situated in the Honeycomb, and the others not far from the triangular pillar just noticed :—the total number of pillars of four and of eight sides, bear but a small proportion to the entire mass of pillars, of which it may be safely computed that ninety-nine out of an hundred have either five, six, or seven sides.

The length of each of the shorter prisms, or joints, varies from four feet to four inches; and there is a single pillar on the eastern side of the Grand Causeway, which exhibits thirty-eight distinct joints, exclusively of two others which have been broken off it.

From each angle of every inferior prism, there springs a triangular projection, pointing upwards :-these are called spurs, or splices. As they form a very curious feature in this structure, and as the consideration of their nature has been supposed to afford some data in reasoning on this subject, it may be necessary to attempt a particular de scription of them. To the eye they appear to be closely and intimately united to the pillar, but when struck with a sledge they readily separate from it; and we perceive, on examining the interior surfaces of the pillar and spur, that they are not integral parts, but have been merely applied very closely in contact, except at one point, which is always the base of the spur. The contiguous surfaces of the pillar and of the triangular spur are curved; so that there are twice as many curved surfaces as plane sides, upon each pillar, when discovered. This curvilinear tendency is stated as an insuperable objection to the idea of crystallization having been concerned in the formation of these pillars: but, amidst the infinite variety of forms assumed by minerals, some are the result of perfect, others of imperfect, crystallization; and no person alleges that a basaltic prism is a perfect crystal.

It appears, then, that the whole structure of the Giant's Causeway is formed by what may be termed dividing sections, which are always straight, and subdividing sections, which are always curved. The dividing sections separate one column from another, leaving the contiguous divided parts of equal superficies; the subdividing sections separate each column, within itself, into joints and spurs; and the dimensions of these joints and spurs bear no relative proportion to those of any contiguous column.

To such as are not aequainted with minerals, it may be necessary to ob serve, that basaltes is here used to express all the modifications of what is commonly called trapp, whynstone, and greenstone.

That of which the

Causeway stratum is composed is finegrained, of a very dark blueish colour, conchoidal fracture, sonorous, fusible, and articulated. By these and other circumstances, it may be distinguished, in many instances with certainty, from all the other strata of which this coast is composed; but it is more particularly distinguished by its resting uniformly, wherever it is visible, upon a great bed of red ochre; and in order to contemplate their differences, with precision, they should all be considered with refer ence to the ochre, beneath which no columnar figure has ever been seen.

Almost all the coarse, or amorphous, kind of basaltes, contain cavities or nodules of some foreign matter, such as calcareous spar, zeolite, chalcedony, or steatites; some contain pure water; and carbonate of strontian has been found in two situations.

In the intervals between the three Causeways are two of those whyn-dykes already mentioned, which are the sixth and seventh of those twelve which are met with in this district. They derive their name from their resemblance to walls, and are composed of small basaltic prisms, arranged with their axes placed horizontally, or nearly so.

In the face of the headland, which rises from the southern end of the Causeway, at an elevation of more than two hundred feet, immediately above the Middle Causeway, lies a bed of a peculiar substance, extremely similar to ashes; and various fragments, mostly rounded, which generally float on water, resembling cinders and pumice-stone, and unquestionably the products of fire. are found loose here, and also on the sea-shore, and in other parts of the cliffs. The origin of those substances has given rise to much speculation. and several theorists have been so blinded by prejudice as to deny their existence: some have alleged, that they have floated here from Iceland; and another gentleman has stated they are produced artificially by fusion in the kelp kilns used here. But any person free from the bigotry of system may satisfy himself of the futility of these subterfuges, by mere inspection of the bed just mentioned, and by considering,

that the quantity of loose substances like scoria and pumice are too great to admit of deception, whilst their elevation precludes the possibility of their having been cast there, by the sea, at any period since the deluge.

Immediately beyond the Grand Causeway, to the east, is a semicircular bay, called Portnoffer, surrounded by high cliffs; and near the south side of it is seen a beautiful colonnade, which is known to unite with, and form a part of, the Causeway stratum. There are about fifty columns, the middle ones about forty feet long, but their apparent length decreases, like the pipes of an organ, toward the ends of the colonnade, which, from this similarity, has been called "the Organ." In Portnoffer is also seen the eighth and ninth of those whyn-dykes, which we had occasion to speak of already; and towards the extremity of this little bay is the second station, usually chosen by painters, in taking an east view of the Causeway.

