the present views, over the philosophers and chemists of modern Europe. According to this philosopher, then, combustion was merely the evolution from the burning body, when placed in circumstances adapted to this effect, of a peculiarly subtile and active principle, to which, from the ordinary appearance which its evolution assumes, he gave the name of Phlogiston-light and heat being those properties of this body by which it adapts itself to the observation of our powers of perception. This theory, we have said, from the high reputation which its author had obtained, was long unanimously adopted by philosophers-and being in perfect agreement with the most natural and obvious judgment of mankind, scarcely a suspicion was allowed to intervene, that there could be any thing imperfect or inaccurate in the theory. The progress of philosophical opinion upon this subject, however, presents, we think, a very instructive instance of a disposition which seems universally characteristic of mankind, that, we mean, of employing any favourite principle to account for every appearance which presents itself, however little warranted such an application may be by the circumstances most characteristic of the phenomenon in question. It is accordingly very generally known, that about the latter part of the last century, and while the doctrines of Stahl were in all their vigour, the existence and properties of oxygen were discovered, and immediately excited the utmost attention in all who were devoted to philosophical pursuits. The discovery was, in reality, both beautiful and instructive in a very uncommon degree. The increased illumination communicated by this gas to any ignited body which the operator immersed in it-the pure and apparently ethereal nature of the gas itself the very energetic properties it was found to possess-and the vast variety of bodies into whose composition it was discovered to enter all contributed to point out this substance as one of the most important instruments in the economy of nature, and insensibly produced a very general disposition to receive its operation as a complete account of any former unexplained phenomena, with whose existence and properties it might have any connexion. While the minds of men, accordingly, were in this state, it was opportunely discovered, that when a burning body is introduced into a jar of common air, the mouth of the jar being at the same time inverted over water, the oxygenous portion of the air is altogether consumed, and the burning body is found to have acquired an additional weight, precisely corresponding with that of the oxygen which had disappeared. From this discovery it was immediately concluded, that combustion is in fact nothing else than the combination of oxygen with the combustible body-that the light and heat are the consequences of this combination, being necessarily given out by the combining oxygenand that the whole process of combustion is explained, when it is stated to be the consequence of the separation of oxygen,-first, from the other constituent of the air, and next, from the light and heat which it contained before it began to experience this separation,—and also, of the combination of this gas with the body whose combustion was actually observed. A few of the more intelligent and cautious of the learned might still entertain a very invincible opinion, that the phenomenon in question had not really been accounted for-but the great multitude of the studious, who seldom condescend to a very careful examination of any particular subject, received the doctrine as impregnably established-while, in the public demonstrations of professed teachers, the difficulties that remained were either entirely unnoticed, or were hastily concealed from the view of the curious, by ambiguous language, or unsatisfactory conjecture. Sir From the application of this statement, however, we conceive ourselves bound to exempt all the more enlightened and illustrious chemists. Humphry Davy, we believe, in his public lectures, always expressed himself upon this subject with much becoming freedom of opinion-and Dr Thomson has repeatedly stated, in his excellent system, that he still considered the explanation of the phenomena of combustion as in a very imperfect state. The opinion of this latter philosopher, indeed, if we are not much mistaken, has always coincided exactly with that which we are anxious at present to submit to the notice of our readers, viz. that in the ON THE ORIGINAL OF MILTON'S SA common explanation of this phenomenon, only one of the circumstances connected with it, that is, the disappearance of the oxygen, had in reality been accounted for, while the exhibition of light and heat, which really constitute what is essential to the phenomenon, are altogether unexplained. Conceiving that this view of the matter must now be very generally admitted, it is with much satisfaction that we perceive Sir Humphry Davy to be actively engaged in the investigation of what has justly been denominated the most important problem in chemistry. His attention seems to have been naturally directed to this investigation, by his recent invaluable discovery of the safety-lamp for coal mines, and by the very curious properties of flame which were suggested by that discovery; and he has accordingly read several papers, at different meetings of the Royal Society, detailing the experiments he has made, with the view of elucidating the properties of flame. His opinion, as recently expressed, seems to be, that flame consists of gaseous bodies heated above whiteness. Many other curious properties, however, of ignited bodies have been discovered by him in the course of his recent researches and we have little doubt, that before he