be considered in the surrounding province as an orphan committed by a dying parent to the trust of Lady Margaret.

After this event my mother again returned to the castle of my grandfather, and thus to the arms of her husband. In the following year my grandfather died, leaving to my father the inheritance of his lands and honours. In the same year, and within a few months after that event, my mother gave birth to myself, but fell a victim to the severity of her illness upon that occasion. Nothing for a time could equal the grief of my father upon this loss. What, however, will not time subdue? His sorrows softened by degrees into a tender meJancholy, a tone of mind he still retains, and which the virtues of my mother so well deserved.

My father, immediately upon the death of my grandfather (being thus relieved from all necessity of further concealment), had dispatched a messenger to the Lady Margaret requiring the child, accompanied with grateful acknowledgments for her past cares. The messenger, however, soon returned with the report that the Lady Margaret had left Cambray, being called over to the Spanish court in attendance upon the Catholic Queen. She had carried the young Margaret with her, exhibiting towards her a warmth of affection which had already excited the suspicions of the city and its vicinity that her relationship was nearer than was given out. The sudden death of my mother, and the consequent grief of my father, prevented any repetition of the inquiry for some time, at the expiration of which period my father became so attached to me, and so occupied with objects of ambition, that the remembrance of an absent daughter, a child never beheld but in its earliest infancy, gradually vanished from his memory. This effect was accelerated, and perhaps in some degree justified, by his persuasion of her welfare, and bis confidence in the kindness and ready affection of the Lady Margaret which she had ever showed equally towards himself and his daughter. From these causes, therefore, he now desisted from any further inquiry, and in full assurance of my sister's happiness, permitted her to remain uninterrupted and unclaimed under the protection of her aunt.

In this manner elapsed the period between her infancy and the moment of my misfortune, an event so late as a few preceding months. At this period my father received information that the Lady Margaret had died suddenly,|| and that her property, no other beirs appearing, had devolved upon himself. He now for No. XIX. Vol. III.-N. S.

the first moment thought of his daughter, whom the sudden death of her protectiess might have left in a state which would require his immediate presence. He therefore resolved to dispatch me in search of my sister; and having summoned me to his apartment to instruct me in what was necessary to this design, he now for the first time informed me that I had a sister, and concluded with a relation of all that I have now narrated.

The following morning I commenced my journey towards Cambray, for the purpose of seeking and restoring my sister to her name and family. I pursued any road without interruption, and at the end of some days arrived in the city. My father's commands were, that my first inquiries should be made at the hotel d'A—, in Cambray; and that I should endeavour at this late residence of the Lady Margaret to obtain full information as to my sister and her present condition. I accordingly hastened thither the moment of my arrival, and my surprise was great indeed at the result of my inquiry.

Fortune happened to throw in my way one of the most confidential attendants of their late Lady. From her I learned, that her deceased mistress, in a moment of superstition during her final illness, had made a rash vow, that her adopted daughter should take the veil, and had sent her to a convent for that purpose. The name of this religious house, however, had been carefully concealed from every one; for she justly conjectured, that the knowledge of her death would summon around the young Margaret all those friends who had hitherto appeared to have forgotten her, and that thus her vow might be rendered ineffectual. The same superstition, therefore, which led her to make a vow thus rash and arbitrary, led her likewise thus to exert her efforts to secure its execution.

The convent, to which my sister was secretly conducted, was unknown to her domestics; they were even in doubt whether it was in Spain, where she died, or in the vicinity of Cambray. All my inquiries with regard to this circumstance were fruitless, and I was already preparing to leave the city to return to my father, when an incident, which the evil genius of my life had been long preparing to blast my future happiness in its very bud, at once discovered to me the object of my search and the cause of my misfortune-at once stained my hand in blood, and expelled me as a murderer, with the cry of justice at my heels, from my family and country!

Kk

(To be continued.)

" -"Now from the town

"Buried in smoke, and sleep, and noisome damps, Oft let me wander o'er the fields,

"And see the country, far diffused around, "One boundless blush, one white empurpled shower "Of mingled blossoms."

Or all the descriptions of the poet of the Seasons, there is none perhaps more strikingly

beautiful than the one from which the foregoing quotation is taken; if hope and expectation be more exquisite than fruition, then surely the promises of spring may be considered as even more delightful than the bounty

of autumn; at least we believe our fair readers will join us in the opinion, that few rural enjoyments can me more pleasing than the va riegated bloom and exquisite odours of the vernal orchard. To it then, we will now di

rect our footsteps, for there we can not only enjoy the pleasures of sense, but from the objects around us, with the assistance of our immortal dramatic delineator, may often draw a useful moral. Shakespeare, whilst picturing the changes of many-coloured life, has not allowed even the

APRICOT

to escape from his intelligent research. We all recollect, when the unhappy Queen of Richard 11. has retired to the garden with her maids of honour, how much the effect of the scene is heightened by the casual directions of the gardener.

