4. As the terraqueous globe revolves round the sun, its centre; so the moon revolves round the earth, her centre; and in like manner intersects the equator in two opposite points, or nodes, thus obtaining her range through a certain zodiac, by which sometimes one of her poles, sometimes another, being nearer, changes her state and aspect, whereby she enlightens the earth, her centre. The revolutions which she makes, marking out our months, are so many of her years. Thus again there is an image representative of the changes in our earth, in her course; and of the times and seasons depending on it.

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THOUGHTS ON SUBTERRANEOUS FIRES.

By digging a little deep into the earth, a greater degree of cold is felt than on the surface, because the latter is heated by the sun. From thence it is, that the inhabitants of hot countries can preserve ice to cool their drink the whole year. But if they dig fifty or sixty feet deep, the heat increases sensibly; and, if it is a still greater depth, it becomes so close, that it stops respiration, and puts out a candle. It is not easy to determine the cause of this heat. Those who admit that there are concealed fires in every place under the earth, approach, perhaps, the nearest to the truth. But how this fire, so closely confined, can burn; what the substance is that feeds it, or how it can be burned without consuming, is what cannot be determined with certainty. There are phænomena on our globe, which prove the existence of subterraneous fires in a very formidable manner. From time to time there are terrible eruptions of fire. The two mostrarkable mountains which produce such

the diversities of days represent themselves in the diversities of years, but also the least minute of a day; for whatever constitutes the aggregate or whole of time in a year's space as a general, must have the smallest interval ranged in its proper place, as one of the particulars constituting it. In like manner, every two hours of every day corresponds to its month; for there are twelve times two hours in every day, as there are twelve months in the year: those in the morning represent the vernal or spring months: those in the afternoon, the summer months: those at night, the autumnal and winter months. For the warmth of spring and heat of summer, correspond to the twelve hours of the day: and the cold and darkness of autumn and winter correspond to those of the night. If we go further, like correspondences occur in their lesser divisions, as the first minutes of every hour with the fourth part of any day, and

so on.

VOL. I.

C

No. 1.

are Etna in Sicily, and Vesuvius in the kingdom of Naples. The accounts given of these two volcanoes are frightful. Sometimes a black vapor only rises out of them; at other times a hollow roaring is heard; all at once it is followed by thunder and lightning, attended by an earthquake. Then the vapor clears up, and becomes luminous. Stones fly with violence, and fall again into the gulph which threw them out. Sometimes these eruptions are so violent, that large pieces of rock are hurled into the air, and turn round as swiftly as a foot-ball. The force of the interior air of these mountains is so prodigious, that, in the last century, pieces of rocks weighing three hundred pounds were thrown into the air, and fell again at the distance of three miles. However, even these eruptions are not the worst; for, at certain times, the vitrified entrails of the earth boil up, and rise, till their formidable foaming runs over at the outside, and flows for the space of several miles through the neighboring fields, where it swallows up every thing in its passage. Then the torrent of fire lasts for several days. One wave rolls over another till it reaches the sea. And even here its violence is such, that it continues to flow some time without being extinguished in the waters of the ocean. Who can think without terror of the disasters which such eruptions occasion? Whole farms and villages, with their fertile plantations, are swallowed up. The meadows are consumed. The olive trees and vines entirely destroyed. We are told, that in one of the eruptions of Etna, the torrent of burning lava spread itself over fourteen cities; and that the roaring within the mountain was heard at twenty miles distance..

But wherefore these volcanoes, which spread such terror and devastation on the earth? Why has the Lord created them? The existence of those volcanoes cannot be the work of chance; and I ought to conclude, that the Creator has wise reasons for permitting such to be. Besides, even in this, I find the beneficent hand which provides for the welfare of mankind. Whatever mischief these eruptions occasion, it is nothing in comparison of the advantage they are, on the whole, to our globe. The bosom of the earth being full of fire, it was absolutely necessary that there should be volcanoes, because they are the vents by which the force of the dreadful element is broken and weakened. And though the countries where the subterraneous fires collect in greatest quantities, are subject to earthquakes, they would be still more violent, if these volcanoes did not exist. Italy would not be such a fertile country,

If, new and then, the fire which the earth contains had not found a vent in those mountains. And after all, who knows if these frightful phænomena may not produce several other advantages concealed from us, and if the influence of them may not extend over whole the globe? At least, this is enough to convince us, that they contribute to fulfil the designs of our Divine Author, so full of wisdom and goodness.

THE FINE ARTS.

