when congealed, becomes of a solid substance like wax, and is formed into candles, which are reserved for the use of the king of Candy. The oil also is burned in the lamps of his audience-chamber, when he receives the ambassadors of other states.

The Laurus cinnamomum grows wild in many parts of Ceylon, but it flourishes in the southwest angle of the coast only, between Negumbo and Matura, where the soil is a fine white sand, and where the air is moist, and rains fall every month. In the northern extremity of the island, where the climate is dry and sultry, not a bush of it is to be seen. The principal woods or gardens where the cinnamon is procured, lie in the neighbourhood of Columbo. The grand garden near that town, occupies a tract of country twelve miles in circumference. Others of a smaller size are situated near Negumbo, Point de Galle, and Matura. The prospect around Columbo, is exquisitely beautiful: the plantation which covers the plain, is bounded on one side by a broad belt of cocoanut-trees, and on another is washed by the winding lake of Columbo; beyond this luxuriant foreground, rise groves of evergreens, interspersed with tall clumps, among which the cashew-tree is conspicuous; and the whole is crowned by a long and lofty range of Candian mountains. The cinnamon-gardens afford delightful rides to the inhabitants of Columbo, roads being cut among the shrubs, which make a winding circuit of seven miles. The ground is gently undulated, and the rich green of the laurel is enlivened by innumerable species of beauti. ful plants and flowers springing up spontaneously, and blooming in perpetual succession.

The cinnamon-tree emits no scent while growing, except a little from the blossoms; the footstalks and leaves are slightly aromatick, but it is the bark alone which gives out that delicious odour, to which no other perfume bears any resemblance. Moore's simile is perfectly true to nature, as respects this tree:

The dream of the injured patient mind
That smiles at the wrongs of men,
Is found in the bruised and wounded rind
Of the cinnamon, sweetest then.

From

THE Laurus cinnamomum, from which tree our spice called cinnamon is procured, is a native of the East India islands, in many of which it grows wild; but owing to the narrow policy of the Dutch who, till the year 1810, possessed most of the spiceislands, it has never been cultivated in any of them, except in the island of Ceylon, where large plantations are reared, which supply the rest of the world with this delicious and valuable article. The tree in its uncultivated state grows to the height of from twenty to thirty feet, but, in the cinnamon plantations, it is not allowed to rise above ten. The leaf resembles that of our laurel, except in being strongly marked by three principal nerves, which take their rise in the footstalk, and run lengthwise through the leaf. At its first budding, the young leaf is of a brilliant red, changing gradually from that colour to a pea-green; it becomes in its maturity, of a dark olive upon the upper side, and of rather a lighter shade upon the under surface. The fine teint of the young shoots is brilliantly contrasted with the rich hue of the full-grown leaves. The blossom is white, having the corolla six-parted, and about the same size as that of the lilach, which it also resembles in growth, except that the footstalks to the flowers of the cinnamon-tree are longer than those of the former The first method is of course the slowest, as it is shrub, consequently, the bunch of flowers is less ten years before the tree reaches its greatest perfeccompact. The blossoms are produced from the ax- tion. The second mode is less tedious, but, unless illæ of the leaves, or from the extremities of the the sprouts be continually watered, they do not thrive; branches; the scent, although weak, is extremely the cuttings must be taken very young, if they have pleasant, resembling a mixture of the rose and lilach. more than three leaves they die. The third method, The fruit is a small berry of the form and consist- by laying down the young branches, is also of slow ence of an olive, and is filled with a bony kernel. It ripens in the latter end of autumn, and is gathered by the natives for the purpose of extracting its oil, which they use to perfume their hair, and to anoint themselves with upon grand occasions. This oil,

There are several different sorts of cinnamontrees in Ceylon; of these only four are esteemed fit for use: they are, the Rasse Coorundoo, or honeycinnamon; the Nai Coorundoo, or snake-cinnamon; the Capara Coorundoo, or camphire-cinnamon; and the Cabatte Coorundoo, or bitter-cinnamon. the third kind, a gummy substance containing camphire is exuded. The shrub may be cultivated in either of the following ways:-by seeds which must be sown in the rainy season; by shoots cut from large trees; by layers; and, fourthly, by transplanting the old stumps.

progress; trees thus raised not being fit for use till they are eight years old. The fourth manner is that generally practised. The roots, carefully transplanted, yield shoots of the proper size twelve months after their removal, but great care must be