"Go, bind you up yon dangling apricocks "Which like unruly children make their Sire "Stoop with oppression of their prodigal weight."

We will for the present, however, leave off moralizing, to investigate the origin of the name of this elegant fruit, a name which has given rise to as many conjectures among botanical philologists as ever a rusty Otho or Cunobeline did amongst the recondite philosophers of Somerset-House. The immediate derivation of it is evidently from the French abricot, a word, however, not of French ety. mology, but imported thither along with the fruit from Italy, where it is called bacoche. It is true that there is but little apparent similarity between these names, we must therefore proceed a little further, and by turning over two or three musty folios we will find that

some have considered it as arising from malus Epirotica, or the apple of Epirus, from whence say they, it was first brought into Italy. This conjecture is certainly ingenious, and if one were to trust to conjecture alone, it is extremely possible that if we were to guess until the fruit is ripe, we should not hit on a more plausible derivation. It happens, however, that the ancient Romans had a name for the

fruit which bore a nearer resemblance to the modern name. Dioscorides calls it præcocia, and if we are to believe that the c was sounded hard, that is nothing more than the ancient Greek name praikokia, a name in modern times corrupted into berikokkia, and evidently the root from whence it sprung.

Though some folks may laugh at this learned dissertation on the dainties of their dessert, and others may sneer at learned ladies, and

whisper something about blue stockings, we are

not afraid either of terrifying our readers, or of rendering them less attentive to their household duties, particularly when they

"Lend new flavour to the fruitful year,
"And heighten nature's dainties."

Nor do we fear that lordly man will find his apricot tart less grateful to his palate because his meek help-mate happens to know the derivation of the name. We will quit the paths of philosophical conjecture, however, to return to the more agreeable grass-walks of the orchard, and state as simple matter of fact, that the apricot is mentioned in Turner's Herbal, the earliest botanical authority we possess, as having been cultivated here in 1562, in the reign of Elizabeth; but as Shakespeare mentions it so familiarly, we are the more dispos ed to give credit to the statement that it was first brought here from Italy by a French priest, gardener to Henry VIII.; nay, indeed, as we are unwilling to accuse our favourite poet of being guilty of an anachronism, we are almost disposed to believe on his authority that it was in cultivation as early as the reign of Richard II.

Though brought into England from a warmer climate, and still requiring a warm and sheltered situation, there is no reason to believe it is indigenous in more southern regions exclusively; for there is a species of it called the Siberian apricot, which is a native of the Transalpine Dauria, in the Russian empire,

where the north sides of the ranges of mountains are covered in the spring with the purple flowers of the Rhododendrom Dauricum, aud their southern sides with the white and rosecoloured blossoms of this elegant though diminutive tree. Still, however, it must be confessed that in this situation, so remote from the vertical rays of the genial sun, their juices never become concentrated, so that the fruit is always of a flavour austerely acid.

In China too, it has long been in cultivation, even in the more northern parts, near Pekin; and the Chinese contrive to render it highly ornamental in their gardens, particularly a double blossomed variety which they plant on little mounts, and whose blossoms in the spring months produce a very pleasing effect: they have also a diminutive species of the double flowering apricot, which are placed in their apartments during the winter, at which time they blossom and perfume the chambers with their fragrance.

As these would be a valuable addition to the floral luxury now so much the ton in fashionable apartments, we would recommend it to some of our fair readers connected with our Oriental empire, to prevail on their fathers, brothers, or lovers, to procure a few of the seeds in their visits to the city of Cauton, as these would be highly valuable to the lovers of practical botany. It is not, however, for ornament alone, or even for the gratification of mensal luxury, that the Chinese pay such attention to its cultivation, as they even encourage the growth of the wild trees on the mountains, whose fruit having but little pulp, with a large kernel, they have adopted a mode of extracting a great quantity of oil from them, which for culinary uses is much superior to that expressed from the walnut. Linnæus, in his Genera Plantarum, ranks this tree amongst the genus Prunus; in this, however, he is not original, for our countryman, Parkiuson, upwards of a century and a half ago, says that the apricot is without question a kind of plum, but that on account of the excellence of its fruit, and its difference from all other plus, he is induced to treat of it separately from them. This genus Prunus, however, it must be noticed, comprehends not only the plum and apricot, but also the varieties of the cherry; and the whole genus is classed amongst the ICOSANDRIA MONOGYNIA, and of the natural order of Pomacea. In generic character it has the perianth one leafed, bell shaped, five cleft, deciduous, segments blunt, concave; in the corolla the petals are five, roundish, concave, large, spreading, and inserted into the calyx by their claws; the stamen has the