Ascending a path which leads to the right, up the steep ascent which bounds Portnoffer to the south, we arrive once more on the platform which lies above those cliffs, the height of which from the sea is between three and four hundred feet; and as we proceed to the eastward, keeping pretty close to the edge of those tremendous precipices, and following their varied line for upwards of a mile, and having had in our progress many grand and interesting views downwards, from the summits of the several cliffs and headlands which we passed; and after having noticed at Roovenvalla several crooked or curved pillars, and those remarkable whyn-dykes which form that headland; and after having seen at Portnaspania the last whyndyke which occurs within this promontory, and those rocks on which was shipwrecked one of the Spanish armada; we now arrive at Pleskin.

Pleskin is a headland, the formation of every part of which is singularly beautiful, whilst the magnitude of its dimensions gives to the whole an air of grandeur and sublimity. Round its base strewed, in vast irregular heaps, fragments of rocks that have tumbled from the cliffs above, which rising almost perpendicularly, exhibit, first, an horizontal stratum of red ochre, then a thick black stratum of that kind of tabular basaltes called trapp, then another stratum of red ochre, on which rest a regular and beautiful colonnade

of basaltic pillars, being precisely similar in texture and in structure to those which form the Giant's Causeway, and being, in fact, only a more elevated part of the same stratum; over this rises another bed of trapp, on which stands a second row of pillars, not less beautiful than those last mentioned; a thin bed of irregular basaltic rock, a slight covering of earth, and a scanty herbage, forms the summit of those stupendous cliffs, whose dark outline is finely contrasted with the sky above.

Pleskin is seen to great advantage from the promontory of Benhann Farragan, which is the third grand station chosen by strangers to view this coast, and lies a short distance to the east; and the space between these two headlands forms a vast amphitheatre, whose colonnades, rising row above row, unite all the symmetry of art to all the ma jesty of nature.

Turning now towards the great Atlantic, whose waves wage unceasing war with those iron bulwarks, the eye may trace the bold outline of this northern coast, from the island of Ennistrahull and Malin-Head, in the county of Donegal, being the most northerly extremity of Ireland, to Fair-Head, in the county of Antrim, and the adjacent Island of Rathlin. Northwards, farther than the eye can reach, are spread the numerous Hebrides, among which Jura stands preeminent, with its three lofty and conical mountains, whose summits, of the clearest azure, rise above the steep grey cliffs of Isla, the nearest of those islands to the Irish shore; to the east lie the high dark hills of Cantyre, and farther to the south the little islands of Sandha and Ailsa, beyond which the blue hills of Ayrshire are just visible. Pleskin is the coup d'œil which generally terminates the researches of travellers who visit the Giant's Causeway, although many objects farther to the east are well worthy of observation-Bengore-Head, which forms the northern boundary of the county of Antrim, and lies in latitude 55°12' 16" North-Portmoon, with its pillared shores-and the ruined tower of Dunseverick, standing upon an isolated rock. But on this wonderful coast, where order rises out of confusion, and where Nature emulates the regularity of Art only to heighten the effect produced by her own rude magnificence, it is with reluctance that the traveller stops short; for though the frame be wearied, the eye of taste remains unsated.

(To be continued.)

is one of the purest passions of the human mind: it courts not in the sunny bours of pleasure and prosperity; but, when the storms of fate gather round the child of sorrow, rushes forward to its aid, participates in every grief, and throws the gifts of fortune into the lap of the desponding mourner. It comes not to console affliction dressed in the plausible but insulting tones of pity: it does not paint the anguish of regret in frothy sounds or vaunted commiseration; its actions are its vouchers, not its words: it does not probe the wounded heart, and yet refuse to meliorate its sufferings it braves the perils of adversity; and knows no delight equal to that of proving its sincerity: it confesses no superiority of rank; it will not bear inequality of fortune. It soothes the tortured heart, and assuages its most burning pangs: it is a gift to the unhappy more valuable than the riches of the earth.

THE CHRISTIAN.

S.

How sweet is the anticipation of the man who figures in his mind the trans

port of that moment when he shall be in the presence of his Maker! With a be coming heroism he combats the evils and the calamities of this mortal state; and although surrounded by the most frightful dangers, he appears neither to exhibit a puerile perturbation nor a callous want of sensibility. The sensations which preponderate in his bosom denote courage of the most exalted nature; he reflects, with true and genuine philosophy, that his stay in this sublunary state will be but as a moment that is gone by, contrasted to the immensity of eternity; and that, by submitting to the all-wise dispensations of Providence, the reward of his meekness and resignation will be a crown of unfading glory-unlike to those crowns possessed by the kings of the earth, of uncertain duration, and implanted with thorns and briars-while his mind shall be filled with that extatic sentiment which glows in the bosoms of angels.