relinquishes the investigation, he will either be able to go farther towards a solution of the difficulty than former experimentalists have been able to advance, or will at least succeed, by exhibiting an accurate statement of the case, in giving currency to a more scientific mode of considering this subject, than that which has so long been implicitly adopted by the multitude of more superficial and careless inquirers. -It is at all times a treat of the highest kind, to follow the progress of scientific discovery-but the gratification derived from this source is necessarily enhanced to an incalculable amount, when there seems reason to apprehend, as in the present instance, that the perseverance of the philosopher is on the point of being rewarded, by the developement of some views of prominent importance. The curiosity of a liberal mind admits, in fact, of no higher gratification (the delight of the discoverer himself excepted) than that of being permitted to watch the event. TAN, WITH EXTRACTS FROM CRA- MR EDITOR, In the learned and elegant disserta tion, in your last Number, on the Prometheus of Eschylus, an old opinion has been revived, that Milton took the character of his Satan from the Prometheus of the Athenian poet. Both personages are stern and unbending, and so far, certainly, the resemblance holds good; but such a Satan as Milton had to delineate was already sketched with a masterly hand by the Italian poet, Marino, in his poem on "The Slaughter of the Innocents," one book of which, "The Suspicion of Herod," was translated into English by Crashaw, and given to the public long before Paradise Lost was written. The poem of Marino I have never been able to procure even a sight of; but I have sent you some extracts from the translation, which, owing to the general bad taste of Crashaw, it is probable few of your readers are acquainted with; and those who are, will readily pardon you for reprinting some of the finest lines our poetry can boast of.The suggestion, that Milton has borrowed from them, is not new, but has been little attended to. DIGAMMA. From "The Suspicion of Herod," translated by Crashaw, from Marino, beginning at stanza 5. BELOW the bottom of the great abyss, There, where one centre reconciles all things, The world's profound heart pants; there placed is Mischief's old Master; close about him clings A curl'd knot of embracing snakes, &c. Tears, He fills a burnish'd throne of quenchless aspire; And, to make up Hell's majesty, each horn His eyes, the sullen dens of Death and dead... His breath Hell's lightning is, and each deep groan Disdains to think that Heaven thunders alone! Three rigorous virgins, waiting still behind, Assist the throne of the iron-scepter'd King; With whips of thorns, and knotty vipersTM twin'd, They rouse him, when his rank thoughts need a sting. Thus reigns the wrathful King, and while His sceptre and himself both he disdains. cost Thee all the beauties of thy once bright eyes? crost The glories that did gild thee in thy rise? From Death's sad shades, to the lifebreathing air, This mortal enemy to mankind's good Lifts his malignant eyes, wasted with care, &c. He calls to mind the old quarrel, and what Set the contending sons of Heaven on fire : While new thoughts boil'd in his enraged His gloomy bosom's darkest character Is what in sign of joy among the blest A desperate "Oh me!" drew from his "Oh me!" thus bellowed he; "oh me! what great Portents before mine eyes their powers advance ? And serves my purer sight only to beat Frown I, and can great Nature keep her seat, Heaven's golden-winged herald late he Can His attempts above still prosperous be, Immortal flowers to her fair hand present.He saw, how in that blest day-bearing night The Heaven-rebuked shades made haste How bright a dawn of angels with new light He saw a three-fold sun, with rich increase He saw the falling Idols all confess He saw Heaven blossom with a new-born On which, as on a glorious stranger, gaz'd The golden eyes of Night, whose beam made bright The way to Bethlem, and as boldly blazed Symptoms so deadly unto Death and him, Auspicious still, in spite of Hell and Me? And, for the never-fading fields of light, To draw a long-liv'd death, where all my cheer Is the solemnity my sorrow wears, forth, To make the partner of his own pure ray: Bow our bright heads before a king of clay ? And to dare something, is some victory. "Is He not satisfied? means He to wrest Hell from me too, and sack my territories? Vile human nature, means he not t' invest (0 my despite !) with his divinest glories? And rising with rich spoils upon his breast, With his fair triumphs fill all future stories! Must the bright arms of Heaven rebuke these eyes, Mock me, and dazzle my dark mysteries? "Art thou not Lucifer? he to whom the droves Of stars that gild the morn in charge were The nimblest of the lightning-winged loves, * heaven? Ah wretch! what boots thee to cast back thy eyes Where dawning Hope no beam of comfort shews? While the reflection of thy forepast joys grows. What force cannot effect, fraud shall devise. "And yet whose force fear I?-Have I so lost Myself? my strength too, with my inno cence? Come, try who dares, Heaven, Earth, what e'er dost boast A borrowed being, make thy bold defence! cost Me yet another fall?