the shoulders of the labourer, who trudges homeward at the rate of nearly four miles an hour. In this way the corn is soon carried, as the workmen are numerous, and their application to their task cheerful and untiring. While this is going forward, a stand is sometimes made, by setting up three poles, so that they cross each other in a diverging manner. A line confines them at the point of their decussation, and they consequently rest in the position in which they were placed. Upon the end of these, the bundles of corn are hung for a time, that they may dry in the sun and the breeze. This would not be a bad hint to our farmers, when a showery harvest impels them to make the best use they can of the intervals of sunshine with which they are favoured. Corn suspended in this way, would scarcely be liable to shoot even in the wettest weather.

one.

After the corn is stacked, the farmer begins to think of thrashing out the grain. For this purpose he takes it to a floor prepared by a cement, so that it is of stony hardness. Upon this cornfloor, or area, the kernels are beaten out with a flail, which resembles the one in use among ourselves. In former times it had two "swingles," that it might hit two strokes for one, just as a Chinese warrior thinks to make himself more terrible by using two swords instead of The other implements used on this occasion, are a fork, a shovel, a fan for winnowing the grain, and a basket to receive it. Thither it is brought again, if by keeping it grows dusty, or contracts a disagreeable dampness. After the rice crop has been removed from the field, the soil is usually turned up by the plough, and manured for a second crop of vegetables, which is ready for transplanting just when harvest is ended. A field that waved with yellow corn is, in a few days, converted into a kitchen garden, and refreshes the eye with a profusion of the liveliest green. In China, the land has but a short rest; the assiduity of the native in pulverizing it by his spade, his hoe, and his plough, and a bountiful application of manure, seem to supersede the necessity of fallows.

Wheat is cultivated in the northern provinces of China, beyond the limits of the writer's excursions, and therefore he has no remarks to make upon the mode of its cultivation. It was often seen at the mills, near Macao and Canton, and appeared to be small-grained, and of an

THE PERAMBULATOR.
THE DOCKS.

THERE are in London many institutions and exhibitions which do little more than communicate pleasure to those who visit them, or promote the advancement of particular branches in arts and sciences. There are others more closely connected with our common comforts, our every day luxuries, and, indeed, with our very existence as a great nation. Among these latter, the docks individual point of view, they are of occupy a high place. In a national and incalculable importance.

"What a night on the globe would prevail,

How forlorn each blank region would be,
Did the canvass no more catch the gale,

Nor the keel cleave the fathomless sea."

When, for a moment, we consider that not less than four thousand ships are employed in bringing the products of other countries into the port of London, and in bearing away the manufactures and merchandize of England; that fifteen thousand cargoes enter the port every year, and that there are seldom less than two thousand vessels in the docks and the river, to say nothing of three thousand barges and small craft occupied in lading and unlading: when we think of these things, and at the same time call to mind that more than two thousand boats and wherries enable at least eight thousand watermen to pick up a living in plying them; that four thousand labourers find employment in lading and unlading the ships; and that twelve thousand revenue officers are required to discharge the duties of the port and the river, we cannot but regard the docks with interest as well as curiosity.

The East India Docks are at Blackwall; the West India Docks lie across the neck of the Isle of Dogs, between Limehouse and Blackwall; the London Docks are at Wapping; and St. Ka

and quays are very spacious. It is a busy scene, when an East India fleet arrives with its produce of tea, coffee, silk, wool, cotton, indigo, saltpetre, mace, nutmegs, camphor, elephants' teeth, muslins, and other commodities.

As a stranger approaches the docks, he will have many indications of their locality. A solitary chop-fallen sailor walks along slowly with his hands in the pockets of his trowsers. He has had his frolic, he has spent his money, and has "got no ship." Half a dozen blue jackets, some with canvass caps, and others with new black hats on their heads, not over steady, pass on with a rolling walk and enter the public house at the corner. I have just come by a sailor exhibiting a painting of a shipwreck. There he is with a copper coin in his pocket, which a minute ago was in mine. He has lost both his legs, and would, no doubt, give me a full, true, and particular account of his birth, parentage, education, and misfortune, were I to require it at his hands. Where is the heart that has not its tale of sorrow?

