THE BAMBOO.--This is an eastern production, of various and most important uses. It grows from fifteen to sixty feet high, being from five to fifteen inches in diameter. It grows as much as twenty feet in a few weeks. It flourishes wild in many places, but it is cultivated with great care in China and other places. The soft shoots are cut and eaten like asparagus, and sometimes salted and eaten with rice. The hollow joints afford a liquid, and if not drawn off, a concrete, medical substance. Its seeds are eaten as a delicacy; its large joints are used as buckets; and, in many countries, no other wood is used for building. Ships are framed out of it, and it furnishes masts and yards. Its leaves make fans. It is also used to make bows, and to convey water to a distance. It also forms writing-pens, and is woven into baskets, cages, hats, &c. Bruised into a pulp, it makes fine paper, and is also used for many kinds of furniture. * * * * * PRACTICAL ADVANTAGE OF SCIENCE.--The following illustration of the utility of science, in the common occurrences of life, is from the Genessee Farmer:--“A penknife was by accident dropped into a well twenty feet deep. A sunbeam, from a mirror, was directed to the bottom, which rendered the knife visible, and a magnet, fastened to a pole, brought it up again.” GRANDMOTHER’S SCHOLAR. _Grandmother._ Come hither, my poor orphan boy! Come to your granny’s knee; ’Tis time that you should learn to read, And tell your A, B, C. It is not fit that all the day Should pass in idleness away. _Boy._ Oh, grandmother! the sun shines bright, The bird sings in the tree, The bees are out--_they_ never go To say their A, B, C. I wish I were a bird to play Among the leaves, and sing all day. _Grandmother._ My foolish child! the sun shines bright, To ripen corn and fruit; The bird has fled full many a mile, Upon her fond pursuit; And, for the little bees, there’s not A flower in their search forgot. _Boy._ But, grandmother, they do not learn In little books to read, They tell no crooked letters’ names, And they’re well off, indeed. I too would fly about all day, And glad, so I might be as gay. _Grandmother._ Poor boy! they cannot think or speak, But what they have been taught, With industry and studious care They practise as they ought; Do you remember, last July, The nest in the hawthorn hard by? _Boy._ Yes, grandmother, so soft and warm, All twigs and moss without, With quilted wool and slender straws Plaited and twined about, And then inside so smoothly spread, Oh, ’twas a tempting little bed.