little lake, and reappearing again, all moist and black, protruding his huge round back, more like a floating island, or a Leviathan of the ocean, than an inhabitant of terra-firma.

In this neighbourhood, too, there are camels and dromedaries, "the ships of the desert," as they are so beautifully called in the figurative languages of the east, either standing upright, with their long ghost-like necks, and amiable, though imbecile countenances, or couched on the grass, " and bedward ruminating," apparently well pleased to have exchanged the burning plains of Arabia for the refreshing shades of the Jardin des Plantes. No tear now of the blasting breath of the desert, or of those gigantic columns of moving sand which had so often threatened to overwhelm them, and the leaders of their tribe-no delusive mirage, tempting them still onwards, amongst those glaring, glittering wildernesses, "with show of waters mocking their distress." Even the wilder and more romantic animals seem here to have found a happy haven and a fit abode. The milk-white goat of Cachmire, with its long silky clothing, is seen reposing tranquilly, with half-closed eyes, upon some artificial ledge of rock, forming a beautiful and lively contrast to the dark green moss with which it is surrounded. Deers and antelopes repose upon the dappled ground, or are seen tripping about under the shade of the neighbouring limetrees, while the enclosures, with their surrounding shubbery, are so skilfully arranged, and so intermingled with each other, that every animal appears as if it enjoyed the free range of the whole encampment, instead of being confined to the vicinity of its own little hut. The walks are laid out somewhat in a labyrinthic form, so that every step a person takes he is delighted by the view of some fair or magnificent creature from "a far countrie." Birds of the most gorgeous and graceful piumage, peacocks, golden pheasants, and cranes from the Belcaric Isles, solicit attention in every quarter, and are seen crossing your path in all the stateliness of conscious beauty, or gliding like sun-beams through groves of evergreen, "star bright, or brighter." In whatever direction you turn, you find the features of the scenery impressed with characters very different from those which are usually met with in Europern countries. At the head of the Garden, beyond the house which was once the dwelling of the illustrious Buffon, there grows a magnificent cedar, its head rendered more picturesque by a cannon-ball, which struck it during the Revolution;* and from a little hill in the neighbourhood, there is an extensive and beautiful view, not only of the Garden of Plants, with its fine

* "The largest of the pine tribe on the hillocks, is a cedar of Lebanon, P. Cedrus, the trunk of which measures twelve feet in circumference. The history of this tree, as recited to us by Professor Thouin, is remarkable. In 1736, Bernard de Jussieu, when leaving London, received from Peter Collinson a young plant of Pinus Cedrus, which he placed in a flower pot, and conveyed in safety to the Paris Gardens. Common report has

groves and shady terraces, but also of the city itself, with Mont Martre rising like an acropolis in the distance, the old square tower of the Cathedral of Notre Dame, and the golden dome of the Hospital of Invalids.

Between the Garden of Plants properly so called, and that part of it which is devoted to the uses of the Menagerie, there is a broad and deep sunk fence divided by stone walls into several compartments. These are the dwelling-houses of the bears, the awkward motions and singular attitudes of which seem to afford a constant source of amusement to the visiters. Bare leafless trees have been planted in the centre of some of these inclosures, to the top of which Bruin is frequently seen to climb, as if to enjoy the more extended view of the garden, and of the groups of people who crowd its walks. Some of these animals, when they perceive any one looking over their parapet, erect themselves on their hind legs, and, stretching forth their great paws, seem to ask for charity with all the importunity of a moaning beggar. Indeed, they are so much accustomed to have bread and fruit thrown to them by strangers, that the slightest motion of the hand is generally sufficient to make them assume an erect position, which they will maintain for some time, till their strength tail them, and they drop to the ground, testifying by a short and sullen growl their displeasure at having been obliged to play such fantastic tricks to so little purpose. An unfortunate accident befel one of the largest of these creatures some years ago. He was sitting perched near the top of his tree, when his footing gave way, and he was precipitated to the ground. A broken limb was the only disagreeable result of this misfortune. His temper of mind does not, however, appear to have been much molified by his decreased strength of body, for it was this same animal which caused the death of the unfortunate sentinel who had descended into his area, misled, as it was supposed, by an old button or bit of metal, which he mistook for a piece of money. The cries of this poor being were heard distinctly during the stillness of the night by those who dwelt within the garden; but, as there was no reason to dread the possibility of such an accident occurring, no assistance was offered. He was found by the guard who came to relieve him in the morning, lying dead beneath the paws of the bear, exhibiting, comparatively speaking, few marks of external violence, but almost all his bones broken to pieces. The bear retired at the voice of his keeper, and did not, in fact, seem to have been induced by any carnivorous propensity to attack the person whose death it had thus so miserably occasioned. It was rather what an old man in the magnified the exploit by declaring, that Jussieu carried it all the way in the crown of his hat. It is now the identical tree admired for its great size." -Neill's Journal of a Horticultural Tour through Flanders, Holland, and the North of France.