Half an hour ago, as I turned along the street by the side of the India House, at least twenty seamen in their holiday clothes stood congregated together on one side the street, while a man, in a Scotch dress, playing on the bagpipes, paraded backwards and forwards before them on the other. Another man, a complete Highlander in face, figure, dress, and activity, was dancing the Highland fling, with an unwonted degree of vigour and apparent lightheartedness, while the delighted tars showered upon him their bounty with liberal hands. Some of these seamen were as fine looking men as any in the world.

The principal entrance to the East India Docks is at Poplar, where buildings have been erected for the accommodation of those employed in the several warehouses and in the quays. I have just been on board a vessel bound for the Mauritius. The dock for loading outwards is more than seven hundred feet long; and that for loading

The stranger desirous to see all that is interesting in the docks of the metropolis, should not omit, when at Blackwall, to visit what is said to be the largest private dock in Europe. On one of the quays, blubber is landed from Greenland ships. On another are powerful cranes for landing anchors and guns; and on a third a machine for masting and dismasting vessels with more than usual dispatch. How comparatively feeble is man, until the powers of his mind are called into action! He invents machinery, and then goes forth with more than the strength of a giant.

Before the establishment of the Marine Police in 1798, the robberies which took place on the river were very frequent, and sometimes very extensive. Where plunder is to be had, plunderers will be found.

When we reflect on the valuable cargoes with which ships are freighted from the East and West; and on the daring characters that abound in large cities and seaports, it will not excite wonder, that so long as vessels remained in an unprotected state, continual attempts should be made to plunder them. To such a pitch of audacity has pillage been carried on in the river, that a vessel has been known to be boarded, during the night, by a desperate gang, her anchor weighed, and both anchor and cable borne away in presence of the captain, in spite of all his attempts to prevent it. As on land there are thieves of all grades, from the reckless highwayman and burglar to the fearful and wily pickpocket, so on the water, there were spoilers of all kinds, ready to rob on a large or small scale, from a cargo to a cocoa nut, or a nutmeg. river pirate boldly took, by open force, his share of the booty. The night plunderer bribed the watchmen on board, and by their connivance, bore away in his boat all that he could conveniently remove. The light horseman, on good terms with the mates of ships and revenue officers, opened hogsheads of sugar and other produce, plundering them with impunity. The heavy horseman stowed away, beneath his ample dress, as much

The

coffee, ginger, and cocoa, as he could well carry; while the gauze lighterman was ever ready to receive stolen goods. Besides these, there were the mudlark and the scupple hunter; the former prowling about at low water, receiving in his small bag such petty packages as he could get from his dishonest friends on board; and the latter sneaking about the wharfs and quays, under pretence of wanting work, to pick up any thing and every thing that came to hand.

The West India Docks have very extensive ranges of warehouses for the stowage of merchandize. The northern dock, for unloading ships arriving from the West Indies, is two thousand six hundred feet in length, by a breadth of more than five hundred. Here a fleet of three hundred West Indiamen may ride safely. The southern dock, for loading outward-bound vessels, will hold, at least, two hundred ships. Before the formation of the West India Docks, the river used to be very inconveniently crowded on the arrival of a fleet.

The Wapping entrance to the London Docks is before me. Workmen, revenue officers, merchants, clerks, porters, and visitors, are passing to and fro. On the right, stand a number of caravan-looking accounting houses on wheels, that they may be removed from place to place; and the painted boards in the front, announce the intelligence that carts, wagons, vans with springs, and every other accommodation, for the speedy and safe removal of merchandize, may there be obtained. On the left, stand empty and loaded wains, cabs, and coaches, with their attendant wagoners in frocks, coachmen in great coats, and cab drivers in similar attire.

Against the wall, by the gates, are placards of the different vessels about to sail to all parts of the world; a goodly number of ships bound to Australia, New South Wales, and Van Dieman's Land among them. On entering the gates, the immense area is covered with pipes and casks of different kinds of wine, to be inspected before stowing them in the ground floors and vaults of the surrounding warehouses.

Masts without number now attract my attention, figure heads, and the great bulging bows of vessels. A confused mass of closely reefed sails, rigging, blocks, and tackling. Here is a lad swinging in the noose of a rope half way

Years ago I came to this place to welcome home an aged relative, to whom, in my youthful days, I was strongly attached: he had just arrived from the western world. Twenty summers and winters had he passed in the woody lands on the banks of the Delaware, and so much was he altered in appearance, that, at first, I passed him by as a stranger. Time had been busy with him, bleaching his hair like flax, furrowing his cheeks and brow, and impairing the strength of his body and his mind. I could have wept like a child; for affection was strong within me. Well! I must not linger on the scene. Many were the days of his pilgrimage, and his white hairs reminded those who loved him, not only that he had walked long with God on earth, but that he would soon dwell with Him in heaven. Since then, I have witnessed his last sigh, closed his dying eyes, and followed him to the grave.