The liberal or polite arts form a distinct class from what are termed useful or mechanic; the latter being those whercin the hand and body are more concerned than the mind; the former such as depend more on the labor of the mind than that of the hand they are the produce of the imagination; their essence consists in expression, and their end is pleasure. Some of the po lite arts, indeed, are frequently applied to objects that are useful, or exercised in matters that are instructive; but in these cases, though the groundwork belongs to those sciences which employ the understanding, yet the expression arises from the inventive faculty. It is a picture that is designed by Minerva, to which the muses add the coloring, and the graces the frame. This union, therefore, forms the perfection of the art, according to that sententious and well known precept of Horace: Omne tulit punctum, qui miscuit utile dulci.*

Under the denomination of polite arts, therefore, are comprehended eloquence, poetry, music, painting, sculpture, graving, architecture, declamation, and dancing; descriptions of which shall be given, in future numbers, under their respective names, the object of present attention being their rise, progress, decline, and revival.

In the early ages of the world, they were but little known. The necessaries of life were to be procured, and to this end the useful were alone attended to: but these soon paved the way to the fine arts. Men upon whom the former had bestowed every convenience, turned their thoughts to the latter. Beauty was studied in objects of sight; and men of taste attached themselves to the fine arts,

"When usefulness and pleasure join, Perfection crowns the grand design"

which multiplied their enjoyments, and improved their benevelence. Sculpture and painting made an early figure in Greece; which afforded plenty of beautiful originals to be copied in these imitative arts. Statuary, a more simple imitation than painting, was soon brought to perfection. The statue of Jupiter by Phidias, and of Juno by Polycletes, though the admiration of the world, were executed long before the art of light and shade was known. Apollodorus, and Zeuxi his disciple, who flourished in the 15th Olympiad, were the first who figured in that art. Another cause concurred to advance statuary before painting in Greece, viz. a great demand for statues of the gods. Architecture, as a fine art, made a slow progress. Proportions, upon which its elegance chiefly depends, cannot be accurately ascertained, but by an infinity of trials, in large buildings: a model cannot be relied on: for a large and a small building, even of the same form, require different proportions.

From the fine arts mentioned, we proceed to literary compositions. It is agreed among all antiquaries, that the first writings were in verse, and that writing in prose was of a much later date; to account for which, many learned pens have been employed, but without success. By some it has been urged, that as memory is the only record of events where writing is unknown, history, originally, was composed in verse, for the sake of memory. This is not satisfactory. To undertake the arduous task of composing in verse, merely for the sake of memory, would require more foresight than was ever exerted by a barbarian. The account given by Longinus is more ingenious. In a fragment of his treatises on verse, the only part that remains, he observes, "that measure or verse belongs to poetry, because poetry represents the various passions with their language; for which reason the ancients, in their ordinary discourse, delivered their thoughts in verse, rather than in prose." Longinus thought, that anciently men were more exposed to accidents and dangers, than when they were protected by good governments and fortified cities. But he seems not to have adverted, that fear and grief, inspired by dangers and misfortunes, are better suited to humble prose, than to elevated verse. It may be added, that however natural poetical diction may be when one is animated with any vivid passion, it is not supposable that the ancients never wrote nor spoke but when excited by passion. Their history, their laws, their covenants, were certainly not composed in that tone of mind.

But this mystery will perhaps be elucidated, when it is adverted that the profession of a bard was antecedent to writing, and died away gradually, as the latter became more and more common. The songs of the bards, being universal favorites, were certainly the first compositions that writing was employed upon; they would be carefully collected by the most skilful writers, in order to preserve them in perpetual remembrance. The following part of the progress is obvious. People acquainted with no written compositions but what were in verse, composed in verse their laws, their religious ceremonies, and every remarkable transaction that was intended to be preserved in memory, by writing. But when subjects of writing were multiplied, and became more and more involved; when people began to reason, to teach, and harangue, they were obliged to descend to humble prose; for, to confine a writer or speaker to verse in handling subjects of that nature, would be a burden insupportable.

The prose compositions of early historians are all of them dramatic. A writer destitute of art is naturally prompted to relate facts as he saw them performed; he introduces his personages as speaking and conferring; and he himself relates what was acted and spoke. In support of this observation a certain author makes the following assertion, in which he has mingled truth with error: He says "the historical books of the Old Testament are composed in that mode; and so addicted to the dramatic are the authors of those books, that they frequently introduce the Deity himself into the dialogue: at the same time, the simplicity of the mode is happily suited to the poverty of language in its early periods. The dramatic mode has a delicious effect in expression, sentiment, and every thing that is simple and tender: by which a low incident often becomes not a little interesting. An instance of this effect may be found in the story of Ruth."

But the dramatic mode of composition, however pleasing, is tedious and intolerable in a long history. In the progress of society new appetites and new passions arise; men come to be involved with each other in various connexions; incidents and events multiply, and history becomes intricate by an endless variety of circumstances. Dialogue accordingly is more sparingly used, and in history plain narration is mixed with it. Narration is, as it were, the ground work, and dialogue is raised upon it, like flowers in embroidery. Homer is admitted by all to be the great master in that mode of composition.

[To be continued: