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Quick their sinking chief to save

Strove the gen❜rous tars in vain ; Plung'd beneath the whelming wave, Prone he sunk, nor rose again. Long the fainting fair one lies,

Motion, speech, and reason gone: Pale that face and dim those eyes, Once resistless Beauty's throne. Slowly o'er her nerveless frame

Latent life at length revives; Faintly glows the languid flame:

Lo! she breathes, she moves, she lives! Anxious o'er the naval train,

Round her fainting form that wait,
Casts her eyes, and asks in vain,

Falt'ring, asks her Henry's fate.
Mute in grief the seamen stand,
Each in tears the scene beholds;
Pity moves the gen'rous band,
None the fatal tale unfolds.
"Whence," she cries," this silent woe?
Why, across each pallid cheek,
Glide the tears in ceaseless flow?-
Ah! they Henry's death bespeak."
Down she sinks, bereft, forlorn,
Reason yields her wonted sway;
Lovely as the blush of morn,

By her side her infant lay.
Frantic, o'er the babe she gaz'd,
Clasp'd it to her breast, and sigh'd,
Wild in grief her eyes she rais'd,

Press'd its tender lips, and died?
Balmanno-street, Glasgow.

Astronomical Misrepresentations cor

rected.

TO THE EDITOR OF THE IMPERIAL
MAGAZINE.

the Sun and Planets bear to each other, in respect to size and distance.

"At first sight, this is easily done. Draw some concentric circles on a sheet of paper, make the Sun the centre, and place the Planets round in their order: or, if you would have an idea of their motion also, look at an orrery. But a little examination will convince you that this is doing nothing towards conceiving their size and distance in proportion to each other, which is the point sought. Nay, it is worse than nothing; for it imposes a falsity for a reality. Imagination by itself can do a great deal; if assisted, it can do more; but if perverted, nothing. Let us try, then, to assist the imagination.

"If the Sun be a million times bigger than the Earth, it is plain that I cannot make two circles on a sheet of paper (without considering any thing about distance) that will bear this proportion to each other; and if this cannot be done for the Earth, much less will it serve for other planets and moons where the disproportion is greater.

"Let us take the floor of a large room: on this make a circle of two feet diameter for the Sun; the size of the Earth will be about the size of a large pin's head. The distance of the Sun from the Earth, is about eighty of the Sun's diameters; if so, there must be a circle of three hundred and twenty feet diameter for the Earth's orbit; which no room, nor indeed any other building, will contain.

"Let us try a field: here we may put our Sun, and draw the Earth's orbit round. If we stand in the centre, (which we should do) the Earth is too These difficulties small to be seen. occurring so soon, how will they increase when we take in the superior planets?

SIR, Liverpool, June 1st, 1819. BELIEVING that many 66 wrong representations of the solar system" are now in circulation, I send you the following extract from a work published in the year 1795, and entitled, "Letters on various subjects," by W. Jackson. It is calculated to correct such notions as are entertained in consequence of "The ingenious Ferguson endeawrong representations. If you ap-voured to assist our imagination, by prove of it, by inserting it in your supposing St. Paul's dome, in diameMagazine, you will oblige your's, &c. ter one hundred and forty-five feet, to ALPHEUS. be the Sun: upon this scale, Mercury is between nine and ten inches, and placed at the Tower; Venus, near eighteen, at St. James's Palace; the Earth, eighteen, at Marybone; Mars, ten, at Kensington; Jupiter, fifteen feet, at Hampton Court; and Saturn, eleven feet and a half, at Cliffdon. Let us be on the top of the dome, and look for the planets where he has placed them.

"The solar system is one of those sublime subjects, in the consideration of which I have frequently been lost. I never attempted to conceive the size of the Sun, or the distance of Saturn; the impossibility repels the most daring imagination. No; all that I have attempted is, to judge of the proportion (upon any scale) that No. 5.-VOL. I.

2 G

Do you think we could see any thing of Jupiter and Saturn? to say nothing of their moons; or that we could see properly the difference between four miles and twenty, when on a line? The four may be two, or one mile; and the twenty may be ten, or thirty, for aught we can judge by the appearance. All that we gain by this is, the knowing that a sheet of paper, or an orrery, gives us wrong ideas; and that we cannot, by any contrivance, put the size and distance of the planets upon a proportionable scale, so as to take in the whole with our eye or understand ing. (These difficulties are increased very considerably by the discovery of the Georgium Sidus.)