O fear thou not, Christian, to die,

For death is the end of thy woes;
And the sleep of the grave will pass by
As a night of refreshing repose.

The labourer that rests through the gloom,
At the dawn of the day will arise;
And ere long wilt thou spring from the tomb,
And be winging thy way to the skies.

The stores of wine in the vaults of this place are immense, as well as those of brandy, rum, and hollands; while, in the warehouses, the amount of tea, tobacco, and indigo, is equally astonishing. As I continue my walk round the several quays, I step for a moment into the warehouses to mark the different kinds of merchandize that are laid up there. One place is filled with wool, another piled up with hemp, and a third occupied with cork, tied up in large bundles. On every hand, something is doing around me; pipes of wine, puncheons of rum, hogsheads of sugar, and boxes of raisins and currants are hoisted by cranes from the quay to the ships, I see or from the ships to the quays. boxes of fruit, bales of silk, bundles of hides, packages of wool, glue, glass,

cease.

A party of strangers, judging by the curiosity and wonder visible in their eyes, are now walking along the quay; the ladies are not a little incommoded by the ropes and pullies, the trucks of the workmen, and the packages that intercept their course; yet they take it all with good humour: it would be unreasonable to take it otherwise; the real business of life cannot be allowed to stand still, while we practise its courtesies and civilities.

The outlet of the dock to the river forcibly reminds me of an occurrence which was very near proving fatal. A young friend, about to embark for Sydney, some years ago, had lingered on the quay with her friends till the vessel had almost quitted the lock, sailing onwards for the Thames, there was but just time for any one to proceed up the rope ladder at her side in safety. My young friend attempted to do this, but faltered. It was a critical moment. Had she fallen into the lock, it would have been her destruction. Perceiving that she had lost her presence of mind, I snatched her away from the ladder, just as the vessel cleared the lock. The remembrance of her perilous situation and escape, even now makes me draw my breath quicker than ordinary. About a month ago, I again saw her embark with her husband, on her second voyage to Sydney.

I am now looking on a brig, that lies close up to the quay, and I could look at her for an hour, having just picked up the information, from a sailor on board, that she was all but wrecked in the Bay of Biscay. There she is with a chain cable passed twice round her hull, her bows staved in, her bulwarks broken clean off, and her masts carried by the board. Her jury mast is a mere spar, and she carries not a rag deserving the name of a sail. How such a broken craft could ride the waters is wonderful. While I look at her, the Bay of Biscay scene is before me-the roaring winds, the black sky, and the heaving ocean. Hark how her strained timbers creak between the blasts of the tempest! Her mast is struck by the lightning, and now it is carried away. What a fearful crash!

When we see the reckless life that sailors too often lead, and when we call to remembrance our own utter unworthiness, well may each of us exclaim, Lord, "what is man, that thou art mindful of him? and the son of man, that thou visitest him?" Psa. viii. 4. How terrible is the wide ocean in its rage, and yet

"Life is a sea as fathomless,

As wide, as terrible, and yet sometimes
As calm and beautiful. The light of heaven
Smiles on it, and 'tis decked with every hue
Of glory and of joy. Anon dark clouds
Arise, contending winds go forth abroad,
And Hope sits weeping o'er a general wreck.
And thou must sail upon this sea, a long
Eventful voyage. The wise may suffer wreck,
The foolish must. Oh, then, be early wise:
Learn from the mariner his skilful art

To ride upon the waves, and catch the breeze,
And dare the threat'ning storm, and trace a path
'Mid countless dangers, to the destined port
Unerringly secure. Oh learn from him
To station quick-eyed Prudence at the helm,
To guard thyself from Passion's sudden blasts,
And make Religion thy magnetic guide,
Which, though it trembles as it lonely lies,
Points to the light that changes not, in heaven."

