MaUch 28.] 
THE COTTAGE GARDENER. 
355 
The perpetual cawing of my favourite rooks, unmu¬ 
sical and monotonous as it is, lias now again begun, 
and will cease no more till their young can fly. I 
rejoice to hear their hoarse voices, and am sorry when 
they take their winter leave, although they continually 
visit us in the daytime even then. I love to hear 
them the first thing in the morning, and the last 
thing at night; to watch them battling with the wind, 
or careering round the trees, or flighting and disputing 
with each other. If I were observant, as many people 
are, I might gain some hints from their manners and 
customs; but I have no gift that way. My father, 
who noticed everything, when residing in the neigh¬ 
bourhood of the Yorkshire moors, soon learned to dis¬ 
cern the changes of the weather by the habits of his 
rooks. However threatening might be the aspect of 
the day, if the rooks went off in a body to feed on the 
moors all was safe—no rain ever fell. If, on the con¬ 
trary, the brightest weather failed to tempt them from 
the park, a change would surely take place—rain came 
in a very few hours. My father said he never knew 
these signs to fail; so much so, that he looked as 
regularly to the rooks as to the barometer when he 
rose in the morning; and if they ever differed in 
opinion the rooks were right. 
The noise of a rookery assosiates itself remarkably 
in the mind, with times and places. Most other 
country sounds are heard so generally that they do 
not connect themselves closely with particular ideas ; 
hut rooks are not heard every where, and they do fre¬ 
quently carry us away in thought to the distant and 
the past. There is, or used to be, a settlement of 
rooks in Bath, in the garden of a residence sheltered 
by a few tall trees; and I shall never forget the feel¬ 
ings of delight with which I used to pace beneath the 
high brick wall, listening to their loud noise, and 
trying to fancy myself at home, under our own beech- 
trees, till the rattle of a carriage broke the charm! 
Since the snow has melted, the mosses seem par¬ 
ticularly bright and beautiful, more so than I think 
I ever saw them. I observe among the woods beds 
of feathery moss, so green and lively, that it quite re¬ 
freshes the eye accustomed so long to the barrenness 
of a wintry scene. I do not understand any of the varie 
ties of moss, but there is one particular kind so delicate 
and spray-like, that it reminds me of fern in the shape 
of what may be called its leaves. The formation of 
moss consists in small cells, which drink up the rain 
and dew; this keeps it perpetually moist. The earth 
is never parched beneath a carpet of moss, and the 
roots of trees are kept cool and damp by its friendly 
aid. We often admire the silky green coating that 
inwraps the lower part of their rugged stems, but we 
do not, perhaps, remember how useful, as well as 
beautiful it is. Mosses are the first approach to vege¬ 
tation on rocky shores, from which the sea has totally 
receded; and they appear in a short time upon the 
islands that have occasionally been thrown up from 
the bosom of the ocean—thus wonderfully displaying 
the latent fertility of the earth, although it has been 
covered with the deep sea ever since the command 
to “ bring forth grass, the herb yielding seed after his 
kind, and the fruit-tree yielding fruit after his land,” 
was given by God. 
There is an unobtrusiveness in moss that causes 
us to neglect it, yet how much it imbellishes the woods, 
the copse, the sequestered pathway; and how softly, 
yet brightly green it is when the early spring sun¬ 
beams glance cheerily among the trees, and dart into 
the cold, damp woods that have so long remained 
almost in darkness! 
We pass carelessly by a mossy bank, or over mossy 
ground, we feel it velvetty and pleasant to the feet, 
but we do not pause to examine it closely, to admire 
the beautiful cuplike form of one variety, or the leafy 
richness of another. There are so many species of 
this beautiful portion of vegetation, that they might 
afford unceasing interest and delight. That species, 
called the common club-moss, which is frequently 
found in England, clothes vast districts in Lapland, 
and is the food of the gentle, serviceable Rein-deer, 
that almost friend of man. In those dreary regions, 
covered with almost perpetual snow, this valuable 
moss lies safely beneath it, preserved alive when all 
other vegetation ceases, to be the support of the few 
animals that inhabit those bleak lands. When the 
snow is scratched away by the instinct of the rein¬ 
deer, his food is green and nourishing, although frosts 
prevail so strongly that man’s breath freezes on his 
lips. What a wonderful, what a gracious provision 
for the wants of the dumb creation! Whenever we 
meet with the interesting club-moss, then let us view 
it with peculiar regard,—let us think of the desolate 
lands it overspreads and benefits,—let us think of the 
animal creation, guided by the Creator’s hand, seek¬ 
ing it below the frozen surlace of deep snows; and 
let it cover us with shame to think that while they, 
the beasts that perish, “ seek their meat from God” 
we, blessed with the gift of reason, too often seek it 
from ourselves! How few of us there are that wait 
upon Him to give us “ our daily bread! ” 
APPARATUS FOR WARMING A GREEN¬ 
HOUSE. 
e- 
This apparatus is formed of a 
a Circular cast iron plate a, 2 feet 
diameter, with a circular hole in 
the centre of 8 inches diameter. 
b Fuel-pipe, of cast iron, 4 feet long, 
and 7 inches diameter at top ; 
it is a very little larger at the 
bottom to allow coke to slide 
down. 
e Its lid, fitting into a sand groove. 
When the two are put together, b is let down by 
the handles e, through the hole in the plate a. 
Flange d fits into a sand groove f, which is filled 
with silver sand. This is to allow of expansion, 
without cracking the cast iron. 
On the top surface of the outer edge of plate a, a 
half-inch fillet (g) is cast with the plate ; for the pur¬ 
pose of holding sand round the edge of the plate. 
The plate a is not bedded in the brick-work, but 
simply rests ujoon it. In the 12-inch paving-tiles, 
with which the brick-work is covered, a circular hole 
is cut of an inch larger diameter than the plate ; and 
this cavity, or groove, is filled 
with sand all round, as high as 
the top of the fillet, so that the 
edge of the plate is buried in 
sand, and the plate has liberty 
to expand or contract to any 
extent. 
If bottom-lieat is not required, 
the annexed cut would be com¬ 
plete in itself, without the cop¬ 
per boiler; but, having a tank 
previously, I added the copper 
