merous lacteal vessels, which differ little from those of men's, except in colour, which was transparent. The kidneys were large, and seated on each side of the vertebræ, near the anus. They are also destined to secrete some offensive principles from the blood.

"The eggs were small and numerous; and, after a careful examination, I concluded that no sensible increase takes place in them till the particular season. This may account for the unusual excitement which prevails in these birds in the sexual intercourse. Why there are so many eggs, is a mystery. It is, perhaps, consistent with the natural law, that every thing should be abundant; but, from this bird, it is said, no more than two young are hatched in a season, consequently no more eggs are wanted than a sufficiency to produce that effect. Are the eggs

numbered originally, and is there no increase of number, but a gradual loss, till all are deposited? If so, the number may correspond to the long life and vigorous health of this noble bird. Why there are but two young in a season, is easily explained. Nature has been studiously parsimonious of her physical strength, from whence the tribes of animals incapable to resist, derive security and confidence."

The eagle is said to live to a great age,-sixty, eighty, and as some assert, one hundred years. This circumstance is remarkable, when we consider the seeming intemperate habits of the bird. Sometimes fasting, through necessity, for several days, and at other times gorging itself with animal food, till its craw swells out on the plumage of the part, forming a large protuberance on the breast. This, however, is its natural food, and for these habits its whole organization is particularly adapted. It has not, like men, invented rich wines, ardent spirits, and a thousand artificial poisons, in the form of soups, sauces and sweetmeats. Its food is simple, it indulges

freely, uses great exercise, breathes the purest air, is healthy, vigorous, and long lived. The lords of the creation themselves might derive some useful hints from these facts, were they not already, in general, too wise, or too proud, to learn from their inferiors, the fowls of the air, and beasts of the field!

Verses to the Memory of Wilson.

STANZAS,

WRITTEN ON ALEX. WILSON'S EMIGRATION TO AMERICA.

BY TANNAHILL.

O DEATH! it's no thy deeds I mourn,

Though oft my heart-strings thou hast torn, 'Tis worth and merit left forlorn,

Life's ill to dree,

Gush frae my e'e.

Gars now the pearlie, brackish burn

Is there wha feels the melting glow
O' sympathy for ithers woe,
Come let our tears thegither flow,

O join my mane!

For WILSON, worthiest of us a',

For aye is gane.

He bravely strave 'gainst fortune's stream,
While hope held forth ae distant gleam,
Till dashed, and dashed, time after time,
On life's rough sea,

He weeped his thankless native clime,

And sailed away.

The patriot bauld, the social brither,
In him were sweetly joined thegither;
He knaves reproved without a swither,

In keenest satire;
And taught what mankind owe each ither,
As sons of nature.

If thou hast heard his wee bit wren,
Wail forth its sorrows through the glen,
Tell how his warm, descriptive pen

His sensibility sae keen,

Has thrilled thy saul;

He felt for all.

Since now he's gane, and Burns is dead
Ah! wha will tune the Scottish reed?
Her thistle, dowie, hings its head,

Her harp's unstrung;

While mountain, river, loch, an' mead,

Remain unsung.

Fareweel, thou much neglected bard,
These lines will speak my warm regard,
While strangers on a foreign sward

Thy worth hold dear,

Still some kind heart thy name shall guard

Unsullied here.

VERSES TO THE MEMORY OF ALEX. WILSON,

BY THOMAS CRICHTON.

ON Scotia's hills, in youth's bright morn,
Alexis sung with liveliest glee,
Though oft Misfortune's sharpest thorn
Pierced his breast, yet blithe was he.

Where Cartha rolls her stream along,
Meandering sweetly through the grove,

Oft have I listened to his song,

When arm in arm we wont to rove.

Sweet stream! along thy verdant shore,

From where old Cruickston rears his head,

Fired with our country's classic lore,

The charming vales we loved to tread.

Friend of his youth, the pride of swains,
Young Damon was, I knew him well;
Him mourned the bard in plaintive strains,
When called to take his last farewell.

There, too, he sung Matilda's charms,
A lovely maid who flourished fair;
But snatched by fortune from his arms,
His dreams of bliss dissolved in air.

With those who loved the Scotian song,
Companions choice, and ever dear,
The rural walk he would prolong,
When smiled with joy the genial year.

With Picken, gayest of the gay,

Within Edina's ancient walls,

With friendly strife he used to stray,
Amid the Pantheon's learned halls.

While Eben there, in polished lays,

Brought his loved Ramsay's merits forth;

Alexis lavished all his praise,

On Fergusson's unrivalled worth.

What peals of mirth re-echoed round,
At the auld carle's pawky tale,

Where sense, and wit, and charms of sound,
And Humour's laughing strains prevail.

Of Wat and Meg the poet sung,

A hapless pair in wedlock bound; How Meg's incessant scolding tongue

Dunned Wattie's ears with thund'ring sound.

But midst his liveliest strains, the bard
Was clouded oft with Sorrow's gloom,

When care and want, his sole reward,

Chased from his cheek Health's rosy bloom.

O

A wand'rer o'er fair Scotia's plains,

With sad affliction pressing sore,
Britannia's fate, in weeping strains,
I heard the pensive bard deplore.

Ardent the patriot's flame he felt,

With nervous thought poured forth his song,
Mourned with sad tears a nation's guilt,
Her deeds of outrage, and of wrong.

When frantic nations rose to arms,
He fled from scenes of horrid war-
From madd'ning Faction's dread alarms,
To peaceful nations spread afar.

Atlanta's western shores he sought,

The wearied pilgrim's safe retreat,
Where, from Europa's land remote,
Strangers in kind embraces meet.

The sons of science there he found,
There Bartram of sagacious soul;
There, Lawson, Bradford, circled round
The friendly board, the social bowl.

Through far Columbia's tangled woods,
And dreadful swamps, Alexis trod,
Amid her wildest solitudes,

The pois'nous serpents' dread abode.

The feathered tribes he there pursued,
Where danger, with terrific form,
To stamp his manly ardour, stood
Amidst the elemental storm.

To Niagara's torrents wild,

The bard by ardent fancy wrought:

Of Genius the untutor'd child,

Stood on its banks, entranced in thought.