who have made the science the professed object of their study, it greatly diminishes the extent and magnitude of its influence, and, consequently, the importance of the science itself. For it may be asked, what interest can an individual, in pursuit of general information, be supposed to take in reading a mere catalogue of proper names, or in poring over an everlasting series of minute descriptions, from which he may be led to believe, that natural history resolves itself into a determination of shades of colour, or the three material qualities of length, breadth, and thickness; and that animals do not differ from each other, except in the shape or structure of their bodies, the organization of their limbs, or the nature of their joints, claws, teeth, and articulations?

Such, however, would be the natural conclusion of most men, on perusing the works of the worthy system-makers of the present day. A rage for classification has overpowered every feeling connected with the nobility of true science, and the talents of men, naturally acute, having been diverted into an improper channel, there has been, as might naturally be expected, a declension in intellectual power, in proportion to the decrease in the dignity of the objects by which that power is either exercised or evolved.

What would be thought of the man who would labour for years in acquiring a perfect knowledge of a difficult language, and after having attained the object of his wishes, instead of endeavouring to reap the good fruit of his perseverance and industry, would immediately renounce all communication with men who spoke that language, and forswear the books in which it was written? Would he not be generally considered as an unmeaning enthusiast, a waster of intellect, an iller in perseverance, or, perhaps, like the "Learned Pig," as acting merely from the impulse of a certain species of literary instinct, which he was incapable of modifying or rendering subservient to the dictates of reason? So it is with the man of science, who rests satisfied, not with collecting facts illustrative of particular traits in the character and habits of animals, for these would be useful, although no ingenious or philosophical deductions were drawn from them; but who, retiring to the solitude of his museum, examines species after specics, genus

after genus, order after order, and class after class, till he has almost exhausted the arcana of nature; and then, as it were, satiated for a time by the brilliancy of his discoveries, and desirous to benefit humanity, he brings forth as the offspring of his intellectu al fruition, not an elucidation of the manners of animals, or a description of their forms, as immediately and admirably connected with their peculiar propensities and modes of life, but a most elaborate catalogue of their names and designations, compounded of demiGreek and barbarous Latin, which can have no other effect than that of confounding the intellects of the boys of Eaton or Harrow, or other seminaries intended for promulgating a knowledge of the ancient tongues.

Having rested for a time, anon the potent and irresistible spirit of classification descends upon him. New lights have pierced through the darkness which overshadowed him, and again the species, the genera, the or ders, and the classes, are summoned before the dread tribunal, to undergo another and a stricter scrutiny. Spots specks, dimples, and dilatations, and even entire scales and hairs are discovered, of which no one had, at any former period, ever imagined the existence. Of course, a revolution in great part of the system of nature is the necessary consequence. The trumpet of alarm is sounded-the system is called upon to make its appearanc it is weighed in the balance and found wanting and is consequently levelled with the dust, presenting to mankind a mournful picture of the instability of all human wisdom. Thus, then, is the labour of several weeks, or months, or even of a year or two, and which but yesterday was considered as a most perfect model of philosophical arrange ment, as a bright and glittering star in the dim regions of science, overturned, and demolished, and cast down, and its beams quenched, and extin guished, and put out, and "made as a thing that has never been."

But let not its successor rejoice in this fatal overthrow, or confide in a more durable existence. "For thou art perhaps like it for a season, thy years shall have an end. Thou shalt sleep in thy clouds careless of the voice of the morning," and "wen shall seek for thee, and find thee not; and thy very name shall be unknown.

What indeed can afford a more con

vincing proof of the errors which exist in the present mode of prosecuting the study of particular branches of natural history, than the never ceasing changes which take place in the views and principles of the system-makers themselves. Not only do they in many essential particulars differ from each other, but what is peculiarly unfortunate, the same individual is rarely impressed with similar ideas concerning the true principles of classification for a longer period than a couple of months at a time; so that it would be scarcely possible to conceive a more fruitless task, than an attempt to give an exposition of the different systems of the naturalists of the day, as the author, on having finished what he thought a very fair and luminous statement of their doctrines, would find that one half had in the interim renounced their former opinions, and erected their new systems upon prineiples most opposite to those which they had formerly assumed.

It would be easy to illustrate the truth of these observations, by examples from the productions of ingenious men both at home and abroad; but it is not the object of this short communication to enter at present into detail. Such an examination in fact would be tedious, and perhaps unintelligible, to those who have merely attended to natural history as a popular science; and to those who are more deeply versed, it is unnecessary to notice facts which are so palpably obvious. Too abundant proofs may be found in some modern systems, where the lists of synonyms, and the references to former emanations of the classifying principle, sufficiently demonstrate their own fallacy by contradicting each other. Every enlightened naturalist must be aware of the injury which science sustains by such most erroneous and mistaken views, and of the ridicule to which those who maintain them have exposed themselves. Perhaps that ridicule may not have reached their own ears, but its cause must be apparent even to them if they choose to open their eyes.

** But what are lights to those who blinded be,

Or who so blind as they that will not see? It would be well if these distinguished votaries of science would inform us of any benefit which can pos

sibly be derived from these and similar proceedings. When I talk of benefit, I allude not to the question of cui bono, which might be put by a worldly man while emptying his daily gain into his coffers, but what increase of knowledge is derived from it? what light is thrown on the beautiful operations of nature? Is natural history, properly so called, in any degree dignified or advanced by such modes of study, and by such precious lucubrations? Is the wisdom of Omnipotence glorified by the discovery, that one insect has a joint more in the articulations of its antennæ, and another a joint less in those of its toes, than has hitherto been supposed? unless, indeed, it be at the same time shewn, and which it universally may be, that such variations and distinctions are the result of a beneficent Providence which uniformly and wisely adapts the means to the end in view; or is there no other mode of investigating the wonders of this beautiful world than by taking every thing piecemeal with a pair of pincers?

