out of the stagnant state of the country. Of virtue there were doubtless some examples, but of Christian virtue few; and of spiritual piety scarcely an eminent instance among the leading men in literature and politics. Mr. Addison is by some thought to have come as near as any in those times to the model of a Christian gentleman; he had a plausible conception of the character, as appears by many passages in his Spectator, in which Christianity, according to the view he took of it, was a necessary constituent of thorough good-breeding; but, in the religion which he has brought so graphically before us, we see more of color than consistence, of sentiment than self-denial, of imagination than conviction. Christianity of his fine gentleman shines only upon the surface of his manners." The The barrister, on the same ground, assails the first lord Lyttelton, Gray's friend West, and Pitt, afterwards earl of Chatham. He admits that they had some religious principles; but their lives, he says, did not exhibit a sanctity of mind, nor did they profess Christianity in its "radical holiness." Is this censure just, or is it the cant of a zealot? Rage for Writing.-A young man, A young man, finding that he did not improve much by reading, was induced to unburthen his mind by writing, like the lady who, thinking that her mind was overloaded, sent her "loose thoughts" to the press, thus subjecting herself to the sneer of the wag" the sooner a lady gets rid of such thoughts the better." The youth wrote in his diary, "How absurd a notion it is, that the mind can gain any thing by mere inhaling; of all habits, simple reading is the most useless. We gain more by half-an-hour's writing than by a whole day of book-worming. This is the most important practical truth I have yet found out: it has saved me a world of trouble that I had created for myself; by acting upon it, my mind has gained more quickness and energy than it was ever conscious of in any previous part of its existence. The exercise of thought acquired from writing has enabled me to discover the holes in my metaphysical science, the vagueness of my notions on morals, the incoherence of my critical dogmas. The light that has burst in upon me, through the crevice of this discovery, is dazzling almost to painfulness. What a difference there is in the actual effect of the two pursuits! To read for its own sake, every one who has read knows and feels to be absurd, whereas writing, which is the expression of a man's own thoughts, is good simply because it is so. We write because we have something to say, and all ultimate pleasure is quite needless." We do not altogether agree with this young man. Homer became a great poet without much reading,-or, indeed, without being able either to read or write, as Wolff, a German philologist, pretends: but it appears to be a general rule, that no one can write well without having read much. Let us attend to Ben Jonson's remarks on this subject.-"For a man to write well, there are required three necessaries: to read the best books, observe the best speakers, and much exercise his own style. In style, to consider what ought to be written, and after what manner, he must first think and cogitate in his mind his subject, then choose his words, and examine the weight of either; then take care, in placing and ranking both matter and words, that his composition be comely; and to do this with diligence and often. No matter how slow the style be at first, so it be labored and accurate; seek the best, and be not glad of forward conceits, or first words that offer themselves to us, but judge of what we invent, and order what we approve. Repeat often what we have formerly written, which, besides that it helps the consequence, and makes the juncture better, quickens the heat of imagination, that often cools in the time of setting down, and gives it new strength, as if it grew lustier by the going back. All that we invent doth please us in the conception or birth, else we would never set it down; but the safest way is to return to our judgement, and handle over again those things, the easiness of which might make them justly suspected."Discoveries. The Triads.-The ancient Welsh were superstitiously fond of the number three. They divided their bards into three classes, and assigned three privileges to them; and, in the rules of poetry and philology, they still dwelt on the same cabalistic number. "The three final intentions of poetry are, accumulation of goodness, enlargement of the understanding, and whatever increases delight. "The three indispensables of language are purity, copiousness, and apt ness. "The three ways whereby a language may be rendered copious, are by diversifying synonymous words, by a variety of compounds, and by a multiformity of expression. "The three qualities wherein consists the purity of a language, are the intelligible, the credible, and the pleasure able. "The three supports of language are order, strength, and symmetry. "The three things that constitute just description are, just selection of words, just construction of language, and just comparisons. "Three things should be well understood in poetry-the great, the little, and the connectives. "Three things should be avoided in poetry the frivolous, the obscene, and the superfluous. "Three dignities of poetry are, the true and the wonderful united, beauty and sapience combined, and the union of art and nature. "The three utilities of poetry are, the praise of virtue and goodness, the memory of things remarkable, and the strengthening of the affections. "The three indispensable purities of poetry are, pure truths, pure language, and pure manners.' A Puff upon News-Papers. These vehicles of intelligence (says the editor of the Record) are read by some of every class. The grave find in them the materials for reflection, and the gay their sources of amusement. They lie on the table of the lawyer, and the desk of the merchant; they enter the study of the clergyman; they circulate through the most retired families; they form the text-book of conversation; they are the weapons of contending factions; like the eunuchs of Eastern princes, they are at once the slaves and the controllers of the nation. Books, like costly perfumes, are inhaled by a literary few; newspapers are the common atmosphere of readers.