garden characterized as a piece of mauvaise plaisanterie, for it appeared to derive amusement from lifting the body in its paws and rolling it along the ground, and showed no symptom of fierceness or anger when driven into its interior cell.*

Turning to the right as you enter the lower gate of the Garden, opposite the Bridge of Austerlitz, now called the Pons du Jardin du Roi, you approach the dwellings of the more carnivorous animals, which are confined in cages with iron gratings, very similar to our travelling caravans. Here the lion is truly the king of beasts, being the oldest, the largest, and in all respects the most magnificent, I have ever seen. There is a melancholy grandeur about this creature in a state of captivity, which I can never witness without the truest commiseration. The elegant and playful attitudes of the smaller animals of the feline tribe being so expressive of happiness and contentment, prevent one from compassionating their misfortunes in a similar manner; while the fierce and cruel eye of the tiger, with his restless and impatient demeanour, produces rather the contrary feeling of satisfaction, that so savage an animal should be kept for ever in confinement. He appears to lament his loss of liberty, chiefly because he cannot satiate his thirst for blood by the sacrifice of those before him; his countenance glares as fiercely, and his breath comes as hot, as if he still couched among the burned-up grass of an Indian jungle. But his companion in adversity appears to suffer from a more kingly sorrow the remembrance of his ancient woods and rivers, with all their wild magnificence, "dingle and bushy dell," is visibly implanted in his recollection. Like the dying gladiator, he thinks only of "his young barbarians," and when he paces around his cell, he does so with the same air of forlorn dignity as Regulus might have assumed in the prison of the Carthaginians.

But, while we are indulging ourselves in "a world of fond remembrances," we are forgetting Mr. Royer's book, to which we had sat down with the intention of extracting an article. We shall therefore proceed in the first place to form a compendious sketch of the Garden and Cabinet, from the period of their origin to the close of last century, which we deem it the more necessary to do, as the subject has not yet found a place in English literature. We must, however, premise, that the nature and confined limits of our abstract will necessarily exclude a thousand interesting particulars regarding the history of individual plants and animals, for the elucidation of which we therefore refer our readers to the work itself, which is just about this time ready for delivery to the public.

* We understand that the bears are now removed to the new Menagerie, of wild beasts, and their places in the Fosses occupied by a breed of boars. Our old friend Marguerite, the great elephant, has been dead for some years.

MARCH, 1824.-No. 263

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The King's Garden in Paris, commonly called the Garden of Plants, was founded by Louis XIII., by an edict given and registered by the Parliament, in the month of May, 1635. Its direction was assigned to the first Physician Herouard, who chose as Intendant Guy de la Brosse. At first it consisted only of a single house, and twenty-four acres of land. Guy de la Brosse, during the first year of his management, formed a parterre 292 feet long, and 227 broad, composed of such plants as he could procure, the greater number of which were given him by John Robin, the father of Vespasian, the King's botanist. These amounted, including varieties, to 1800. He then prepared the ground, procured new plants by correspondence, traced the plan of the garden to the extent of ten acres, and opened it in 1640. It appears by the printed catalogue of the ensuing year, that the number of species and varieties had increased to 2360. De la Brosse died in 1643. Such was the origin of an establishment, which has since attained so high a degree of prosperity, and has become the first school of Natural History in the world. We shall not consider it necessary to mention each subsequent change in the management and superintendence, but shall rest satisfied with alluding only to the labours of those whose appointment may be regarded as a prosperous era in the history of the garden. About the year 1652, Fagon, grand-nephew of De la Brosse, obtained a situation in the establishment, and travelled at his own expense through several provinces of France, and among the Alps and Pyrenees, and sent the fruit of his researches to the Garden. In 1665, the number of species and varieties amounted to 4000.