"We are much at a loss to comprehend the slowness of their motion. I have not mistaken: I mean SLOWNESS. The performance of a circle in six or twelve months, or twice as many years, gives no idea of swiftness; and yet this motion is called whirling! as if the planets went round their orbit like a top! Though quick and slow are comparative terms, we have ideas of each, arising from the medium of the two, from observation and common application, that do not stand in need of any comparison to be understood. The motion of a flea is quick; of a snail, slow and the common walk of a man is neither quick nor slow. Let us imagine an elephant to walk, and a flea to hop, the same distance in the same time: would you hesitate to say, that the motion of the one was slow, and the other quick? Swiftness or slowness does not depend upon the absolute quantity of ground the animal passes in a certain time, but upon the relative quantity of its own size.

turned round once in twenty-four hours; imagine an animal as much inferior to it in size as we are to the Earth, placed, as I conceived the human spectator placed to view the Earth;- would the apprehension of this being induce you to call a single revolution in twenty-four hours, whirling? Would not you say, that though the surface passed swiftly in review before him, yet that the absolute motion of the whole was exceedingly slow? Perhaps it is our measuring the planetary progress by miles, that makes us conceive it to be quick; which is much like taking the height of a mountain in hair-breadths. When we are told that Saturn moves in his orbit more than twenty-two thousand miles in an hour, we fancy the motion is swift; but when we find that he is more than three hours in moving the space of his own diameter, we must then think it, as it really is, slow.

"There is another circumstance which prevents the solar system, as commonly delineated, from bearing a true resemblance to the apparent position and motion of the planets. It is always drawn in plan, instead of section; whereas the appearance of the orbits of the heavenly bodies is always in section, and never can be in plan. This difference is not, as far as I know, noticed in any account of the solar system; and yet, if it be not attended to, it is impossible to prove the truth of the system by the apparent paths of the planets.

"This will be best understood by considering the inferior ones. Mercury and Venus remove to a certain distance from the Sun; and then, after seeming at rest, they return in nearly the same line, and remove to the same distance on the other side, where the same thing is repeated. This, to the eye, is not a revolution in plan, but a revolution in section; and it might be explained by a draught, which should always accompany the common delineation of the planetary orbits."

"The Earth is about eight minutes in moving the space of one diameter; therefore its absolute motion is slow: it is twenty-four hours in making one revolution round its axis, which gives no idea of velocity. It is certain, that if we were placed very near the Earth, unaffected by its attraction, there would appear an exceedingly quick change of surface; and so would the motion of a snail appear to an animalcule. The quantity of space, when compared to any we can move in at the same time, To is vast, and the motion quick; but when considered as belonging to a body of the size of a world, the motion is slow.

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Bad Effects of Contracted Burying Grounds.

THE EDITOR OF THE IMPERIAL
MAGAZINE.

SIR, As we live in an age not more distinguished for the benevolence which it displays, than for the improvements

which are continually making in various departments, permit me, through your widely-circulating Miscellany, to call the attention of the Public to what I deem an important subject, in which persons of all ranks are deeply interested; namely, to the manner in which the living are annoyed by the interment of the dead. It is a melancholy fact, that in most large towns, the portion of ground allotted for interment, bears but a very small proportion to the population. Hence, many bodies are torn from their graves to make room for others, before the bones are even separated from one another; and, in some instances, while the flesh is in a state of putrefaction.

I have lately visited various places in different counties, and on almost every occasion in which I had an opportunity of making observations, I could not but notice, with sorrow, the great indecency exhibited in the disposal of the mortal remains of our fellow-creatures; the brutal indifference with which coffins, half rotten, have been broken up; and the disgusting manner in which their contents have been exposed to view, and finally mangled by the unfeeling "trusty brothers of the trade."

Loathsome as these scenes are in almost every large town, they too frequently become unsufferable in the interment of paupers. I have witnessed some places, and one in particular, which I could easily name, where a large excavation, some yards wide, and fifteen or twenty feet deep, has been made, as a receptacle for their bodies. In the bottom of this, the coffins are deposited side by side; a little earth, scarcely two feet in thickness, being thrown on the top of each, when lodged in this gloomy mansion, while the side of the coffin last introduced is suffered to remain uncovered until another inhabitant of the grave arrives. When the first tier of coffins is thus completed, and the whole are covered with about two feet of earth, another range is laid down in a similar manner upon the former, and thus they proceed, until the whole excavation is nearly filled. The last coffins that are deposited generally reach within about two feet of the surface, which space is filled up with earth; and in this manner, grossly familiar," they consume, side by side. In some large towns I have observed