— Books, like the attar of roses, concentrate and retain the essence of past events; newspapers group the living flowers of the present. Those read them who read nothing else; most persons are tempted by their freshness and variety to try their use; and, of those who try, multitudes find the daily or weekly dose be come, like opium, necessary to their comfort. This common consent of persons, severed from each other by every difference of taste, principle, and habit, proves that newspapers will be read, and the attempt to stop their perusal by argument, would be like trying to compose the waves, under a Cape hurricane, by a phial of oil. Indeed, this common consent proves that there is much cause why they should be read. Putting on one side the whole crowd that feasts on their scandal and frivolity, there is still left a large number of those in business, and in the learned professions, who would unwarrantably neglect an important source of information, available to the purposes of their several pursuits, if they did not read some parts, at least, of the daily papers. Even children, especially in country families, ought to have much of the information, of which, to them, the newspaper is the only channel. The ignorant wonder sometimes betrayed by young persons coming into society, after an education entirely domestic, would cease, if they became acquainted, through these journals, with the state of the arts, successive improvements in manufactures, the growth of trade, the feelings and views of opposite parties and sects, the relations of different countries, and the most signal events which come upon the stage of public observation. Young persons, by a newspaper, may travel without leaving home, and converse with men of every class and sentiment, without seeing any one beyond the circle of their fathers' friends." If we allow these effects and advantages to news-papers, may not the recommendation, à fortiori, be extended to Magazines, which are prepared with greater care and deliberation,-have less of the acrimony of party, of scandal, of false reasoning, of nonsense and superfluity, and are elevated, by one degree at least, above the generality of the journals? An Episcopal Mode of furnishing a Library. The catholic bishop of Louisiana, M. Dubourg, in his travels through Flanders, became acquainted with a gentleman and his daughter, who were very bigoted. The latter, in a confidential conversation with the prelate, communicated to him her scruples at having in her possession a copy of the Encyclopædia, a work in which the church was so shamefully treated, and asked him if she should not throw the obnoxious volumes into the flames. He replied, that, if she would kindly intrust them to him, he would take care that they should do no harm to any one. He thus saved from destruction a copy of that splendid work, with which he took care to enrich his own library. Curious Discoveries.-In the pretended discoveries relative to the antediluvian state of the globe, fancy seems more prevalent than philosophical accuracy. An Irishman, perhaps, will soon give a luminous developement of the state of affairs prior to the creation of our world: but M. Brongniart, a member of the French Academy of Sciences, did not think it necessary to go so far back, and contented himself with inquiring into the nature of that vegetation which covered the earth at the earliest times. According to this philosopher, vegetable fossils, studied in the order of their creation, indicate the existence of three grand periods, during each of which vegetation preserved the same essential characters, although its characters were totally different when it passed from one of those periods to another. The first, or most ancient period, comprehends the time which elapsed between the earliest deposit of earthy layers of sediment, and the formations of coal, which may be considered as resulting from the primitive vegetation of the globe. The antiquity of the layers in which the vegetables belonging to this earlier period are found, proves that life began on the earth with the vegetable kingdom. During the whole of that period, only animals destitute of vertebra existed on the spots of the earth which were uncovered; and it is doubtful whether there were any fishes in the sea. After this period we begin to find a different vegetation, which continued until the chalk deposits took place. During that period, it does not appear that there were any mammiferous animals on the earth, which was inhabited by monstrous reptiles, endowed by nature with the power of flying and swimming. The third period is that during which have occurred the last deluges of which our earth has been the scene, with the intervals which have allowed the propagation of many kinds of animals now lost, as well as of those still existing. The fossil remains of trees, such as the American fern-tree, to the luxuriance of which warmth and moisture are necessary, belonging to the first of the above-men tioned periods, are of extraordinary size, being above double the height of