A fleeting moment of delight Thou art already on the wing. MISS BAILLIE. The Heath-Cock or Grouse, Tetrao tetrix, is only met with in uncultivated wastes, which are covered with heath and juniper It feeds on the mountain and bog berries, and when these are scarce, on the tops of heath. This bird abounds in North Wales and in the Highlands of Scotland. TO A WILD BEE. ROAMER of the mountain! Lingerer by the fountain, Where thou dost sustain A part in Nature's rich, and wild, and varied strain ! I love to watch thy flight, Flitting in wildering maze before my dazzled sight. Upon the breezy hill; And in sultry weather, When every wind is still, Float'st through the waveless air unto the singing rill. On the moorland mosses, Thou sipp'st the fragrant thyme: And the tufted bosses Of greenest grass dost climb, With struggling feet, to rest thy wing in noontide's prime. In the lily's blossom, An ivory palace tower,― In the rose's bosom, Safe from the sudden shower, Thou shelterest, heeding not how thunder-clouds may lower. Thou lov'st the sunny hours, When upwards thou dost spring, With the dew from chaste, cool flowers, The sweet enslaving dew, that doth so closely cling. When, with thy mimic toil, Laden with thy sweet spoil, Unto the quiet home, wherein is no turmoil. Gatherer of treasures rare! Never did truest lover A heart so happy bear, As thou, who woo'st all flowers, without a fear or care. I would that I might ever Have thee before mine eyes! Surely I should endeavour To learn to be as wise, And all the simple gifts of holiest Nature prize. But even now, unsteady! Thy hum is faintlier heard, thou'st darted from I would when death has still'd me And check'd this restless heart, my sight. I would I might be laid where thou, wild wanderer, art! And thus the winds should whisper, And the throstle, minstrel brave, And thou, thou murmuring Bee! should chorus o'er my grave. MISS M. A. BROWNE. THE CYPRESS WREATH. O LADY, twine no wreath for me, Let dimpled mirth his temples twine Let merry England proudly rear Strike the wild harp, while maids prepare Yes! twine for me the Cypress bough; SIR W. SCOTT. TO A WILD HEATH-FLOWER. SWEET floweret! from Nature's indulgence thou'rt cast, Thy nature is proof to the war which they wage; Where the nurslings of favour would shrink from the cold; Remain then, sweet blossom, the pride of the moor, JOHN JONES. "The Heath, so common in the northern parts of this kingdom, valuable to the poor as a substitute for more expensive fuel, and to the sportsman as a cover for grouse, affords to the botanist a striking instance of the care of Providence towards his creatures. Its seed is the food of numerous birds, in regions where other sustenance is scarce, and the vessels which contain it are so constructed as to retain their contents for a considerable length of time, instead of discharging them when they become ripe. Indeed, the more we study, the closer we observe the operations and provisions of Nature, the greater will be our wonder, the higher our admiration." There is a lesson in each flower, A story in each stream and bower, A. CUNNINGHAM. MEMORY. THERE's a Bower of Roses by Bendemeer's stream, That bower and its music I never forget, But oft when alone in the bloom of the year, |