-we'd try our strengths. Heaven saw us struggle once; as brave a fight Earth now should see, and tremble at the sight!" Thus spoke th' impatient prince, and made a pause. His foul hags rais'd their heads, and clapp'd their hands, And all the Powers of Hell, in full applause, Flourish'd their snakes, and toss'd their flaming brands. * * WHITE'S NEW INVENTED HORIZON. MR EDITOR, It is well known, that, at sea, when the natural horizon is obscured by thick or foggy weather, the sun's meri dian altitude, for ascertaining the latitude of the ship's place, cannot be observed; consequently, the navigator has nothing to depend on, until noon next day, to regulate his future proceedings, except his dead reckoning. In the English Channel, the North Sea, the Banks of Newfoundland, the Coast of America, and many other places of the world, the fogs are often so thick, and of such long continuance, as to render it impossible to ascertain the true position of the ship, for want of the latitude. Under such circumstances, although the sun is seen very distinctly, and felt very powerfully, there is no other alternative but to keep the ship at sea: for no man in his senses will run for a port, in such weather, without being pretty certain of his latitude. To obviate these hitherto insurmountable obstacles, Mr Gavin White, grocer in Kinross, has, by a wonderful effort of uncultivated genius, invented a very simple apparatus,-with which, when fixed, by an easy process, to the common quadrant, an artificial horizon can thereby be obtained, and the sun's meridian altitude observed, the same as if ascertained with a quadrant and natural horizon, in the common way "I thank you all, but one must single made use of on board a ship at sea. Heaven saw her rise, and saw Hell in the to the invention and inventor. sight. W. BAIN, Master, Royal Navy. Edinburgh, May 6th 1817. TALES AND ANECDOTES OF THE PASTORAL LIFE. No II. THE wedding-day at length arrived; and as the bridegroom had charged us to be there at an early hour, we set out on horseback, immediately after breakfast, for the remote hamlet of Stridekirtin. We found no regular path, but our way lay through a country which it is impossible to view without soothing emotions. The streams are numerous, clear as crystal, and wind along the glens in many fantastic and irregular curves. The mountains are green to the tops, very high, and form many beautiful soft and shaded outlines. They are, besides, literally speckled with snowy flocks, which, as we passed, were feeding or resting with such appearance of undisturbed repose, that the heart naturally found itself an involuntary sharer in the pastoral tranquillity that pervaded all around. My good friend, Mr Grumple, could give me no information regarding the names of the romantic glens and mountains that came within our view; he, however, knew who were the proprietors of the land, who the tenants, what rent and stipend each of them paid, and whose teinds were unexhausted; this seemed to be the sum and substance of his knowledge concerning the life, character, and manners, of his rural parishioners, save that he could sometimes adduce circumstantial evidence that such and such farmers had made money of their land, and that others had made very little or none. This district, over which he presides in an ecclesiastical capacity, forms an extensive portion of the Arcadia of Britain. It was likewise, in some late ages, noted for its zeal in the duties of religion, as well as for a thirst after the acquirement of knowledge concerning its doctrines; but under the tuition of such a pastor as my relative appears to be, it is no wonder that practical religion should be losing ground from year to year, and scepticism, the natural consequence of laxity in religious duties, gaining ground in proportion. It may be deemed, perhaps, rather indecorous, to indulge in such reflections respecting any individual who has the honour to be ranked as a mem ber of a body so generally respectable as our Scottish Clergy, and who, at the same time, maintains a fair worldly character; but in a general discussion in any thing that relates to the common weal of mankind; all such inferior considerations must be laid aside. And the more I consider the simplicity of the people of whom I am now writing the scenes among which they have been bred and their lonely and sequestered habits of life, where the workings and phenomena of nature alone appear to attract the eye or engage the attention,-the more I am convinced that the temperament of their minds would naturally dispose them to devotional feelings. If they were but taught to read their Bibles, and only saw uniformly in the ministers of religion that sanctity of character by which the profession ought ever to be distinguished, these people would naturally be such as every wellwisher to the human race would desire a scattered peasantry to be. But when the most decided variance between example and precept is forced on their observation, what should we, or what can we, expect? Men must see, hear, feel, and judge accordingly. And certainly in no other instance is a patron so responsible to his sovereign, his country, and his God, as in the choice he makes of spiritual pastors. These were some of the reflections that occupied my mind as I traversed this beautiful pastoral country with its morose teacher, and from these I was at length happily aroused by the appearance of the cottage, or shepherd's steading, to which we were bound. It was situated in a little valley in the bottom of a wild glen, or hope, as it is there called. It stood all alone; but besides the dwellinghouse, there was a little byre that held the two cows and their young,-a good stack of hay, another of peats,a sheep-house, and two homely gardens; and the place had altogether something of a snug, comfortable appearance. Though this is only an individual picture, I am told it may be viewed as a general one of almost every shepherd's dwelling in the south of Scotland; and it is only such pictures that, in the course of these tales, I mean to present to the public. A number of the young shepherds and country-lasses had already arrived, impatient for the approaching wed |