The lady has surely a beautiful face, She has surely a queenly air; The bonnet had flowers and ribbon and lace; But the bird had added the crowning grace-- It is really a charming affair. Is the love of a bonnet supreme over all, In a lady so faultlessly fair? The Father takes heed when the sparrows fall, He hears when the starving nestlings call-- Can a tender woman _not care_? --_Anon._ STRANGE PLANTS. One of the most remarkable growths in the government botanical gardens is the so-called barber plant, the leaves of which are used in some parts of the East by rubbing on the face to keep the beard from growing. It is not supposed to have any effect on a beard that is already rooted, but merely to act as a preventive, boys employing it to keep the hair from getting a start on their faces. It is also employed by some Oriental people who desire to keep a part of their heads free from hair, as a matter of fashion. A curious looking tree from the Isthmus of Panama bears a round red fruit as big as an apple, which has this remarkable faculty, that its juice rubbed on tough beef or chicken makes the meat tender by the chemical power it possesses to separate the flesh fiber. One is interested to observe in the botanical green houses three kinds of plants that have real consumption of the lungs--the leaves, of course, being the lungs of a plant. The disease is manifested by the turning of the leaves from green to white, the affection gradually spreading from one spot until, when a leaf is all white, it is just about to die. Cruelly enough, as it would seem, the gardeners only try to perpetuate the disease for the sake of beauty and curiosity, all plants of those varieties that are too healthy being thrown away. A BRIGAND BIRD. The kea is an outlaw bird of New Zealand for each of whose bills the government offers a reward of a shilling. The kea is a gourmand. It prefers the kidney of a sheep to any other part of the beast. Coming down out of the mountains in winter, it attacks the sheep, alighting on their backs, and tearing away the hide and flesh until it reaches the titbits which it seeks. How the birds learned to tear away the skin to get at the flesh forms a curious story of the development of bird knowledge. The birds had been feeding on the refuse of cattle and sheep killed for human consumption. They learned to associate the idea of meat with the living animal, and now they kill the sheep for the meat without waiting for human aid or consent. The Maoris have a legend about this bird to the effect that it used to be a strict vegetarian, building its nest on the ground. The sheep came and trampled on the nests, and the birds attacked them furiously, drawing blood. They liked the flavor of flesh, and have ever since been eating it. The bird builds its nest in trees now, out of the reach of the sheep's hoofs. THE BROOK.