he derived such a stock of knowledge as is seldom found, except among the highly educated.

Before Ludwig went home, there happened to be an eclipse of the sun; and Mr. Hoffman proposed to his guest that he should observe this phenomenon as an astronomer; and for that purpose furnished him with proper instruments. The impatience of Ludwig till the time of the eclipse is not to be expressed. He had hitherto been acquainted with the planetary world only by books, and a view of the heavens with the naked eye: he had never yet looked through a telescope, and the anticipation of the pleasure which the new observation would yield him, scarcely suffered him either to eat or sleep. But it unfortunately happened, that just before the eclipse came on, the sky became cloudy, 'and continued so during the whole time of its continuance. This misfortune was more than the philosophy even of Ludwig could bear as the cloud came on, he looked up at it in the agony of a man that expected the dissolution of nature to follow; when it came over the sun, he stood fixed in a consternation not to be described; and when he knew the eclipse was passed, his disappointment and grief were little short of distraction.

Mr. Hoffman soon after went to visit Mr. Ludwig, and take a view of his dwelling, his library, his study, and his instruments. He found an old crazy cottage, the inside of which had been long blacked with smoke; the walls were covered with propositions and diagrams, written with chalk. In one corner was a bed, in another a cradle, and, under a little window at the side, three pieces of board, laid side by side over two tressels, made a writing-table for the philosopher, upon which were scattered some pieces of writing-paper, containing extracts of books, various calculations, and geometrical figures. His books were placed on a shelf, with his compasses and ruler, which, with a wooden square, and a pair of six-inch globes, constituted the library and museum of the truly celebrated John Ludwig.

; In this hovel he lived till the year 1754; and while he was pursuing the study of philosophy at his leisure hours, he was indefatigable in his day-labour as a poor peasant; sometimes carrying a basket at his back, and sometimes driving a wheel-barrow, and crying such garden-stuff as he had to sell, about the village. In this state he was subject to frequent insults; such as "patient merit of the unworthy takes ;" and he bore them without a reply, or any other mark either of resentment or contempt, when those who could not agree with him about the price of his commodities, used to turn from him with an air of superiority, and call him in derision, a silly clown, a stupid dog.

Mr. Hoffman, when he dismissed him, presented him with one hundred crowns, which fulfilled all his wishes, and made him a happy man. With this sum he built himself a more commodious habitation in the middle of his vineyard, and furnished it with many moveables and utensils of which he was in great want; but, above all, he procured a very considerable addition to his library, an article so essential to his happiness, that he declared to Mr. Hoffman, he would not accept the whole province in which he lived, upon condition that he should renounce his studies; and that he had rather live on bread and water, than withhold from his mind that food which his intellectual hunger perpetually required.

[Gentleman's Magazine.]

He that is uneasy merely because he hath not all he would, never will be easy till he grows wiser.-ABP. SECKER,

PEPPER; OR THE DOG THAT WAS DISLIKED.
A FABLE.

A TRUCE with that repulsive frown,
And keep the angry feeling down.
"Tis gone-but still, alas! is seen
The furrow where that frown has been,
Leaving an unbecoming line

On such a youthful brow as thine.

Grieve not-but listen to my strain,
For all may yet be smooth again:
Let rising passions, coarse and rude,
By meck forbearance be subdued,
And every sweet and heavenly grace
Shall shine reflected in thy face.

A handsome Dog, as black as jet,
Who snarled at every one he met,
His fretful temper would disclose
To all alike, both friends and foes.
Children! I tell it to his shame,
That PEPPER was his proper name.

Now Pepper did not really bite,
But then he looked as dark as night:
His curling lip would often show
A range of teeth, like driven snow,
Which, sharp as needles, seemed to say,
'Beware! for traps are in your way;'
While cold distrust, or feelings high,
Would brood in his unquiet eye.

Say, who can wonder, when the sight
Of Pepper gave them no delight,
Ilis friends, at length, should love him less
And strangers offer no caress ?
Just so it was; they merely cast
A look, and then in silence passed.