THE LOST ONE.

wending its way to the miry interiour of some distant swamp. Now the woods began to resound to the shrill cries of the owl; and the breeze, as it

ALIVE-OAKER," employed on the St. John's river, in East Florida, left his cabin, situated on the banks of that stream, and with his axe on his shoul-swept among the columnar stems of the forest-trees, der, proceeded toward the swamp in which he had several times before plied his trade of felling and squaring the giant trees that afford the most valuable timber for naval architecture and other purposes.

ker, wished his family a happier night than it was his lot to experience, and with a feverish anxiety waited the return of day.

came laden with heavy and chilling dews. Alas, no moon with her silvery light shone on the dreary scene, and the Lost One, wearied and vexed, laid himself down on the damp ground. Prayer is alAt the season which is the best for this kind of ways consolatory to man in every difficulty or danlabour, heavy fogs not unfrequently cover the coun-ger, and the woodsman fervently prayed to his Matry, so as to render it difficult for one to see farther than thirty or forty yards in any direction. The woods, too, present so little variety, that every tree seems the mere counterpart of every other; and the grass, when it has not been burnt, is so tall that a man of ordinary stature cannot see over it, whence it is necessary for him to proceed with great caution, lest he should unwittingly deviate from the ill-defined trail which he follows. To increase the difficulty, several trails often meet, in which case, unless the explorer be perfectly acquainted with the neigh-trace of a track to guide him, and yet, as the sun bourhood, it would be well for him to lie down, and wait until the fog should disperse. Uuder such circumstances, the best woodsmen are not unfrequently bewildered for a while; and I well remember that such an occurrence happened to myself, at a time when I had imprudently ventured to pursue a wounded quadruped, which led me some distance from the track.

The live-oaker had been jogging onward for several hours, and became aware that he must have travelled considerably more than the distance between his cabin and the "hummock" which he desired to reach. To his alarm, at the moment when the fog dispersed, he saw the sun at its meridian height and could not recognise a single object around him.

You may imagine the length of that cold, dull, moonless night. With the dawn of day came the usual fogs of those latitudes. The poor man started on his feet, and with a sorrowful heart, pursued a course which he thought might lead him to some familiar object, although, indeed, he scarcely knew what he was doing. No longer had he the rose, he calculated the many hours of daylight he had before him, and the farther he went continued to walk the faster. But vain were all his hopes : that day was spent in fruitless endeavours to regain the path that led to his home, and when night again approached, the terrour that had been gradually spreading over his mind, together with the nervous debility induced by fatigue, anxiety, and hunger, rendered him almost frantick. He told me that at this moment he beat his breast, tore his hair, and, had it not been for the piety with which his parents had in early life imbued his mind, and which had become habitual, would have cursed his existence. Famished as he now was, he laid himself on the ground, and fed on the weeds and grass that grew around him. That night was spent in the greatest agony and terrour. "I knew my situation," he said to me. "I was fully aware that unless Almighty God came to my assistance, I must perish in those uninhabited woods. I knew that I had walked more than fifty miles, although I had not met with a brook from which I could quench my thirst, or even allay the burning heat of my parched lips and blood-shot eyes. I knew that if I should not meet with some stream I must die, for my axe was my only weapon, and although deer and bears now and then started within a few yards or even feet of me, not one of them could I kill; and although I was in the midst of abundance, not a mouthful did I expect to procure, to satisfy the cravings of my empty stomach. Sir, may God preserve you from ever feeling as I did the whole of that day!"

