ane's ain fire-side ;

My ain fire-side, my ain fire-side,
Oh! there's nought to compare to my ain fire-side.

SUPPOSED ELIZABETH HAMILTON.

Romans v. 2.

COME, O my soul, and for a while retreat

From this poor world, and raise thy thoughts on high : Come and bow down before Jehovah's feet,

And lift to Him thy supplicating eye; And watch till thou his beaming glory see, Shine from between the cherubim on thee.