POPULAR BOTANY IN SCOTLAND. We learned from the Scottish Athenæum some time since that the efforts of several botanists were being directed towards popularising their favourite science, by means of lectures delivered in several of the provincial towns, so that Botany would seem at present to be one of the most attractive departments of popular science. In a series of lectures on various subjects, which were delivered at St. Andrews, Botany was, as elsewhere, one of the subjects chosen. The lecturer in this department was Mr. George Lawson, of the Edinburgh Botanical Society, whose exertions in popularising Botany, in connection with the British League, we observe noticed in a late number of the "Leisure Hour." The lectures were attended by large and attentive audiences, chiefly composed of ladies, who on all occasions show their special appreciation of this delightful department of science. Mr. Lawson's first lecture was on "The Phenomena of Vegetable Development." He pointed out the more remarkable features in the anatomical structure of plants, noticing the various tissues of which they are composed, and incidentally alluding to the importance of these tissues in supplying important articles of manufacture and commerce. By thus elucidating the organization of vegetables, and the processes which go on in their living structures, he illustrated the varied phenomena of plant-life, and pointed out the true nature of the phenomena of vegetable development. After giving an account of the origin and birth of the plant, he traced its gradual progress from the period of germination to the period of maturity, noting its various phases of existence, and the phenomena presented at different periods of its growth. This led the lecturer to allude to the doctrine of Morphology, "the sublime dream of the German poet, Goethe" (now received as a scientific truth), which traces the organic origin of the flower and fruit to the leaf of the plant, the two former being, in fact, mere modifications of the latter organ. He also pointed out the points of relationship between the branching of trees and the venation of their leaves, as recently brought into notice by Professor M'Cosh, of Belfast, and concluded by noticing some of the peculiar phenonena exhibited by plants at the flowering period, such as the production of latent heat, and the influences of light and heat in opening and closing flowers, which were agreeably illustrated by a reference to the flower-clock of Linnæus, and the human clock of Jean Paul Richter. The subject chosen for Mr. Lawson's second lecture was "The Climatic Features of the Earth's Flora." It was chiefly devoted to an exposition of the more important facts illustrative of botanical geography, and to a depiction of the physiognomic features of vegetation in different lands, resulting from differences in climatic conditions. The lecturer showed that while the vegetable kingdom exhibits its most luxuriant aspect in warm regions, where it is represented by the noble and graceful forms of the palm and tree-fern; still the most inhospitable regions are not without their appropriate plants, which minister to the wants of man. The relation of the existing Floras was alluded to, and the distribution of economic plants, as well as man's influence in modifying the range of certain species. The remarkable agreements in physiognomic features and botanical characters which characterise the gradual changes of vegetation observable on receding from the equator, and those which are seen on the gradual ascent of a tropical mountain, present interesting facts to the students of the relation between climate and vegetation. Both lectures were illustrated by a profusion of drawings and diagrams, for the use of which the lecturer expressed his obligation to the kindness of Professor Balfour, MADAME LAFFARGE. Within these few weeks the newspapers have announced the death of this unhappy woman; and the following letter, addressed by her to M. Emile Girardin, on the occasion of her liberation from prison a few months since, will not be read, we think, without interest. M. de Girardin was among the many who believed in her innocence, and he was mainly instrumental in obtaining her release; too late, it is true, for her miserable life to be greatly prolonged, for her sufferings had induced a fatal disease. But surely her release at all was a recognition that she had been too sternly judged-and to die free, and in the arms of those friends and relatives who had believed in her throughout, must have been no ordinary boon. J'ouvre votre lettre à mon oncle, Monsieur, et je salue des yeux et du cœur ces chers petits points d'interrogation, qui comblent la distance, en me donnant le droit de vous confier ma joie, mes appréhensions, mes projets, et jusqu'à mes rêves confier, n'est ce pas aimer? Les derniers verroux de St. Paul se son tirés sur moi le Lundi de la Pentecoste, et le même jour à 9 heures du soir, après un voyage inapperçu et charmant on m'a porté de la voiture dans les bras de mon oncle. J'ai retrouvée un chez moi, une famille; je me sens fière, je suis libre, et je me comprends aimée. Ah! merci, Monsieur, merci! car tout mon bonheur est votre œuvre. Mon oncle vous à sans doute ecrit combien il m'avait trouvé changéc au retour de son providentiel voyage de Paris. L'emotion de la bonne nouvelle n'a augmenté que très peu, la fievre et la toux qui depuis trois mois déja ne me quittaient plus, et les bons soins de ma tante, une vraie