Mr. DeVrey, the successful superintendent of Lincoln Park, uses horn shavings. This is the cleanest and most pleasant material that we ever recollect to have seen used for the purpose, it is the refuse in the factories where the horns from the slaughterhouse are steamed and manipulated into the numerous objects they are applied to, not the least being into knife and fork handles, and the like. It is in the form of thin shaving of half an inch to an inch in length, quite dry and light, entirely free from odor. He takes all they make, and this year has a ton of the material for which he pays at the rate of three cents per pound. The method of using is simply to mix with the soil at the time of potting, giving it, to the common eye, as oil specked all through with a white flaky substance. Its effect is very visible in a clear, healthy growth, given off gradually, and as it is quite common where vast quantities of plants are required to be grown in small pots, when there appears to be a necessity of some new stimulant, it should be given by the amateur in a larger pot. This is done by shaking nearly all the soil from the roots and re-potting again if possible in the same sized pots, thus doing away with all artificial watering, and yet having healthy, luxuriant growth all the time. A pound of the material, which is light, will be enough for a wheelbarrow of potting soil. After all, the question is not so much the exact material employed of a number of similar agents, as it is with the intelligence brought to bear so as to apply at the right time the right quantity, and under the best possible circumstances. EDGAR SANDERS. SCIENTIFIC. AM I A SCOT, OR AM I NOT? If I should bring a wagon o'er From Scotland to Columbia's shore, And by successive wear and tear The wagon soon should need repair: Thus, when the tires are worn through, Columbia's iron doth renew; Likewise the fellies, hubs, and spokes Should be replaced by Western oaks; In course of time down goes the bed, But here's one like it in its stead. So bit by bit, in seven years, All things are changed in bed and gears, And still it seems as though it ought To be the one from Scotland brought; But when I think the matter o'er, It ne'er was on a foreign shore, And all that came across the sea Is only its identity. I came, a Scotchman, understand, By choice, to live in this free land, Wherein I've dwelt, from day to day, 'Till sixteen years have passed away. If physiology be true, My body has been changing too; And though at first it did seem strange, Yet science doth confirm the change; And since I have the truth been taught, I wonder If I'm now a Scot? Since all that came across the sea Is only my identity. --_Wm. Taylor, in Scientific American._ PRIMITIVE NORTHWEST.