trees of the same species now growing; whence he infers, that the temperature of the globe was much higher, and the general humidity much greater than at present. Another philosopher, M. Bory de St.Vincent, carries this idea of the diminution of humidity to a greater extent; for he is of opinion that the vast deserts of sand, mixed up with the salt and the remains of marine animals, of which the surface of the globe is partly composed, were formerly inland seas, which have insensibly become dry. The Caspian, the Dead Sea, the Lake Baikal, &c. will become dry in their turns also. Then the beds of these vast bodies of salt water will be sandy deserts. The inland seas, whether they have only one or several outlets, will, at some future time, cease to communicate with the great basins of the oceans, and in due time will likewise become dry. On all sides the waters of rivers are seen to carry forward in their course the soil of the continents. Alluvial lands, deltas, banks of sand, form themselves near the coasts, and in the directions of the currents; madreporic animals lay the foundations of new lands; and while the straits become closed, while the depths of the sea fill up, the level of the sea, which it would seem natural should become higher, is sensibly lower. Vegetation and Light.-It was remarked by an American gentleman in the last year, that, during six days in April, when clouds and rain obscured the hemisphere, the leaves of all the forests greatly expanded, but were all of a pallid hue. Within six hours after the clouds and rain were removed, and a bright sun with a serene sky succeeded, the color of each leaf was changed to a beautiful green. It is well known that plants, growing in a dark cellar, present a white appearance, and lose their natural green color, if long kept from the light. Such effects have, however, seldom been observed to arise from the intervention of clouds. same gentleman states, that, while he was taking a geological survey of an estate, the leaves of the forest had expanded to almost the common size in cloudy weather. The sun scarcely shone upon them for twenty days, and the dense forests were almost white. The sun subsequently began to shine in full brightness, and the color of the forest changed so fast, that he could almost The perceive its progress; by the middle of the afternoon, the forests presented their usual summer dress of living green. The necessity of light to vegetation was perhaps never more beautifully or strikingly exemplified. Zoological Discoveries.-A fish called hassar is mentioned in a new light;— it can, says Dr. Hancock, travel by land as well as by water. Large droves of the species are frequently met with during very dry seasons. When the water is leaving the pools, while most other fishes perish for want of their natural element, or are picked up by rapacious birds, the flat-headed hassars quit the place, and march over land in search of water, traveling for a whole night (as is asserted by the Indians) in search of their object. Their motion over land is said to resemble that of the two-footed lizard. They project themselves on their bony arms, by the elastic spring of the tail exerted sidewise. Their progress is nearly as fast as a man will leisurely walk. The strong bands which envelope their bodies, must greatly facilitate their march, being raised and depressed by a voluntary power, so as in some measure to perform the office of feet. The Indians say that these fishes carry water within them for a supply on their journey. There appears to be some truth in this statement; for it has been observed that the bodies of the hassars do not get dry like those of other fishes when taken out of the water; and, when the moisture is absorbed, or when they are wiped dry with a cloth, they have such a power of secretion, that they become instantly moist again. The hassars, we are also informed, make regular nests, in which they lay their eggs in a flattened cluster, and cover them most carefully. They remain by the side of the nest until the spawn is hatched, with as much solicitude as a hen guards her eggs. The negroes frequently take them by putting their hands into the water close to the nest, on the agitation of which the male springs furiously at them, and is thus captured. The eggs are deposited only in wet weather. a morning after rain, numerous nests appear, the spot being indicated by a mass of froth, which shows itself on the surface of the water, over the nest. Below this are the eggs, placed on a bunch of fallen leaves or grass: the latter they probably cut by those serrated arms which form the first ray of their pectoral fins. In The Vocalism of British Birds.-The singing of most birds seems entirely a spontaneous effusion, produced by no exertion, or occasioning no lassitude in muscle, or relaxation of the parts of action. In certain seasons and weather, the nightingale sings all day, and most part of the night; and we never observe that the powers of song are weaker, or that the notes become harsh and untuneable, after all these hours of practice. The thrush, in a mild moist April, will commence his tune early in the morning, and pipe unceasingly through the day: yet, when he retires to rest, there is no obvious languor or weakness in his musical powers. in general very like each other, with different degrees of execution. Some counties may produce finer songsters, but without great variation in the notes. In the thrush, however, it is remarkable that there seem to be no regular notes, each individual piping a voluntary of his own. Their voices may always be distinguished amid the choristers of the copse; yet some one performer will more particularly