S.

"Ενθ' αὖτε Γλαύλῳ Κρονίδης φρένας ἐξέλι το

Ζεύς,

Ὃς πρὸς Τυδείδην Διομήδεα τεύχε' άμειβι, Χρύσεα χαλκείων, ἑκατόμβοι ̓ ἐννεαβοιών.

Iλ: Z.

to bewail the degradation of philosophy, from the instruction of moral virtue to the less honourable task of scientific inquiry, as the need we constantly exhibit of a recurrence to those lessons which ought always to be in arms against the passions of mankind and the innovating customs of the world. And of all our affections, I know none that should be more sedulously watched than Self Interest; because the root from which it rises is undoubtedly implanted by Nature herself in the human mind, in the feeling of self preservation: and what can be inore difficult than to trace and guard the distinction of protecting ourselves, and of neglecting, or seeking advantage over, others for our own

HERE is nothing leads me so often

emolument? While we think we are acting upon the first law of Nature, we encroach insensibly on the limits of turpitude; and even when completely enveloped in the selfish vice, we look up with the face of guileless simplicity, and say-I do it but to save myself. From this soothing deception first sprung peccadillos; and if each of us began his course from the original boundary, we should find the tracks which branch from it perhaps less trodden, certainly less fallacious. A cautious man who has grown in the maxim to take care of himself, is called only prudent till selfishness excites him to push out of his way any who may impede his progress towards the goal of his ambition. Yet while his violence is reprobated and wondered at, no by-stander reflects on the gradations that led him beyond the innate principle of defence, and each hugs himself in his own provident security, ignorant that he cherishes the seeds of the very poison he shudders at. It may seem that self-interest only usurps a power over low and contracted minds; and yet it is impossible to read the passage of the poet I have quoted without an impression of disadvantage either to the hero he is speaking of (as only over-reached on that occasion), or to the state of morals in his own time; and in the latter supposition, we cannot wonder that a course of lectures was held necessary to teach their youth the distinction of good and evil. It is a paltry sneaking passion; and therefore more dangerous as it winds and insinuates itself under false colours into the heart, till it clings too closely to be removed without stripping the bark with it. Indeed a speculative berald might raise a curious tree from the root of self protection, and deduce the various branches of coldheartedness, fraud, and pillage, from selfishness, the trunk, till he brought it to the acme of murder and usurpation. Every man, I believe, is in some degree afflicted with this malady, though it has different names in its progressive stages, but few or none think of devising a remedy till it becomes incurable. I am tempted to compare the workings of this passion to the increasing infatuation of opium; wariness and prudence soothe us into complacency, and we go on wrapt in the pleasing visions of our success, till we are immerged in a delirium whose eessation must be mortal. We see daily instances where characters confirmed

in respectability by a long and unble. mished course, have sunk at once into infamy, from some action whose source we cannot attain, because we do not perceive the gradual impulse whose increased velocity has borne them suddenly down; but if we examine our hearts, we shall see with alarm, that the best of us has need to counteract its influence, and probably the man at whose degradation we smile and shake the head was only less prompt in looking about him than ourselves. I will introduce the following story, as it is something connected with the subject we have been treating.

Decius is the son of a tradesman whose honest exertions had raised him from an obscure commencement to substantial respectability. While steadily moving in his own sphere he had plodded in the road of increasing wealth, his son, in an equally toilsome and more honourable course, had served his country during a long and harassing warfare. It was at the conclusion of it that Decius found himself at once the inheritor of a large fortune, and at leisure to repose, almost in the opening of life, on the well-earned character of a veteran. The ease and politeness of military address found him the way to an acquaintance with the daughter of a nobleman at a wateringplace, where the splendor of his equi page would have made him an object of general attention, even without the elegance of manner and fine person which in him accompanied it. But the pride of a needy peer, who destined his daughter for blood and poverty like his own, could not brook to be linked with a plebeian name, and Decius received with his wife the indignant taunts of her titled family. That this insult should goad the proud heart of a soldier, who owns no superior but his commander in the field, is not a matter of wonder, and he found ample revenge in obtruding to their eyes the glitter of his establishment and the blaze of his wealth. This, with the mediation of Time, softened them to a reconciliation, and Decius had the proud satisfaction of seeing the peer humbled to confess his own embarrassments and accept his assistance. A narrower passion now crept into his breast; and amidst the confidence of domestic intercourse, he began to brood over the monopoly of the incumbrances he was to lessen, and to anticipate the usurpa..