I have quitted the London Docks, and am now at those of St. Katharine. It is a sight somewhat strange to see a fleet of inerchantmen riding on the waters, occupying a spot where, a short time before, might be seen huge buildings of substantial masonry, a beautiful church, and a resting place for the departed dead: yet so it is; for where the river of mammon runs, it sweeps away all that interferes with its free course. The stranger who has not seen the neighbourhood of the Tower and Wapping, for the last twenty years, will look around in vain for the ancient and beautiful church of St. Katharine, once belonging to the old hospital, founded by king Stephen's queen, Matilda. It is gone, together with its burial ground, and the large breweries near. The site they covered is occupied by St. Katharine's Docks. St. Katharine's church is now in the Regent's Park, with its almshouse, master, brethren, sisters, poor scholars and beadsmen.

The new dock of St. Katharine's occupies a space of twenty-one acres, in which a hundred and twenty fine ships find sufficient room. The quay appears to-day more than ordinarily crowded with merchandize and people, though the rain is falling fast and freely. As I walked here, the policemen had their oilcase capes on, umbrellas were hoisted, great coats buttoned close to the chin, and scores of poor draggle-tailed women and girls with their thin-soled shoes, were paddling along the sloppy pavements. The docks are not improved in their appearance by bad weather; and at this moment, the very porters linger to avoid the wet skin that awaits them should they go forth.

I remember being present at the opening of St. Katharine's, certainly one of the liveliest scenes on which I ever gazed. The quays and windows of the various warehouses were thronged with goodly spectators; while the vessels, showing the flags of all nations, and hung with pendants and streamers of all colours, passed proudly into the capacious basin. Every yard was manned with sailors; at every mast head sat a blue jacket; and every deck was crowded with well-dressed company, while bands of music, playing national airs, imparted additional life to the glowing scene.

What a puny thing is man, compared with his own workmanship! Look at the broad bulging bows of that threemasted ship near the quay! Regard her prow, figure head, bowsprit, towering masts, and enormous yards and sails! What an amazing hulk! And yet the whole navy of the world, would not stand a moment before the excited breath

Yes! as a drop of water in the sea,

All this magnificence in thee is lost:
What are ten thousand worlds compared to thee?
And what am I then? Heaven's unnumbered
host,

Though multiplied by millions, and arrayed
In all the glory of sublimest thought,
-Is but an atom in the balance, weighed

Against thy greatness! is a cipher brought
Against infinity! Oh what am I, then?
Nought!"

SKETCHES OF THE LINNEAN SYSTEM
OF BOTANY.-No. VI.

ELEVENTH CLASS. DODECANDRIA.

As spring ripens into summer, beauty and fragrance are diffused more freely. Among the many pleasant sights and agreeable scents that afford pleasure and buoyancy of feeling in a country ramble in this sunny season, those of the blossomed bean field, and the bossy clover flowers, must not be forgotten. They are sources of gratification to all; but especially to him whose heart is susceptible to the innumerable blessings that God, in his goodness, has scattered around on his creation.

A clover field in blossom is a goodly garden of flowers and perfume, wherein bees, butterflies, and grasshoppers take their fill of pleasure. The Christian botanist regards it as the liberal outpouring of a heavenly hand to man and beast, to bird and insect; a proof of the Divine benevolence so palpable, that the purblind sceptic, had not self-conceit bandaged his eyes, would read in it the love of the Holy One to the lower world.

Great God! how striking is thy love,
How wondrous and how free;
When, gazing on thy gifts around,
We feel they come from thee!

"A million torches, lighted by thy hand,

Wander unwearied through the blue abyss ; They own thy power, accomplish thy command; All gay with life, all eloquent with bliss. What shall we call them? Piles of crystal lightA glorious company of golden streamsLamps of celestial ether burning brightSuns lighting systems with their joyous

beams :

But thou to these art as the moon to night.

many as nineteen, and all inserted in the calyx. They are divided into six orders. 1. Monogynia, with one pistil, as purslane and snowdrop tree. 2. Digynia, with two pistils, as agrimony. 3. Trigynia, with three pistils, as spurge and mignionette. 4. Tetragynia, with four pistils. 5. Pentagynia, with five pistils. 6. Dodecagynia, with twelve pistils, as houseleek.

In almost every watery ditch, or slowrunning stream in the three kingdoms, may be met with the fine showy plant called grasspoly, (Lythrum solicaria,) a perennial, which rises about four feet high, and blows from July till late in

S