With head askance, and eager eye,
Poor Pepper watch'd the passers-by;
But when no second look they deigned,
Thus to his Master he complained:
"O, Sir! what can the reason be
That no one stops to speak to me?
There's Ponto, with his ugly nose,
Has pleasant friends, where'er he goes;
And Toby, of the crooked limb-
No creature seems afraid of him;
But not a soul who treads the yard
Will notice me-it's very hard!"

"The fact," the Master said, "I own;
The fault is, surely, yours alone.
How pleased the other dogs appear,
While you are sullen and severe:
E'en now I hear a smothered growl;
E'en now your brow begins to scowl.
I know you do not mean me ill,
Looking so strangely at me,-still,
These melancholy signs proclaim
The force of habit o'er the frame.
'Tis hard, remember, to erase
Impressions settled on the face:
Think how the bark of trees will keep
A carving that has once been deep:
The sandy beach which ocean laves,
Retains the ripple of its waves;
And as the front serene and kind
Is index of a quiet mind,
So do the tell-tale looks declare
The signs of anger, pride, and care."

THE CAVE OF CAMOENS. ISLAND OF MACAO.

M.

factory at Canton. It was originally the abode of the celebrated Portuguese poet Camoens, and the spot in which he composed his poem of the Lusiad, written to commemorate the discoveries of his nation in the Indies.

Camoens was born at Lisbon in the year 1517, and was the son of a distinguished family, but his ardent disposition seems to have been the cause of his constantly getting into difficulties. While in his native country he was banished to Santarem, and there, during his seclusion, he composed many of his shorter pieces, and at length, in a fit of desperation, he enlisted as a soldier in an expedition sent by the Portuguese against the Moors. During his service in the army he lost his right eye by a musketball. On his return to Lisbon, finding that neither his military nor poetical merits procured him advancement, he embarked in the year 1553 for the East Indies. He arrived at Goa, on the western coast of the peninsula of Hindostan, the chief place of the Portuguese possessions in the East; here his fondness for satire involved him in a dispute with the viceroy, and he was banished to Macao; where he lived for many years. At length the poet was recalled from his exile, and, in his return to Goa, was shipwrecked at the entrance to the river Mécon, in Cochin-China: he escaped, it is said, by swimming, holding the manuscript of his Lusiad in one hand above the waves, taking less care of his own life than of his poem. On his return to Goa, the unfortunate poet was arrested for debt, and it was only by the assistance of some friends that he was enabled to embark for Lisbon; this happened in

2

1569, sixteen years after his departure from Europe. On his return to his native country, his talents were patronized by the king of Portugal, Sebastian the First, then a minor; he afterwards accompanied the army into Africa, where his patron was killed in an encounter with the Moors in 1578, in the twentyfifth year of his age.'

At his death all resources, and every hope, seem to have failed the poet. His poverty was so great, that a slave he had brought from India used to beg for him in the evening, to procure even the means of existence. While in this state of poverty he still continued to compose poetry, and some of the best of his detached poems are supposed to have been composed during this period. At length, in 1579, he perished in an hospital, in the sixtysecond year of his age. Fifteen years afterwards a monument was erected to his memory!

The following Sonnet is a translation from the Portuguese of Camoens by the late Mrs. Hemans:

Fair Tajo! thou whose calmly-flowing tide

Bathes the fresh verdure of these lovely plains, Enlivening all where'er thy waves may glide,Flowers, herbage, flocks, and sylvan nymphs and swains, Sweet stream! I know not when my steps again Shall tread thy shores; and while to part I mourn, I have no hope to meliorate my pain,

No dream that whispers,-I may yet return!
My frowning destiny, whose watchful care
Forbids me blessings, and ordains despair;

Commands me thus to leave thee and repine:
And I must vainly mourn the scenes I fly,
And breathe on other gales my plaintive sigh,

And blend my tears with other waves than thine!

WHAT THE

TA

Magazine.

THIS Light-house is built upon a promontory on the coast of Kent, called the North Foreland; it stands at a considerable distance from the edge of the cliff, and is about three miles to the north of the town of Ramsgate. It has been placed in this situation as a warning to sailors of their approach to the dangerous Goodwin Sands. The building itself is 100 feet high, including the small room in which the lights are kept; but, from the elevated spot on which it is placed, it may be discerned at a great distance.