mère, qui m'aime comme l'enfant gâté de ses larmes, acheveront bientot, je l'espére, l'œuvre de la résurrection que vous avez si heureusement commencé. On m'a déjà menacés des eaux bonnes, mais je tremble à l'idée de quitter mon nid, et cette peur seule m'aidera peut-être à guerir vite sans changer de lieux, et sans surtout m'éloignier des miens. Quant à mes projets, souhaits, ou rêves d'avenir, je n'en forme aucuns! et je n'ai plus qu'un but aujourd'hui, celui d'incarner ma réconnoissance dans toutes les actions de ma vie pour changer un acte de démence en un acte de justice, celui de prouver au monde que j'etais digne des nobles et chéres sympathies qui m'ont sauvées, celui de lui prouver qu'à défaut de mérite, le malheur immerité peut devenir une vertu. Peut-être est ce là beaucoup à ésperer, on beaucoup prétendre, mais Dieu et la verité aidant, je ne saurais croire à l'impossible, et si je mourrais à la tâche-oh! bien Monsieur, vous protégeriez la mémoire de la pauvre morte comme vous avez protégé la déséspoir de la pauvre captive; d'un trait de plume vous eloigneriez l'infamie de ma tombe-d'une larme yous me vengeriez du malheur. Votre amitié n'est elle pas tout à la fois pour ceux auxquels vous l'accordez un honneur, un egide et une vertu ? J'arrive maintenant, Monsieur, a votre dernier petit point interrogateur, et j'y répondrai à la façon de Job. Je n'ai rien, absolument rien, mais depuis douze ans que la pauvreté est mon amie, j'ai appris d'elle à estimer la valeur d'une vie laborieusement gagnée, et je n'ai qu'un désir celui d'être enfin classée parmi ces intelligences militantes et viriles qui acquierent l'indépendance à la sueur de leur fronts. Depuis que je suis à Montpellier, c'est à dire depuis de longues, bien longues années, l'adorable bonté de mon oncle s'est ingéniée à trouver la part de la captive dans l'humble revenu, à peine suffisant pour donner le necessaire à lui et à ses enfants. Sublime dans le pieux exercice de sa paternité d'emprunt, il n'a pas voulu que mon malheur devint une charge pour des cœurs indifférents et oublieux, et a répoussé loin de moi les mains qui menaçaient d'offrir une aumone à qui meritait un appui. Grâce à lui, la pauvreté m'est apparue comme un titre aux plus touchants respects, aux plus absolus dévouemens. Quel serait donc mon bonheur aujourd'hui, si je pouvais, en utilisant mon travail gagner l'aisance de ces chers miens qui m'ont rachetés de la misère, de l'humiliation et de la mort! Quel serait mon bonheur, si je parvenais à combler l'amour de moi-avec que de perte bon Dieu, vite les petits emprunts qui ont contractés pour je parerais leur vie du luxe de mon travailavec quelle émotion profonde je recevrai ce premier argent gagné qui assurera mon independance et qui me permettra d'être leur fille à mon tour. propos J'ai quelques manuscrits qui n'ont besoin que m'incline respectueusement au devant de votre X SILENC E. BY MRS. T. K. HERVEY. "Good Master Silence, it well befits you to be of the Peace." Madame Dacier, being requested to write in the album of some distinguished person, wrote her own name, with the following verse from Sophocles, translated into English "Silence is a woman's ornament!" Granting the wisdom of Madame Dacier--as far Tender and deep in her excess of love; The greatest objection to be urged against a From the lives of men of genius, numerous examples might be brought forward of incapacity for mere talking. The most profound thinkers have generally been the most silent in society. Rousseau, who has been described as a "miracle of sensitiveness, a creature of A Demosthenes, meeting in company a man who chattered a great deal, said to him, "If you knew a great deal you would speak little;" adding this maxim, He is wise who speaks little, and who refrains from speaking much." Simonides, being blamed for his habits of taciturnity, answered, "I do not speak little enough, but for me often to repent of having spoken so much: I never yet repented of having kept too strict a silence." Isocrates was so timid that he did not dare to speak in public: he said of himself on this subject, that he was like the whetstone, which did not cut itself, though it caused to cut, because his works had served as models for the greatest orators. Besides the above, may be cited Descartes, Marmontel, Buffon, Nicole, and doubtless a host of others. Opposed to these, however, a few names present themselves, as those of men fluent alike with the tongue and with the pen : Fenelon, Montesquieu, Fontenelle, Voltaire, and Diderot. Of the last it is said, "L'enthousiaste Diderot s'exprimait avec une chaleur qui n'etait point factice; son éloquence venait de son âme; le desordre de ses pensées se communiquait à ses discours." But these occur rather as exceptions, proving the rule. How often have the greatest and wisest spirits been misjudged through this halfrevealing of themselves to the world. They may be likened to trees reflected in water. Society is the shallow pool which carries the impress only of that portion of their being which is above the surface-the light leaves that flutter and tremble with every passing wind: the rooty fibre that sustains and vivifies, that lies deeper. "At Lausanne," says Sir Samuel Romilly, “I met with the Abbé Raynal; but I saw him with no admiration either of his talents or his character. Having read the eloquent passages in his celebrated work with delight, I had formed the highest expectations of him; but those expectations were sadly