Young, healthy, and active, he imagined that he had walked with more than usual speed, and had passed the place to which he was bound. He accordingly turned his back upon the sun, and pursued a different route, guided by a small trail. Time passed, and the sun headed his course: he saw it gradually descend in the west; but all around him continued as if enveloped with mystery. The huge gray trees spread their giant boughs over him, the rank grass extended on all sides, not a living being crossed his path, all was silent and still, and the scene was like a dull and dreary dream of the land of oblivion. He wandered like a forgotten ghost that had passed into the land of spirits, without yet meeting one of his kind with whom to hold converse. The condition of a man lost in the woods, is one of the most perplexing that can be imagined by a person who has not himself been in a like predica- For several days after, no one can imagine the ment. Every object he sees, he at first thinks he condition in which he was, for when he relarecognises, and while his whole mind is bent on ted to me this painful adventure, he assured me searching for more that may gradually lead to his that he had lost all recollection of what had happenextrication, he goes on committing greater errours ed. God," he continued, "must have taken pity the farther he proceeds. This was the case with on me one day, for, as I ran wildly through those the live-oaker. The sun was now setting with a dreadful pine-barrens, I met with a tortoise. I gazed fiery aspect, and by degrees it sunk in its full cir- upon it with amazement and delight, and, although I cular form, as if giving warning of a sultry morrow. knew that were I to follow it undisturbed, it would Myriads of insects, delighted at its departure, now lead me to some water, my hunger and thirst would filled the air on buzzing wings. Each piping frog not allow me to refrain from satisfying both, by eatarose from the muddy pool in which it had concealed ing its flesh, and drinking its blood. With one itself; the squirrel retired to its hole, the crow to its stroke of my axe the beast was cut in two, and in a roost, and, far above, the harsh croaking voice of few moments I despatched all but the shell. Oh, the heron announced that, full of anxiety, it was sir, how much I thanked God, whose kindness had

put the tortoise in my way! I felt greatly renewed. I sat down at the foot of a pine, gazed on the heavens, thought of my poor wife and children, and again, and again thanked my God for my life, for now I felt less distracted in mind, and more assured that before long I must recover my way, and get back to my home."

The Lost One remained and passed the night, at the foot of the same tree under which his repast had been made. Refreshed by a sound sleep, he started at dawn to resume his weary march. The sun rose bright, and he followed the direction of the shadows. Still the dreariness of the woods was the same, and he was on the point of giving up in despair, when he observed a rackoon lying squatted in the grass. Raising his axe, he drove it with such violence through the helpless animal, that it expired without a struggle. What he had done with the turtle, he now did with the rackoon, the greater part of which he actually devoured at one meal. With more comfortable feelings, he then resumed his wanderings-his journey I cannot say-for although in the possession of all his faculties, and in broad daylight, he was worse off than a lame man groping his way in the dark out of a dungeon, of which he knew not where the door. stood.

and never shall I forget the tears that flowed from them as they listened to it, albeit it had long been more familiar to them than a tale thrice told. Sincerely do I wish, good reader, that neither you nor I may ever elicit such sympathy, by having undergone such sufferings, although no doubt such sympathy would be a rich recompense for them.

It only remains for me to say, that the distance between the cabin and the live-oak hummock to which the woodsman was bound, scarcely exceeded eight miles, while the part of the river at which he was found, was thirty-eight miles from his house. Calculating his daily wanderings at ten miles, we may believe that they amounted in all to four hundred miles. He must, therefore, have rambled in a circuitous direction, which people generally do in such circumstances. Nothing but the great strength of his constitution, and the merciful aid of his Maker, could have supported him for so long a time.

Audubon.

Fox-coloured Sparrow.-Dr. Wilson, who was almost in the daily habit of visiting my friend Bachman, with whom it was my good fortune to reside while at Charleston, was fond of talking about birds, many of which he knew more accurately than ordinary ornithologists are wont to do. "My dear Mr. Audubon," he said, "I have several beautiful fox

Days, one after another, passed-nay, weeks in succession. He fed now on cabbage-trees, then on frogs and snakes. All that fell in his way was wel-coloured sparrows in my aviary, but of late some of come and savoury. Yet he became daily more them have been killed, and I wish you would tell emaciated, until at length he could scarcely crawl. me by what other birds the murders can have been Forty days had elapsed, by his own reckoning, when committed." I laid the charge first on the bluejays; he at last reached the banks of the river. His clothes but he replied that even they appeared as if greatly in tatters, his once bright axe dimmed with rust, his molested by some other species. A day elapsed, face begrimined with beard, his hair matted, and his the doctor returned, and astonished me not a little, feeble frame little better than a skeleton covered by informing me that the culprit was a mockingbird. with parchment, there he laid himself down to die. I went to his house on the eighth of December; Amid the perturbed dreams of his fevered fancy, he and, while standing on the piazza, we both saw the thought he heard the noise of oars far away on the mockingbird alight on one of the fox-coloured sparsilent river. He listened, but the sounds died away rows, in the manner of a small hawk, and peck at on his ear. It was indeed a dream, the last glimmer the poor bird with such force, as to convince us that of expiring hope, and now the light of life was about its death must soon ensue. The muscular powers to be quenched for ever. But again, the sound of of the finch, however, appeared almost too much oars awoke him from his lethargy. He listened so for the master-songster of our woods; it desisted eagerly, that the hum of a fly could not have escaped for a moment, out of breath, and we could observe his ear. They were indeed the measured beats of its pantings; but it did not fail to resume its hitheroars, and now, joy to the forlorn soul! the sound of to unknown character of tyrant. A servant was human voices thrilled to his heart, and awoke the despatched to the rescue, and peace was restored; tumultuous pulses of returning hope. On his knees but the finch was almost reduced to its last gasp, did the eye of God see that poor man by the broad and shortly after expired. This very mockingbird still stream that glittered in the sunbeams, and hu- we strongly suspected of being the individual that man eyes soon saw him too, for round that headland had killed a bluejay of exceedingly meek disposicovered with tangled brushwood boldly advances tion, a few weeks before. It was ultimately removed the little boat, propelled by its lusty rowers. The into a lonely cage, where it is yet passing its days, Lost One raises his feeble voice on high ;-it was perhaps in unavailing penitence.

