eight to twelve feet, and has long, undivided, slender branches, bending downwards; these are furnished with evergreen leaves, not unlike those of the bay-tree.

The blossoms are white, sitting on short foot-stalks, and resembling the flower of the jasmine. The fruit which succeeds is a red berry, resembling a cherry, and having a pale, insipid, and somewhat glutinous pulp, enclosing two hard oval seeds, each about the size of an ordinary pea. One side of the seed is convex, while the other is flat, and has a little straight furrow inscribed through its longest dimension; while growing, the flat sides of the seeds are towards each other.

;

The trees begin bearing when they are two years old in their third year they are in full bearing. The aspect of a coffee plantation during the period of flowering, which does not last longer than one or two days, is very interesting. In one night the blossoms expand themselves so profusely as to present the same appearance which has sometimes been witnessed in our own climate, when a casual snow-storm at the close of autumn, has loaded the trees while still furnished with their full complement of foliage. The seeds are known to be ripe, when the berries assume a dark red colour, and if not then gathered will drop from the trees. The planters in Arabia do not pluck the fruit, but place cloths for its reception, beneath the trees, which they shake, and the ripened berries drop readily. These are afterwards spread upon mats and exposed to the sun's rays until perfectly dry, when the husk is broken with large heavy rollers of wood or stone. The coffee thus cleared of its husk is again dried thoroughly in the sun, that it may not be liable to heat when packed for shipment.

The use of coffee as an alimentary infusion was known in Arabia at an early period. It was first introduced by Megalleddin, Mufti of Aden, in Arabia Felix, who had become acquainted with it in Persia, and had recourse to it medicinally when he returned to his own country. The progress which it made was by no means rapid at first, and it was not until the year 1554, that coffee was publicly sold at Constantinople.

Coffee houses date their origin in London from the year 1652; the first was opened by one Pasqua, a Greek,

who was brought over by a Turkey merchant named Edwards.

The roasting of coffee is a process which requires some nicety; if burned, much of the fine aromatic flavour will be destroyed, and a disagreeable bitter taste substituted. The roasting is now usually performed in a cylindrical vessel, which is continually turned upon its axis over the fire-place, in order to prevent the too great heating of any one part, and to accomplish the continual shifting of its contents. Coffee should never be kept for any length of time after it has been roasted, and should never be ground until it is required for infusion, or some portion of its fine flavour will be dissipated.

The quantity of coffee consumed in Europe is very great,-Humboldt estimates it at one hundred and twenty millions of pounds, about one-fourth of which is consumed in France. Since that time a vast increase has been experienced in the use of coffee in Great Britain, the public taste growing more and more favourable to its consumption.-Vegetable Substances.

THE THREE SONS.

I HAVE a son, a little son, a boy just five years old,
With eyes of thoughtful earnestness, and mind of gentle

mould.

They tell me that unusual grace in all his ways appears, That my child is grave and wise of heart, beyond his childish years.

I cannot say how this may be, I know his face is fair, And yet his chiefest comeliness, is his sweet and serious

air:

I know his heart is kind and fond, I know he loveth me, But loveth yet his mother more, with grateful fervency : But that which others most admire, is the thought which fills his mind,

The food for grave inquiring speech, he every where doth find.

Strange questions doth he ask of me, when we together walk;

He scarcely thinks as children think, or talks as children

talk.

Nor cares he much for childish sports, dotes not on bat or

ball,

But looks on manhood's ways and works, and aptly mimics all.

His little heart is busy still, and oftentimes perplext, With thoughts about this world of ours, and thoughts about the next.

He kneels at his dear mother's knee, she teacheth him to

pray,

And strange, and sweet, and solemn then, are the words which he will say.

Oh, should my gentle child be spared, to manhood's years like me,

A holier and a wiser man, I trust that he will be;

And when I look into his eyes, and stroke his thoughtful

brow,

I dare not think what I should feel, were I to lose him now.

I have a son, a second son, a simple child of three; I'll not declare how bright and fair his little features be, How silver sweet those tones of his, when he prattles on my knee :

I do not think his light blue eye is, like his brother's, keen, Nor his brow so full of childish thought, as his hath ever

been;

But his little heart's a fountain pure, of kind and tender feeling,

And his every look's a gleam of light, rich depths of love

revealing.

When he walks with me, the country folk, who pass us in the street,

Will speak their joy, and bless my boy, he looks so mild and sweet.

A playfellow is he to all, and yet, with cheerful tone,
Will sing his little song of love, when left to sport alone.
His presence is like sunshine, sent to gladden home and
hearth,

To comfort us in all our griefs, and sweeten all our mirth.
Should he grow up to riper years, God grant his heart

may prove,

As sweet a home for heavenly grace, as now for earthly

love:

And if, beside his grave, the tears our aching eyes must

dim,

God comfort us for all the love, which we shall lose in him.

I have a son, a third sweet son; his age I cannot tell, For they reckon not by years and months, where he is gone to dwell.

To us for fourteen anxious months, his infant smiles were given,

And then he bade farewell to Earth, and went to live in Heaven.

I cannot tell what form his is, what looks he weareth now, Nor guess how bright a glory crowns his shining seraph

brow.

The thoughts that fill his sinless soul, the bliss which he doth feel,

Are number'd with the secret things, which God will not reveal.

But I know (for God hath told me this) that he is now at

rest,

Where other blessed infants be, on their Saviour's loving

breast.

I know his spirit feels no more, this weary load of flesh, But his sleep is bless'd with endless dreams of joy for ever fresh.

I know the angels fold him close beneath their glittering wings,

And soothe him with a song that breathes of Heaven's divinest things.

I know that we shall meet our babe, (his mother dear and I,) Where God for aye shall wipe away all tears from every

eye.

Whate'er befalls his brethren twain, his bliss can never

cease;

Their lot may here be grief and fear, but his is certain

peace.

It may be that the tempter's wiles, their souls from bliss may sever,

But, if our own poor faith fail not, he must be ours for ever. When we think of what our darling is, and what we still

must be:

When we muse on that world's perfect bliss, and this world's misery ;

When we groan beneath this load of sin, and feel this

grief and pain;

Oh! we'd rather lose our other two, than have him here J. Moultrie.

again.

THE NETTLE.-Father, Mary.

M. OH, father! I have stung my hand with that nasty nettle.

F. Well, my dear, I am sorry for it; but pull up the large dock-leaf you see near it ;-now, bruise the juice out of it on the part you have stung.-Well, is the pain lessened?

M. Very much indeed,-I hardly feel it now ;-but I wish there was not a nettle in the world; I am sure I do not know what use there can be in them.

F. If you knew any thing of botany, Mary, you would not say so; for there is much beauty, and use and instruction in a nettle.

M. How can you make that out, father?

F. Put on your glove, pluck up that nettle, and let us examine it. Take this magnifying glass, and look at the leaves.

M. I see they are all covered over with little bristles; and when I examine them with the glass I see a little bag filled with a juice, like water at the bottom of each.

F. Now touch the bag with the point of this pin.

M. When I press the bag the juice runs up, and comes out at the small point at the top; so, I suppose the little thorn must be hollow inside, though it is finer than the point of a needle.

F.

Now, look at the stem, and break it.

M. I can easily crack it, but I cannot break it asunder. F. Well, now you see there are more curious things in a nettle than you expected.

M. You have often told me, father, that God made nothing in vain; but I am sure I cannot see any use for all these things in a nettle.

F.

That we will now consider.

God has given to all his creatures some kind of defence that they may protect themselves; and for this purpose the bull has horns, and