engage attention by a peculiar modulation or tune; and, should several stations of these birds be visited in the same morning, few or none probably will be found to preserve the same round of. notes, whatever is uttered seeming the effusion of the moment. Harsh, strained, and tense, as the notes of this bird are, yet they are pleasing from their variety. The voice of the blackbird is infinitely. more mellow, but has much less variety, compass, or execution; and he too commences his carols with the morning light, persevering from hour to hour without effort, or any sensible faltering of voice. The cuckoo wearies us throughout some long May morning with the unceasing monotony of its song; and, though there are others as vociferous, it is perhaps the only bird that seems to suffer from the use of the organs of voice. By the middle or end of June, it loses its utterance, becomes hoarse, and ceases from any farther essay.. - Journal of a Naturalist. Birds of one species sing INSANITY AND ITS STRANGE EFFECT; a true Story. A YOUNG medical student at Dublin attended a hospital adjacent to a private madhouse. One day he was struck with the plaintive notes of a voice in the mad house garden singing a melancholy Irish air. From curiosity, he clambered up the wall, and saw below him a beautiful girl, sitting in mournful abstraction, like Sterne's Maria, and plucking the leaves of a rose-bud, as she sang her plaintive ditty. As she raised her head, and observed the stranger before her, she smiled and beckoned him to come to her; after a moment's hesitation and reflection on the consequence, he threw himself over the wall, and seated himself beside her. Her mind seemed in a state of perfect simplicity her disorder appeared to have given her all the playful gentleness of childhood, and, as she fixed her dark expressive eyes on his, she would smile and caress him, and sing over and over the song she was trilling when he first heard her. She requested him to repeat his visit, and quickly inspired him with love. Her recovery of sanity was so rapid, as to excite the notice of the superior of the establishment. He detected and prohibited the interviews, and a relapse, with increased force, was the result. When a report was made to her parents, it was resolved that he should be desired to re-visit her, and that matters should take their course. Again her recovery so rapidly proceeded, that she was restored to her home. Some farther intercourse followed. He was then obliged to leave Ireland; and, after a long illness from exhaustion, occasioned by her former unhealthy excitement, and a tedious recovery from a series of relapses, her faculties were perfectly restored. Returning to Ireland, the youth eagerly flew to embrace, after so long a sepa ration, the fair one who had never passed from his thoughts and remembrance. Her family felt for him the warmest gratitude and affection, from the consciousness that he had been the main instrument in the restoration of their daughter's senses: but the issue of this interview they awaited with the most painful suspense. She had long ceased to mention his name: he seemed to have passed from her remembrance with the former incidents of her situation, and this moment was now to prove to them whether any circumstance could make the stream of memory roll back to the distracted period of her intellect. From the shock of that interview, he never recovered. She reIceived him as a mere uninteresting stranger; she met him with calm and cold politeness, and could ill conceal VOL. X. her astonishment at the agitation and despair of his manner, when he found, too truly, that he was no longer remembered with the fond affection which he had anticipated. He could not repress his anxiety to remind her of their late attachment; but she only heard his distant hints with astonishment and haughty surprise. He now found that the only step which remained for him was to endeavour to make a second impression on her renovated heart; but he failed in his object, being through her aversion obliged to forego his suit. She soon after was married to another. Her lover became thoroughly miserable, went abroad and joined the Greeks, and was wounded in the action at Sphacteria. The unskilful management of a native surgeon, and a fever produced by the malaria of Pylos, combined with scanty diet and bad attendance, brought on a consumption, of which he died at Smyrna, desiring in his last moments that a ring which he still wore on his finger, inscribed to the memory of his dear mother, might be buried with him, together with a locket, which was suspended from his neck, and con-tained a lock of raven hair, belonging, we may presume, to the object of his fond remembrance. WOUNDED FEELINGS, OR FEMALE RESENTMENT. WRITING from Vienna to a friend, an English nobleman said, "At a late soirée I was much interested with a story related to me by the baron Ompteda, concerning the count and countess Pletenburg, who were present, and who wore a gloomy and reserved air, which induced me to make some inquiries concerning the cause of an appearance so inconsistent with the gaieties of the brilliant scene in the midst of which it occurred.-'You cannot have been long in Vienna,' said the baron, or you must have heard their story, which is as full of singularity as it is of a deep moral interest. "A few years ago, when count Pletenburg came into possession of the vast fortune bequeathed to him by his uncle, the late reigning count, he ranked among the wealthiest and most accomplished noblemen in the Austrian empire. With the advantages of high birth, he possessed an elegant person; and the report From the Court Journal, a new periodical work. 2 M |