a loud shrill scream of joy and fear. The rowers pause, and look around. Another, but feebler scream, and they observe him. It comes-his heart flutters, his sight is dimmed, his brain reels, he gasps for breath. It comes-it has run upon the beach, and the Lost One is found.

This is no tale of fiction, but the relation of an actual occurrence, which might be embellished, no doubt, but which is better in the plain garb of truth. The notes by which I recorded it were written in the cabin of the once lost live-oaker, the fourth year after the painful incident occurred. His amiable wife, and loving children, were present at the recital,

NATURAL

Audubon.

HISTORY.

THE GAYAL.

THERE are several species of the genus to which our domestick ox belongs. The one represented at the head of the following page, is the largest,

The gayal, Bos gaveus, has sometimes been considered as a bison; but it has few or none of the characters of the true bisons. These are light and agile animals for their size, and have great part of

their power thrown into the neck. The gayal, on | horns, which curls down upon the forehead.
the other hand, is a heavy and clumsy animal; and
the neck, especially the part of it next the head, is
small and feeble. The only character which it has
in common with the bisons, other than those which
belong to the whole genus bos, is that of fourteen
pairs of ribs; and, although our domestick oxen, and
the varieties of other countries which most resemble
them, have only thirteen pairs, yet fourteen is not a
constant, and therefore cannot be regarded as prop-
erly a typical character of the bisons. The Eastern
one has fourteen, but the American has fifteen.

The

dewlap is large and pendulous, and makes the portion of the neck next the head appear more feeble than it really is; it also gives an apparent depth to the chest, out of all proportion to its width. The abdomen is large, but contracts toward the groin, as if the body were slightly compressed by a girdle there. The udder of the female is small. The legs are thick and stout; the principal hoofs broad, and the false ones much larger in proportion than those of the domestick ox. The hair is very short, with the exception of that on the forehead, already The full-grown male of the gayal is nine feet and mentioned, and a small bunch on the end of the tail. a half long, and exactly half as much in height. The colour is brown in various shades. The charThe body is rounded and rather clumsy in appear-acters and also the habits of this animal resemble ance; and both the middle of the back and the set- the ox more than they do the buffalo; but it breeds ting of the neck are depressed, which give a hump- indiscriminately with either. like appearance to the interscapular portion of the ridge; but there is no true hump; yet, in consequence of this ridgy appearance, the animal stands four or five inches higher on the fore-legs than at the crupper, and the hinder part of that curves downward to the tail, which is slender and not very long. The front is square, broad and flat, the insertions of the horns being ten inches apart. The horns curve slightly outward and upward, while the ears, which are nearly of the same length as the horns, and slender in proportion to their length, droop down till their direction is nearly the reverse of that of the horns. The eyes are rather small in proportion to the size of the animal. Both sexes have a small tuft of white curled hair between the bases of the VOL. IV.-57

It is chiefly found upon the southwestern and southern slopes of the secondary hills to the Himalaya, and on those to the south of the Burhampûtra. When in the wild state, it is rather a woodland or jungle animal; but it is domesticated in large herds by the people to the eastward of India. It does not extend into the dry districts.

THE YAK.

The Yak, Bos grunniens of Pallas, is not very accurately named by that naturalist, as its voice is a sort of subdued and broken low, rather than a grunt. This is the mountaineer of Central Asia, being found in the Himalaya and Altai ridges, and in the connecting ones, and their spurs eastward as far as