disappointed. I was filled at this time with horror at West Indian slavery and at the slave trade, and Raynal's philoso phical history of the two Indies had served to enliven those sentiments; but when I came to talk on these subjects to him, he appeared to be so cold and so indifferent to them, that I conceived a very unfavourable opinion of him. His conversation was certainly so inferior to his celebrated work, as to give much countenance to the report which has been very common, that the most splendid passages in it were not his own." The learned Abbé, could he have heard the strictures of Sir Samuel, might pertinently have answered, in the words said to have been retorted by Corneille when reproached for his dulness, "I am nevertheless Peter Corneille." That such a total want of the ordinary powers of conversation must be keenly felt by those who labour under it, no one can doubt. It has been seen, however, that such want does not necessarily imply an absence of those capacities and qualifications which are necessary to the enjoyment of a life of seclusion. On the contrary, unreadiness in society arises more frequently from fulness of mind than from vacuity. How this lack of the powers of expression must operate on those who are denied by nature or education the compensating inward "faculty divine," is a sadder question. A story is related of a man of fortune who, though possessed of every worldly good, destroyed himself from mere bitterness of spirit, simply because he could not talk! He was condemned to take his place in society, and brood over his absolute unfitness for it; but, having no resources within himself, could not live out of society any more than he could live in it. Few men have in them sufficient of the stoic to bear with equanimity the stigma of dulness. "Oh," said the poet Cowper, "wherever else I am accounted dull, dear Mr. Griffith, let me pass for a genius at Olney!" Blessed are they whose minds are armed against all such humiliations from without. The solitary student-life which unfits for the world, what joys does it not confer upon those who devote themselves to its teachings! He who would live wisely and well who would live his life to its utmost to the full extent of its powers and capacities for goodmust be frequently alone. This necessity of man's nature Miss Martineau has touched on as a "weighty truth which can never be explained away. The silence, freedom, and collectedness of solitude are absolutely essential to the health of the mind; and no substitute for this repose (or change of activity) is possible." Henry the Third of England said that he would rather converse one hour with God in prayer, than hear others speak of him for ten. In the same spirit it has been beautifully asserted, that he who as an artist has trained his eye to learn the wisdom of God, is for the most part slow of tongue to babble the vain conceit of man. "I, for my part," says Goëthe, “should be glad to break myself of talking altogether, and speak like creative nature, only in pictures. The more I reflect upon it, the more it strikes me, that there is something so useless, so idle, I could almost say so buffoonish in talk, that one is awe-stricken before the deep solemn repose and silence of nature, as soon as one stands withdrawn into one's self, and confronts with her before some massive wall of rock, or in the solitude of some venerable mountain." Perhaps the most beautiful tribute to Silence is that addressed to it by the poet, Richard Fleckno: Still-born Silence! thou that art Frost o' the mouth, and thaw o' the mind; GOSSIP FROM PARIS. (BY OUR OWN CORRESPONDENT.) PARIS, Oct. 21. MY DEAR C The Prince President-or His Imperial Highness as you may prefer to style him-has made his triumphal entry in Paris. There were triumphal arches, deputations, a plentiful sprinkling of eagles and imperial crowns, Latin and French devices, &c., &c.; but impartial observers declare that the decorations were tawdry, and the reception decidedly less enthusiastic than had been expected; nevertheless, we may consider that the Empire is proclaimed. I hear that the police are actively engaged in going from atelier to atelier trying to induce the workmen to write an address, beseeching Louis Napoleon to fulfil the desire of the nation by ac cepting the Imperial Crown. The most interesting sight by far, on the day of the President's entry, to my idea, was the poor old Invalides, who were drawn up at the foot of one of the triumphalarches, and who certainly cheered with all their hearts; many of them were the soldiers of the Emperor. It is a positive fact that in the departments many of the peasantry believe that Louis Napoleon is the Emperor himself, come back from imprisonment. I suppose, however, that the Invalides' ideas on this subject are somewhat clearer, and that they distinguish the Nephew from the Uncle. At last Abd-el Kader is released. On returning from his tour the Prince Louis stopped at the Chateau d'Amboise, and presenting himself to the captive, addressed him in the following terms: "Abd-el Kader. I come to announce to you that you are at liberty! You shall be conducted to Brousse, in the dominions of the Sultan, as soon as the necessary arrangements can be made, and you shall there receive a pension from the French Government, in accordance to your former rank. For some time your captivity has, as you know, been a subject of regret to me, by continually recalling to my mind that the Government which preceded mine had