filaments twenty to thirty, is awl shaped, almost the length of the corolla, and inserted into the calyx, and the anthers are twin, short; the pistil has the germ superior, roundish; the style is filiform, and the length of the stamen. In essential characters the calyx is five cleft, inferior; the petals five; in the perianth, a drupe with a nut having the sutures prominent. Of the whole genus there are thirty-three species, comprehending the cherry, laurel, plum, bullace, sloe, &c. &c. but amongst all these the apricot is supereminently distinguished by its leaves, which are roundish and much broader than those of any other species; they are also drawn to a point at the end, are smooth and glandular at the base. With us it requires sedulous culti vation; but we have already noticed that it grows wild on the northern mountains of China; it is found also over the whole tract of Mount Caucasus, and even in Japan. Our most common varieties in the order of ripening arethe mascoline, the orange, the Algier, which is high flavoured and juicy, the Roman, Turkey, &c. ; but the best are the Breda, which came originally from Africa to Holland, and the Brussels, which is the latest in ripening. The sup posed varieties are, however, much more numerous, as our modern gardeners, by the various changes of soil and aspect, and even by the processes of budding and engrafting are always producing some novelties to which they give high sounding names, and thus let them have their run in the world of fashion. We shall close this part of the subject by reminding our fair readers of the passage in The Midsummer's Night's Dream, where Titania recommending Bottom to the care of her fairies, tells them to

"Be kind and courteous to this gentleman,

Hop in his walks, and gambol in his eyes; "Feed him with apricocks and dewberries, "With purple grapes, green figs," &c.

Of the same elegant species of dessert fruit, there is another which deserves notice in this place, being of the same class and order as the apricot, though ranked by botanists as of a different species; this is the

PEACH,

Which is comprehended along with the nee tarine and the almond, in the genus of Amydalus. To descant on its flavour as applied to the palate, or on its elegance in the dessert, would here be superfluous; but it may be a novelty to some of our fair re-ders to hear it recommended as an ornamental tree without auy reference to its fruit. It has indeed been

justly observed by a practical botanist, that there are few trees more cruamental in plantations, shrubberies, or wilderness quarters, particularly in the immediate vicinity of the residence, and sheltered situations, where they will unfold their variegated and odorous blos soms in the early spring months, or about the beginning of April. To those who reside in the immediate neighbourhood of the metropolis, this may not be an useless hint, as the cultivation of the tree will answer the purposes both of ornament and of utility, thus enabling the proprietor of the smallest shrubbery to indulge his taste both visual and alimentary. Where the peach is planted for ornament alone, the variety with double flowers will be found the most elegant, for indeed we have not a flowering tree or shrub, out of the green-house, of equal beauty: it is a singularity too attending this variety, that although its flowers are double it will produce, but not of any pleasing flavour, we must confess, unless it is trained on a hot, or southeru wall. Though agreeing with the apricot in class and order, yet its generic character is not the same. The peach has a calyx with the perianth one leafed, tubulous, inferior, quinquefid, deciduous, divisions spreading, obtuse; its corolla is of five petals; oblong, ovate, obtuse, concave; the stamen has generally thirty filaments, is filiform, erect, and shorter by half than the corolla, and the anthers are simple; in the pistil, the germ is roundish and villose, with longitudinal furrows, and the seed is a nut, ovate, compressed, with prominent sutures on each side.

The peach and almond are considered as of the same genus, yet there is this remarkable difference in the fruit, that the latter is merely covered with a dry husk, whilst the former has a pulpy covering which rivals in flavour the boasted produce of hotter climates. Practical gardeners who attend more to difference of the fruit, than to the coincidence of the sexual classification, state that the only certain difference between this genus and that of the Prunus, already described, is the pubescence of the skin; for the pores of the shell which at one time were considered as separating the Amydalus from the Prunus are now found not to form an invariable distinction. In essential character this genus has the calyx quinquefid, inferior; petal five; drupe having a shell perforated with pores and skin pubescent; but these latter distinctions, as we have noted, are not invariable. That the peach is not of very early introduction in Europe, is evident from its not being mentioned by Theophrastus, though some commentators

have supposed that his Persea was the same with the modern peach; it differs from it however totally in description. In later times, how|| ever, it was known among the Romans by the name of Malus Persica, or Persian apple, a name which implies their having received it direct from Asia, and not through the medium of Greece. It is now indeed generally spread all over Europe; and is in such abundance since its introduction on the Transatlantic Continent, that in many parts of Maryland and Pensylvannia, the hogs are driven into the orchards to fatten on the windfalls.