The original building was of timber, and lath and plaster, with a large glass lantern on the top; this was burnt down in 1683, after which a sort of beacon was made use of, on which a light was hoisted: but it was not long before "there was built here a strong house of flint, an octagon, on the top of which was an iron grate, quite open to the air, in which was made a blazing fire of coals." About the year 1732, the top of this Light-house was covered with a sort of lantern, with large sash-lights, and the fire was kept burning by the help of bellows, which the attendants were employed all night in blowing. This was done to save coals; but the sailors complained of it, as being very much to the prejudice of the navigation, many vessels being lost on the Goodwin Sands for want of sceing it; and it was so little seen at sea, that, as some of the sailors asserted, "they had, in hazy weather, seen the Foreland before they had seen the light." VOL. X.

Complaint being made, the lantern was taken away, and the light restored to its original state. In 1793, two additional stories were added to the house, which raised it to the height already stated.

The small room at the summit, may be best described as a dome, raised on a ten-sided wall; it is about ten feet in diameter, and twelve in height; it is coated with copper, in the same manner as the gallery that surrounds it. In each of the sides of this small apartment is a large lens, or bull's-eye, ten inches in diameter, behind which a very powerful lamp is placed, assisted by a large reflector and magnifier.

The view from the gallery is very extensive, and the lights themselves, on a clear night, may be seen as far as the Nore, a distance of more than thirty miles. The Goodwin Sands, the position of which is indicated by the Light-house we have described, consist of a shoal, or sand-bank of quick-sand, about ten miles in length, and two in breadth, extending, from South to North, from the South Sand-head, near Walmer Castle, to the North Sand-head, opposite the North Foreland. The origin of this dangerous sand-bank is variously accounted for; by some it is said to have been an island, the property of Earl Goodwin, and to have been destroyed by the sea in 1097; others consider that the inundation of the sea about the time of William Rufus, which by its extent and violence overwhelmed the greater part of Flanders and the

297

have been stationary in this part of the kingdom for any considerable time, till their princes, and the nation in general, professed themselves Christians; whereas, there is in the Barrows, some appearance even of family-sepulchres. I think there are stronger arguments for ascribing them to the Britons than to the Saxons; for though both the Celts (or Gauls) and the Germans, were in the practice of, at least occasionally, using funeral piles, barrows, and urns, yet there is this striking difference between the two people, that the former were fond of the pomp of funerals, whereas the latter despised the fruitless ambition, as they considered it, of magnificent funerals; and it was only on some extraordinary occasion, that the warrior's horse was buried with his master.

Some of these Barrows contained nothing but urns full of burnt bones, while in others were entire skeletons, with urns placed upon them, and burnt human bones, charcoal and ashes, scattered throughout the tumulus. To account for this, I must refer to the authorities adduced by the learned and ingenious author of the History of Manchester to prove that the ancient Britons were in the habit of using both rites of funeral; that of burning, and that of burying entire. It is probable that, at Hambury Toote, and such other Barrows as contain vestiges of both practices, the captives, slaves, and animals, destined to appease the manes of the deceased chieftain, or to accompany his departed spirit, were killed and burnt on the spot, and that afterwards a Barrow was raised over their ashes, near the summit of which the body of the chieftain himself was buried entire. The urn placed on the breast of the corpse, probably contained ointments, or, perhaps, some valuable articles belonging to the deceased, in conformity with Cæsar's account of the British funerals. It is possible, that one of those horrid sacrifices which Cæsar describes, might have made part of the funeral rite performed at some of these Barrows, in which a considerable number of human victims were enclosed in a kind of cage, made of basket-work, and burnt alive, in order to render propitious the blood-thirsty deities of the Druids *. [From the Gentleman's Magazine, 1790.]

See Saturday Magazine, Vol. I., p. 73.