not kept its engagements with an unfortunate enemy; and nothing appears to my eyes so humiliating to the government of a great nation as the misjudging its strength to the point of failing in its promises. Generosity is always the best guide, and I am convinced that your residence in Turkey will not be injurious to the tranquillity of our African possessions. Your religion, like ours, teaches to resign ourselves to the decrees of Providence. If France is the mistress of Algiers it is by the will of God, and the nation will never renounce this conquest. You have been the enemy of France; but I do not the less render justice to your courage, your character, and your resignation under misfortunes; this is why I make it a point of honour to put an end to your captivity, having full confidence in your word." The ex-Emir appeared moved by these words, and after expressing his gratitude, swore on the Koran never to attempt to trouble the French dominion in Africa; he added that it would show a total ignorance of the law of the Prophet, in the letter and in the spirit, to believe that it sanctioned the violation of engagements formed with Christians; and he then pointed out to the Prince a text in the Koran condemning, formally and unreservedly, any violation of faith even with the unfaithful. It is to be hoped that this is the beginning of a better state of things, and that feeling more confidence in the security of his position, Louis Napoleon may accord a little more liberty to his own subjects. The theatres have been too busily engaged in making triumphal arches, and searching out appropriate Latin devices for the return of the President, to have much leisure to devote to the production of new pieces; there is a great dearth of new plays at present, but here is an amusing anecdote of one which came out at the Ambigu, called Marie Salmon. A short time after the piece had been announced, a woman came to the theatre, and requested to see the director. On being shown in to where he was, she began thus: "Monsieur, I am the descendant of that Marie Salmon, whose adventures the prying author of the play has discovered amongst one of the celebrated trials the least known. I oppose myself to the representation; I will not allow the sanctity of the tomb, the majesty of death, to be thus scandalously profaned on the stage!" The director observed, that in the drama there was nothing in any way calculated to wound the memory of her ancestor; on the contrary, her virtue and innocence were exalted in it. The descendant of Marie Salmon still repeated her belles phrases on the sanctity of the tomb and the majesty of death; but seeing the director did not pay much attention to her, she went away, and afterwards returned with her husband, to say, that on consideration they would consent to permit the profanation of the tomb and the majesty of death, on the following condition: they were to receive twenty francs a day, a box which they might dispose of, and two places in the balcony besides, where they might be present at the representation, and weep over the misfortunes of her ancestor. The director turned a deaf ear to these proposals, and showed them the door. They then sent a lawyer with another offer, which was, that the descendant of Marie Salmon should be announced on the play-bills as assisting every evening at the representations; and that she should also be allowed to sell in the theatre an account of her ancestor's misfortunes. The director was touched at the idea of the poverty to which these people must be reduced, to excuse these repeated solicitations, and he very goodnaturedly offered to allow a representation for their benefit. They had the folly to refuse this offer; and to put an end to the matter, the director changed the name of the piece from Marie Salmon to Marie Simon. It is written by MM. Alboizre and St. Yves, and is very successful, even without the attraction it has lost. Some expectation has been raised on the subject of a piece for the Gymnase, which had been left anonymously with the concierge of the theatre. It was read, received, and in preparation for the re-appearance of Madame Rose Cherie. Advertisements were put in the papers, begging the unknown author of it to come forward and remove the veil of mystery in which it was enveloped. After a little persuasion, the authoress did come forward, in the person of Madame Boisgoutier. But it does not justify the expectations formed: it is very much in the style of Madame Sand's Claudie, and the Champi; but Madame Sand's peasants are real country peasants, if I may so express myself, and Madame Boisgoutier's peasants are more like those of the Opera Comique. Rose Cherie always is all that is charming, natural, and mo dest; but I confess I do not admire the morality of this play. Alexandre Dumas (fils) is preparing, I believe, a drama for the Gymnase, and for Rose Cherie, which has excited the astonishment and indignation of the Vaudeville and Madame Doche, who cannot understand how M. Dumas can offer a part to Rose Cherie after the immense success that she, Madame Doche, gained in his former piece, "La Dame aux Camellias;" but I hope he will not give such a part to Rose Cherie as that in which Madame Doche distinguished herself. I told you in my last letter of the alterations being made in Paris; here is a true history of a house which may be seen any day. In a street, situated in one of the most elegant and most frequented parts of Paris, stands a house of four |