whence the Bacchanalian Thyrsus was always terminated with a fir cone. Our garden cannot boast a single Pinaster; but there is a noble one on the lawn of the Episcopal Palace at Fulham, whence these large flakes of smooth bark were lately peeled off, and, by subdividing them into thin lamina, they may be written on like so many sheets of paper, without the smallest preparation. For this purpose they were used by the ancients, who also formed a papyrus from the bark of the mulberry-tree, whence the Latin word liber signified both the bark of a tree, and a book; and the term folium, a leaf, was on the same account equally applied to both. From liber comes libellus, a little book; and hence have we derived our Libel law, with all its difficulties and anomalous inflictions. Who would have thought that, amid all the delightful associations of our garden, the Attorney General would have popped his gown and wig upon our thoughts from behind the peaceful bark of a pine?

Leaving these evergreens, let us for a moment take a seat beneath this beautiful Plane, a tree which was brought originally from the Levant to Rome, and formed such a favourite decoration in the villas of her greatest orators and statesmen, that we read of their irrigating them with wine instead of water. Pliny affirms, that no tree defends more effectually from the heat of the sun in summer, nor admits its rays more kindly in the winter. Its introduction into England is generally ascribed to Lord Bacon, who planted a noble parcel of them at Verulam. Nor can I gaze through its branches upon the blue benignant heavens, without participating that enthusiasm of natural religion, by which Bacon himself was actuated, when he occasionally walked forth in a gentle shower without any covering on his head, in order, as he said, that he might feel the spirit of the universe descending upon him. Mention is made of a plane-tree growing at a villa of the Emperor Caligula, whose hollow trunk was capacious enough to contain ten or twelve persons at dinner, with their attendants; but the most celebrated upon record is that, with which Xerxes was so much smitten, that he halted his whole army for some days to admire it; collecting the jewels of his whole court to adorn it; neglecting all the concerns of his grand expedition, while he passionately addressed it as his mistress, his minion, his goddess; and, when he finally tore himself away, causing a representation of it to be stamped on a gold medal, which he continually wore about his neck.

Some interesting reflections will be suggested by the mere nomenclature of plants, if we attend to a few of the more common sorts, as we stray along the borders, and through the green-house. This little elegant flower, with its hoar and dark green leaves and golden crown, has had two sponsors, having first been honoured with the name of Parthenis, imparted to it

by the Virgin Goddess, until Artemisia, the wife of Mausolus, adopted it, and ordered that it should bear her own. The columns, and obelisks, and towers of the far-famed mausoleum built by this queen have gradually crumbled, until they have become so effectually mingled with the dust, that even the site of one of the wonders of the world is utterly unknown; while this fragile flower, immutable and immortal, continues precisely the same as when her youthful fingers first pruned its leaves in the windows of her palace. In this Teucrium, or tree germander, we recognize the name of King Teucer, who first introduced it among his Phrygian subjects, as well as the worship of Cybele, and the dances of the Corybantes. Black Hellebore, or melampodium, is not very inviting in its associations, if we merely consider its dangerous qualities; but it possesses an historical interest, when we recollect, that with this plant Melampus cured the mad daughters of King Prætus, and received the eldest in marriage for his reward. Euphorbia commemorates the physician of Juba, a Moorish prince; and Gentiana immortalizes a King of Illyria. These references might be extended among ancient names to the end of our walk; but we will now advert to a few of the more modern derivations. Tournefort gave to this scarlet jasmine the name of Bignonia, in honour of Abbot Bignon, Librarian to Louis XIV. The Browallia demissa and elata record a botanist of humble origin, who afterwards became Bishop of Upsal; and the French, by a Greek pun upon Buonaparte's name, introduced a Calomeria into their botanical catalogue, although it has now probably changed its name with the dynasty. Linnæus, in his Critica Botanica, has, in several instances, drawn a fanciful analogy between botanists and their appropriate plants; but as it might be tedious to go more minutely into this subject, the reader can refer to the same authority from which we have already quoted.

Other motives than the natural and laudable one of commemorating distinguished botanists, have sometimes influenced the bestowal of names upon plants, and satire and irony have occasionally intruded themselves into the sanctuary of science. "Buffonia tenuifolia is well known to be a satire on the slender botanical pretensions of the great French zoologist; as the Hillia parasitica of Jacquin, though perhaps not meant, is an equally just one upon our pompous Sir John Hill. I mean not to approve of such satires. They stain the purity of our lovely science. If a botanist does not deserve commemoration, let him sink peaceably into oblivion. It savours of malignity to make his crown a crown of thorns; and if the application be unjust, it is truly diabolical."+

* See Smith's Introduction to Botany, p. 374.

+ Ibid. p. 382.

But see! this Convolvulus begins to shut up its flowers, a sure indication of approaching rain; and the Calendula pluvialis, commonly called the poor man's weather-glass, has already closed its petals in anticipation of an April shower. These barometers of nature are seldom mistaken; the big drops are already falling around us ;-run, run, let us seek the shelter of the house, and at our next walk we will take the opposite side of the garden, in the hope of gleaning some reflections from its variegated borders. H.

STANZAS,

EXCITED BY SOME REFLECTIONS ON THE PRESENT STATE OF GREECE.

GREECE! glorious Greece! what art thou but a name?
The echo of a cataract gone by?

The once victorious voice of all thy fame,

Which awed the world, now trembles in a sigh;

And I will sing thy glory's lullaby

For I have loved thee, Greece, and o'er the lyre
Faintly and sadly shall my fingers fly-

The mournful cadence dies upon the wire,

And on the desolate winds, those melodies expire!