OUR existence is dependent on a succession of changes, which are taking place at every moment in ourselves, over which we have no power whatever, but of which, each one involves the necessity of the existence, and the superintending power of the Deity. The existence of the whole material universe is of the same nature. Now, each of these changes is, with infinite skill, adapted to the relative conditions of all the beings whom they affect, and they are subjected to laws, which are most evident expressions of Almighty power, of unsearchable wisdom, and exhaustless goodness. Now, were we merely intellectual beings, it would not be possible for us to consider anything more than these laws themselves; but, inasmuch as we are intellectual and also moral beings, we are capable not only of considering the laws, but also the attributes, of the Creator from whom such laws are the emanations. As everything which we can know teaches a lesson concerning God; if we connect that lesson with everything we learn, everything will be resplendent with the attributes of Deity. By using, in this manner, the knowledge which is everywhere spread before us, we shall habitually cultivate a devout temper of mind. Thus, "the heavens will declare unto us the glory of God, and the firmament will show His handy work; thus, "day unto day will utter speech, and night unto night show forth knowledge of Him."

LAND.

-WAY

TRUTH appears the brighter, and acquires a new lustre, by a free and candid examination; but falsehood hides its head, and disappears, like the night fleeing before the rising sun.-TUCKER.

THE FALLS OF THE PASSIAC.

In a wild, tranquil vale, fringed with forests of green,
Where nature had fashioned a soft, sylvan scene,
The retreat of the ring-dove, the haunt of the deer,
Passaic in silence rolied gentle and clear.

No grandeur of prospect astonished the sight,
No abruptness sublime mingled awe with delight;
Here the wild flow'ret blossomed, the elm proudly waved,
And pure was the current the green bank that laved.
But the spirit that ruled o'er the thick tangled wood,
And deep in its gloom fixed his murky abode,
Who loved the wild scene that the whirlwinds deform,
And gloried in thunder, and lightning, and storm;
All flushed from the tumult of battle he came,
Where the red men encountered the children of flame,
While the noise of the war-whoop still rang in his ears,
And the fresh bleeding scalp as a trophy he bears:
With a glance of disgust he the landscape surveyed,
With its fragrant wild flowers, its wide waving shade ;-
Where Passaic meanders through margins of green,
So transparent its waters, its surface serene.
He rived the green hills, the wild woods he laid low;
He taught the pure stream in rough channels to flow;
He rent the rude rock, the steep precipice gave,
And hurled down the chasm the thundering wave.
Countless moons have since rolled in the long lapse of
time,-

Cultivation has softened those features sublime;
The axe of the white man has lightened the shade,
And dispelled the deep gloom of the thicketed glade.
But the stranger still gazes, with wondering eye,
On the rocks rudely torn, and groves mounted on high;
Still loves on the cliff's dizzy borders to roam,
Where the torrent leaps headlong embosomed in foam.
WASHINGTON IRVING.

attracted the especial attention of mankind. In ruder states THE subject of Meteorology in all ages and countries, has of society, empirical prognostics, founded on the aspect of

the clouds, on the movements of animals, and on other incidental occurrences, formed the study of those who pretended to a foreknowledge of the weather, while electrical phenomena were objects of superstitious awe. In modern times, much of this wonder and uncertainty has been removed."

The gloom or the clearness of the air; the mists and the halos of a stormy sky; the restlessness and clamour of animals, &c., are now referred simply to that overcharge of moisture, and to that unequal distribution of electricity, which precede a fall of rain. Nay, the very thunderbolt has been arrested in its course, and, being no longer an object of amazement, has been divested of half its terrors.

But is this advance in knowledge calculated to lessen our veneration for the great Author of Nature, or to derogate from His wisdom and His power? On the contrary, our estimate of both must be greatly increased. Of the Deity, infinite as he is, and dwelling in infinity, we, finite beings, can form no conception. What little, therefore, we can know of Him, we know nearly altogether from His works. Consequently, whoever has most studied His works, will be most qualified-nay, will be alone qualified, to form an ade quate conception of Him. Thus, to measure, to weigh, to estimate, to deduce, may be considered as the noblest privileges enjoyed by man; for only by these operations, is he enabled to follow the footsteps of his Maker, and to trace his great designs. Instructed by these operations, he sees and appreciates the wisdom and the power, the justice and the benevolence, that reign throughout creation; he no longer gazes on the sky with stupid wonder; nor dreads the thunderbolt, as manifesting the wrath of a vengeful Deity,

[PROUT's Bridgewater Treatise.]