66

similar caverns, that will contain eighty or a hundred bodies, on the top of which, large folding doors are placed, to be opened and shut at each interment. In these places, no earth whatever is thrown in upon the coffins, excepting that which custom demands, when the minister pronounces, "earth to earth, ashes to ashes, and dust to dust.". This being done, the doors are closed upon the bodies, only to be re-opened when other victims of death are brought to this general receptacle. As the bodies thus deposited must progressively pass through the various stages of putrefaction, it is more easy to conceive the noxious exhalations which must constantly arise, than to give an adequate description of the disgusting scene. And as it sometimes happens, that several days elapse before the doors of this vault are re-opened, after thus being closed, no language can convey any suitable ideas of the dreadful effluvia which arise to contaminate the air. Under these circumstances, we have but little reason to wonder at the numerous diseases with which large towns are frequently afflicted. The putrid fumes cannot but pollute the atmosphere with noxious qualities, which must prove highly prejudicial to the health of the living, and tend, in the aggregate, to generate the harbingers of pestilence and death.

In some burying grounds, which have been glutted with bodies, I have repeatedly noticed men with iron rods, having a screw at their extremities, passing from grave to grave, probing the ground in search of coffins that are most decayed; and when they find any that are of a doubtful character, or that appear sound, they bore a hole into the timber, in order to ascertain the state of soundness or decay in which they are. This being done, they mark such graves as they think they can conveniently open, reserving them in store for the next demands which may be made.

I have known places re-opened, when they had not been closed more than a month; and where the last coffin had not been deposited more than a foot and half, or two feet at the utmost, beneath the surface. of these occasions, the coffins are broken up; but in what manner the mutilated bodies which they contain are disposed of, I could never satisfact I have seen comprehend.

On many

partially decayed bodies taken from their graves, but in some mysterious manner they soon disappear.

The charnel-houses, in many places, bear a striking resemblance to the cemeteries. Bones, united together by their natural ligaments, are frequently taken to these unwholesome repositories, where they remain, to undergo a separation in the air, and to have their putrid moisture exhaled. I could easily mention specific instances, to confirm all I have advanced; but the detail would be too nauseous to meet the public eye.

It will be readily admitted, that in many large towns, the burial grounds are so encircled with buildings, that they cannot be enlarged. But as there can be no necessity that cemeteries should be surrounded with the habitations of the living, the purchase of a field in the vicinity may be accomplished without much difficulty: and if some heavy tax were levied on every grave, that, within a given time, should be opened in the old ground, as but few only would be able to pay it, the evil would gradually diminish, and in time wholly subside; while the money thus paid by those who could submit to the impost, would finally amount nearly to the sum required to purchase the field.

As the manners in which the bodies

of the dead have been interred, or otherwise consumed, have been remarkably diversified in different ages, and among distinct nations, I shall be highly gratified if some one of your ingenious correspondents will favour your numerous readers with a short analysis of prevailing customs on this interesting subject. I shall also be much pleased in finding that his dissertation gives to us an account of the probable time when the present manner of interment took place; and also what mode prevailed in this nation in the more early periods of its history. Such a dissertation would certainly embrace the changes which the various invaders of our country introduced; and by these we should know, with a tolerable degree of accuracy, at what time interments took place in our churches, and in those grounds by which in general they are encircled.

The interment of dead bodies in churches, and in many other places of public worship, how congenial soever it may be to the feelings of pious sympathy, I cannot but consider in the light of a serious evil. In vaults which are deeply sunk below the floor, the unwholesome effluvia are imperceptible: but even this is no proof that noxious vapours are not emitted; and in proportion as these multiply in number, they will in the aggregate be more frequently opened; and, consequently, will pollute that air which the living must inevitably breathe. In some modern meeting-houses, these vaults are still less secure. In several, the bodies of the dead are separated from the living by little more than the wooden floor on which the latter stand: and although in these places nothing offensive may sensibly affect the olfactory nerves, we cannot avoid concluding, that the atmosphere must be impregnated with putrid contaminations. There was, no doubt, a period, when the portion allotted for the burial of the dead, was sufficiently extensive to correspond with the population of the district. But in many of our large towns, the vast increase of the inhabitants, and the consequent augmentation of deaths, have totally destroyed this proportion; and, by slow and imperceptible degrees, nursed that evil, of which we have too much reason to complain, to its present state of dread-mouldering ashes ask for protection in ful maturity. As our legislative powers are now disengaged from the anxieties of war, and as, in several instances, they have manifested a disposition to reform abuses and remove nuisances, I most sincerely hope, that an object of such public interest as this, to which I have presumed to call your attention and that of your readers, will not escape their notice.