In the meantime, Gaston D'Orleans, brother of Louis XIII., had established a botanical garden at his palace of Blois, which had acquired celebrity through the works of Morison, and by a collection of drawings of the most remarkable plants. These drawings were chiefly executed on vellum, by Robert, eminent for his great skill as a botanical painter. After the death of Gaston, in 1660, Colbert persuaded the King to purchase the whole collection; and Robert was appointed painter to the Museum, where he continued his labours till his death in 1684. Other eminent painters have continually succeeded to the situation, and it is thus that the magnificent collection of drawings of plants and animals has been formed, which was at first deposited in the King's library, and now forms the most valuable part of that of the Museum.

Vallot, the chief director dying in 1671, Colbert united the superintendance of the Garden to that of the King's buildings, already held by himself, leaving to the first physician the title of Intendant only, with the direction of the cultivation. In the month of December he obtained a declaration from the King, regulating the administration of the Garden, and gave commissions to the Professors defining their duties. From this moment the establishment assumed increasing importance, and it would have ad

vanced still more rapidly, had the principal administration not been united with other offices. Fagon, who had for several years filled the botanical and chemical chairs with applause, being encumbered with other duties, meditated the resignation of his place, and, wishing to appoint a successor worthy of himself, he called, from a remote part of France, the afterwards so highly celebrated Joseph Pitton de Tournefort, then only twenty-six years of age, but who had already given promise of what he was one day to become. He was appointed to the chair of botany in 1683. Ten years after, Fagon became first physician. This appointment gave him the intendance of the Garden; and, from the singular respect in which he was held, the title of Superintendant was re-established in his favour.

The signal success of Tournefort in the cultivation of botanical science, is universally known. He was the first successfully to define the genera of plants, and the excellence of his groups exhibits the clearness of his conceptions, and ranks him as the father of that branch of the science. He died in 1708, in consequence of an injury received from a wagon in a narrow street of Paris, and left his collection of natural history, and herbarium, to the Garden. This herbarium is not extensive, but it is rendered valuable by the plants gathered in the Levant, and indicated in the Corollarium of the Institutiones Rei Herbarium. He was succeeded in the botanical chair by Danty D'Isnard.

D'Isnard retired after delivering a single course of lectures, and was succeeded by Antony de Jussien, a name so justly celebrated in botany, in consequence of the impulse which his own labours, and those of his two brothers and nephew, have given to the science. In 1716, he visited Spain and Portugal, and brought back an immense accession to the Garden. It was this same Antony de Jussieu, who, in 1720, intrusted Declieux, a lieutenant in the Royal Navy, with a young coffee tree, which, transported to Martinique, became the parent of the immense culture of the West Indies. Meanwhile, the cultivation of the Garden was confided to Sebastian Vaillant, who formed a very considerable herbarium, the genera of which were methodically arranged, and the species accompanied by tickets, indicating all the synonyms then known. This herbarium, which, at his death in 1722, was purchased by order of the King, forms the basis of that of the Museum. What chiefly signalizes the name of Vaillant, is his first public discourse on assuming the functions of Assistant Professor, (in the absence of the Principal,) in which he demonstrates the existence of two sexes, and the phenomena of fecundation in vegetables. Thus it was in the King's Garden that this great discovery, which had only been hinted at before, and was not generally admitted, was first announced, and supported by irrefragable proofs.

We shall pass in silence the unprofitable period of Chirac's administration of the affairs of the Garden, and proceed to the ap