Yes! I have loved thee-and my youthful soul
Hath wildly dreamt of glory, and of thee-
Burst the proud links of man's severe controul,
And sprung to sojourn with the great and free!
Oh! who would not thy vot'ry, Græcia, be?
And I have hung upon th' enchanted page
Entranced, and wept thy fallen liberty-

-

Till my breast thrill'd with all the patriot's rage,
And soar'd aloft, to greet the hero, poet, sage.

Where art thou, Athens, and what art thou now?
Thy spirit even, exalted land, is free!—
Though wither'd, yet the laurel shades thy brow-
The desolate all that now remains of thee,
Mother of arts, and arms, and liberty!

A lovely corse, encircled by a wreath
Of faded flowers, my heart alone can see-
And I will love thee, though despoil'd of breath,
For thou art beauteous, Græcia, e'en in death!

E. B. B.

SCIENTIFIC AMUSEMENTS.

NO. II.

AUTOMATA.

We now pursue the account referred to in our last (page 448). "The room where the automaton chess-player is at present exhibited, has an inner apartment, within which appears the figure of a Turk, as large as life, dressed after the Turkish fashion, sitting behind a chest of three feet and a half in length, two feet in breadth, and two feet and a half in height, to which it is attached by the wooden seat on which it sits. The chest is placed upon four castors, and, together with the figure, may be easily moved to any part of the room. On the plain surface formed by the top of the chest, in the centre, is a raised immovable chess-board of handsome dimensions, upon which the figure has its eyes fixed; its right arm and hand being extended on the chest, and its left arm somewhat raised, as if in the attitude of holding a Turkish pipe, which originally was placed in its hand.

"The exhibitor begins by wheeling the chest to the entrance of the apartment within which it stands, and in face of the spectators. He then opens certain doors contrived in the chest, two in front and two at the back; at the same time pulling out a long shallow drawer at the bottom of the chest, made to contain the chess-men, a cushion for the arm of the figure to rest upon, and some counters. Two lesser doors, and a green cloth screen, contrived in the body of the figure and its lower parts, are likewise opened, and the Turkish robe which covers them is raised; so that the construction, both of the figure and chest, internally, is displayed. In this state the automaton is moved round for the examination of the spectators: and, to banish all suspicion from the most sceptical mind, that any living subject is concealed within any part of it, the exhibitor introduces a lighted candle into the body of the chest and figure, by which the interior of the chest is, in a great measure, rendered transparent, and the most secret corner is shown. Here it may be observed, that the same precaution to remove suspicion is used, if requested, at the close, as at the commencement, of a game of chess with the automaton. "The chest is divided, by a partition, into two unequal chambers. That to the right of the figure is the narrowest, and occupies scarcely one third of the body of the chest. It is filled with little wheels, levers, cylinders, and other machinery used in clock-work. That to the left contains a few wheels, some small barrels with springs, and two quarters of a circle placed horizontally. The body and lower parts of the figure contain certain tubes, which seem to be conductors to the machinery.

After a sufficient time, during which each spectator may satisfy his scruples and his curiosity, the exhibitor recloses the doors of the chest and figure, and the drawer at the bottom; makes some arrangements in the body of the figure, winds up the works with a key inserted into a small opening on the side of the chest, places a cushion under the left arm of the figure, which now rests upon it, and invites any individual present to play a game of chess."

"At the commencement of a game, the automaton moves its head, as if taking a view of the board; the same motion occurs at the close of a game. In making a move, it slowly raises its left arm from the cushion placed under it, and directs it toward the square of the piece to be moved. Its hands and fingers open on touching the piece, which it takes up, and conveys to any proposed square. The arm then returns with a natural motion to the cushion upon which it usually rests. In taking a piece, the automaton makes the same motions of the arm and hand to lay hold of the piece, which it conveys from the board; and then returning to its own piece, it takes it up, and places it on the vacant square.

"

His motions have an air of great dignity and composure. On giving check to the king, he moves his head as a signal. When a false move is made, as if to puzzle him, he taps with his right hand on the chest, replaces the piece wrongly moved, and proceeds to take the due advantage of moving a piece of his own. At other times he will tap on the chest for his adversary to move; and at the close of the game he bows gracefully round to the company.

It is a remarkable, and somewhat suspicious circumstance, that neither the present proprietor of this automaton (in a pamphlet circulated by him on this subject), nor the Oxford graduate, from whose observations we have abridged the above account of his performances, takes any notice of the attempted solution of them by Mr. Collinson, a correspondent of Dr. Hutton's, to whom we have before alluded. In the same letter† in

* "Observations," &c. by an Oxford Graduate, 8vo. 1819.

We subjoin that part of the letter which relates to this subject

Turning over the leaves of your late valuable publication, Part I. of the Mathematical and Philosophical Dictionary, I observed, under the article " AUTOMATON," the following-But all these seem inferior to M. Kempelin's chess-player, which may truly be considered as the greatest master-piece in mechanics that ever appeared in the world.' So it certainly would have been, had its scientific movements depended merely on mechanism. Being slightly acquainted with M. Kempelin, when he exhibited his chess-playing figure in London, I called on him, about five years since, at his house in Vienna; another gentleman and myself being then on a tour on the Continent. The baron (for I think he is such) shewed me some working models, which he had lately made. Among them, an improvement on Arkwright's cotton-mill, and also one which he thought an improvement of Bolton and Watt's last steam-engine. I asked him after a piece of speaking mechanism, which he had shewn me when in London.