That it has been introduced into Engiand as early as the time of Elizabeth, is evident from the pun of the Clown, in Measure for Measure, where he says, "There is here one Master Caper, at the suit of Master Threepile the mercer, for some four suits of peachcoloured satin, which now peaches him a || beggar.”—Indeed we have reason to believe that the double blossomed variety was known here are early as 1629. Of this delicious fruit we have now thirty five different species, some of which have been produced by engrafting on the apricot; but we must not consider every variation as a variety, as many gardeners pretend to make distinctions and to give names, where the fruits resemble each other so much that even the nomenclators can scarcely point out any difference. Before we dismiss this lecture, we must slightly notice the

NECTARINE,

Which is, in fact, now considered by botanists as being merely a variety of the peach. The flower is indced nearly the same, and a persou not accustomed to this kind of research will not readily perceive any difference in the general appearance of the trees, or in the size and formation of the leaves. For the sake of distinction, botanists have agreed to call it the "Nuci Persica," a name derived from its general resemblance to the walnut; but the common English name is perhaps more expressive of its exquisite flavour, as if its juice had given a flavour to the nectar of the gods. It was indeed the principal ingredient in that liquor so famed in Heathen mythology. Thus the English gentleman whilst enjoying his dessert, may justly think himself a match for the deities of Olympus, for if they had their nectar,so have we; and for goddesses we surely can equal, if not surpass them, as our divi. nities, in addition to their own native charms, are now educated by Minerva, attired by the Graces, intimate with the Muses, and surrounded by all the sweets of Flora! (To be continued.)

but that they should become acquainted with professors, who may instil into them right sentiments of the importance, dignity, and splendour, which belong to them.

and exclusive arrangement, or by tedious forms of introduction and wearisome application, turned into a monopoly for the benefit of a few individuals; but is thrown open to all, and is supported in a state of honourable independence, and upon impartial principles, for the common benefit of the country.

The present is the forty-third Exhibition of the Royal Academy. It is very creditable to the British Artists, and is a manifest proof, that the encouragement which has lately been extended to the Arts has not been misplaced.

A new room has been thrown open for the purpose of accommodating such pictures as have been before rejected from the want of it; there is still, however, a great number turned out; and we hear that nearly 300 pictures have been excluded upon this consideration only.

It gives us infinite satisfaction to see the progress which the Fine Arts are obviously making in this country. They could never indeed have degenerated or gone backward, from any other reason than want of patronage; but without the encouragement of the enlightened and the opulent, the mine of native genius can never be worked with much success-Unless that class of society which gives a tone to the country, and a direction to its taste in other pursuits, steps forward to nourish and patronize the Arts, the consequence will be the inevitable decay and extinction of all honourable effort; the public will be surrendered over to the frauds of picture-dealers, and the mere pedlars of the art of painting.

History declares to us the necessity of this patronage and encouragement of the liberal arts by the great; since, wherever it is want

also. The Egyptians, who invented almost all the arts, never perfected any one, because they did not honour their professors, but considered them as mere artisans. The Phænicians advanced the arts a little farther, because they encouraged them from the same principles upon which they have, of late, h || couraged in this country—they fou ful as articles of commerce.

We need not say that a sort is degrading to true art.

een enthem use

tpafonage of this

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It was at Athens, that painting ture, and sculpture, received the encourage ment of genius and taste, the rewards `% of opulence, and the distinctions of the Republi

The Romans, who had only one road o eminence-military service, never cqualled the Greeks in art; and had only so much taste as to despoil the Grecian Republics of their most valuable reliques, and enshrine them in the magnificent palaces of Rome-It was thus that Rome debased artists and their works, and furnished no excitement to original genius.

In order, therefore, that the arts may flou rish in a nation, it is not only necessary that the works of the painter should be esteemed, but that his profession should be proportionably honoured. No generous soul will sacrifice his life and labours in a profession, which, instead of bringing him honour, discredits him. Without patronage, therefore, the pusillanimous only will apply themselves to the arts, who aspire to nothing but interest, and are incapable of the sublime conceptions of true genius.

We have made these observations, because we think that we discover a new æra in the arts of this country. When the Prince Regent visited the Academy on its opening for the season, he passed a proud compliment upon its improvement. He said, "that he saw portraits which would have done honour to Vandyke, and landscapes which Claude Lorrain might have been proud of." His Royal High