But whatever your opinion may be respecting my latter observations, I hope you will not neglect the principal object which induced me to write; namely, to prevent the living from being annoyed by the unnatural disturbance of the dead. There are very few who have not some friend, whose

the grave. The powerful sympathies
of our nature involuntarily respond to
these silent solicitations; and the pro-
tection which we render to others,
may be considered as a presage of
what we may hereafter expect for
ourselves.

I am, Mr. Editor,
Your's most respectfully,

A FRIEND TO DECENCY.

A REMARKABLE BUT WELL-ATTESTED

INCIDENT.

on their return to Manchester; the dog, highly delighted, and displaying its innocent gambols as they walked along. Proceeding on their journey, they had to pass through a long narrow lane, which, on each side, was secured with a thorn fence, the bushes of which were closely interwoven with one another. They had not gone far in this lane, before the dog gave over its friskings, and walked, in haughty silence, a few steps before her. Shortly afterwards it grew furious, its hair stood erect, and its march was accompanied with sullen growlings. As no cause of this change in its conduct appeared, the Lady became quite alarmed, and endeavoured to pacify the animal by throwing to it some gingerbread, or other article of a similar nature, which she had in her pocket. But of this it could not be indu

SOME years since, a Lady who lived in Manchester, had an occasion to pay a visit to some friends who resided at Blackley, a village about three miles distant. It was during the summer season; and she began her journey alone, early in the afternoon, intending to return again in the cool of the evening. She had, however, not proceeded far, before a very large dog, which was a perfect stranger, found means to introduce itself to her notice. Being rather dissatisfied with her new companion, she endeavoured to drive it off; but of these efforts it seemed to take so very little notice, that she found all her attempts rendered ineffectual. And as it exhibited no appearance of hostility, but seemed playful, the Lady's fears gradually sub-ced to take the least notice. In this sided; she very naturally concluding, that after the dog had travelled for some time, a new object would attract its attention, and draw it from her. Nothing, however, of this kind happened. The dog accompanied her through all the roads in which she had to walk, and finally escorted her to the house of her friend. Arriving hither, she contrived on entering, to shut out her companion; but this circumstance, instead of causing it to retire, induced it to lie at the door, waiting her return.

Some person belonging to the family, on opening the door, and finding this large dog, inquired of the Lady if it belonged to her? To this question she could give no other reply, than that which the preceding part of the narrative has already furnished. She was then told, that as the dog had been her companion during the journey, it should also be a partaker in the accommodations; and it was accordingly invited in. On entering the house, the Lady was the great object of its attention. It fawned and played, and manifested, by many significant gesticulations, that it was highly gratified. Some manufactures being carried on at this place, the Lady was invited to survey them; and into every room which she entered, her "faithful dog bore her company," lying down near her feet whenever she tarried a few minutes, to look at the objects with which she was surrounded.

At length evening arrived, when the Lady and her canine associate set off

state things remained until they reached the extremity of the narrow lane, the dog generally marching a few steps before her. At this extremity, there was an opening into an adjoining field through the thorn fence, whence a strange man suddenly sprang, holding in his hand a naked knife.

Scarcely had the Lady time to shriek at so terrifying an object, before the dog seized him with the most savage ferocity, and brought him to the ground. The man, finding himself in this situation, earnestly solicited the Lady to call off the animal, that he might not be torn in pieces: but as she knew not its name, this was scarcely practicable; and having in vain used some efforts to divert its attention, she hastened on her journey, leaving the dog holding the man on the ground. After she had advanced a few yards, the dog quitted its hold; again overtook her; and, resuming its former playfulness and good humour, seemed to demand, as a reward for its services, the gingerbread which it had previously refused. This was given with readiness, and eaten with much apparent satisfaction. Thus they proceeded, until they reached the spot where they had met in the afternoon, when the dog took its leave, and the Lady returned home in safety. To her, both the dog and the man were alike strangers; and she never saw or heard of either afterwards.

On a train of circumstances so singular, it would be easy to make a variety of remarks. The fact itself appears

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