I am far from wishing to throw ridicule on the labours of the professed zoologist. A knowledge of the detail of natural history is necessary to the enjoyment of her sublimest mysteries. What I would object to is merely the study of this detail, to the exclusion of more enlarged, I may add more enlightened, views.

The preceding observations are in some degree applicable to the spirit which at present may be said to pervade every department of zoology, but that which I have chiefly in view is Entomology, or the Natural History of Insects. It may indeed be supposed by some, that these minute creatures are too insignificant to deserve our attention, or, that if studied at all, the method already alluded to was the only one which, from their utter want of importance in the economy of nature, could possibly be pursued. But this is a most laine and impotent conclusion. I remember the words of an old poet, which deserve the perusal of such reasoners. The passage is from a curious poem by Guidott, on the history of the ephemeron, a wondrous fly that liveth but five hours," prefixed to Tyson's translation of Swammerdam's Ephemeri vita. "Although the great Creator's wisdom shone Both in his foot-stool and his throne,

66

Though greater bodies make the louder

noise,

Yet in the lesser is a voice,

A voice, though still, That doth the mind with admiration fill, And gives to man the product of his will. The insect world, when truly known, Doth both his skill and glory too, declare, They a Creator own

No less than doth the Sun, Their Rise, their Life, their End, Sparks of wise pow'r comprehend."

Natural history, in fact, consists of two distinct divisions. The first comprehends the classification of the various races of animals, the description of their external form,-and the formation of a correct and applicable nomenclature; the second, and without doubt by much the more important, includes the description of their manners, habits, and uses, whether in the economy of nature, or, as subservient to the benefit of mankind, of their food, growth, habitations, and modes of rearing their young,-an account of their hybernation, migration, and other most singular instincts,-and a comprehensive view of their mutual relations, and their physical and geographical distribution over the earth's surface.

In regard to the former, however useful it may be as an accessory to the delightful pursuits to which it leads, if considered in relation to itself alone, few branches of human acquirement can be said to be more tedious, mechanical, and imperfect, or more devoid of real interest and utility. No mind, unless blinded by prejudice, rendered callous by habit and the force of early example, or naturally destitute of the power of indulging in extended and enlightened views, can pursue it to the exclusion of the other. It exhibits no new views of the economy of nature,—it makes no adequate impression of the power, and the goodness, and the wisdom, of Providence,— it conducts neither directly nor indirectly to the exposition of final causes, it affects neither the fancy, the imagination, nor the heart, and exists of itself, and by itself, unconnected with other studies of a more intellectual nature," with no rainbow tinge to allure our gaze by its beauty not one celestial hue to lighten the dull materiality of its aspect

The latter division of the science, however, is fortunately of a very differont nature. It presents a widely

extended and ever-varying field of enjoyment to those whose minds are capable of being excited by the sublime perfections of nature. To him who regards it with a philosophical eye, it is indeed a source of the purest plea sure. In the depth of the most secluded valleys, the resources of his mind never fail him; he feels not alone on the mountain top, though enveloped in mist and vapour; amidst the toil, and the bustle, and the fever of a city, he is calm and serene. A still and placid state of mind is the necessary result of an attentive consi deration of the facts of natural history; and nothing proves, in so pleasing and beautiful a manner, the existence of an Omnipotent Being, as a careful exa mination of the works of nature.

Natural history, indeed, in the true and liberal acceptation of the term, has been the study of the most ele vated minds in every age. To the poet it holds out many and great inducements, as one of the noblest store houses of the imagination; and the regard which has been bestowed upon it by that enlightened class of men, demonstrates its power over the mind, and its consequent value and importance as a study.

In fine, as long as the human mind remains pure and unsullied-as long as it is excited by what is beautiful in simplicity and truth-as long as it de lights to dwell on the sublime productions of Omnipotence, contrasted with the feeble efforts of art-it will derive pleasure and instruction from the study of nature. P. F. Edinburgh, 7th June 1817.

METEOROLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS.

MR EDITOR,

8 in the morning and 8 in the even ing, will be considerably greater.

To obtain an accurate statement of the temperature of a place, the observations should be made every hour; but this is attended with so much trouble and inconvenience, that it will in very few cases be attempted. Four times a day will be accurate enough for comparisons: at 6 or 7 in the morning, noon, 4 in the afternoon, and 10 or 12 at night. But even three will do very well; and then we should substitute 1 or 2 in the afternoon for the middle period. I limit my observations to three, but circumstances generally prevent me from making the middle one till 5, which is rather too late.

I have further to observe, that the Calton, which is stated to be 350 feet above the level of the sea, is too elevated. The average temperature of that hill, I should think, will be some degrees below the general average temperature of Edinburgh. London, 9th August 1817.

C. P.

"A DREAM-a golden dream-what fancies wait

Upon our sleep and yet I wake: they are Apparitions."

T FOUND that the directions of my Conductress, as to my toilet, had been

This is taken from the Doubtful Heir, one of Shirley's plays. Few writers of that age possess greater poetical merit than Shirley. He has not certainly the ingenuity of plot, and astonishing variety of character, which, in addition to his higher beauties, we find in his great contemporary Shakespeare; but in the pathos, melody, and eloquence, of his single speeches, he is unrivalled. It is in no common degree delightful to peruse those authors of this age, who, in the words of Spenser, lead us" To the pure well of Englishe unde filed," before the language was corrupted by that unnatural mixture of foreign terms, and far-fetched and borrowed phrases, which have lately so profusely flowed into it. Even in common conversation it has become fashionable to have constant reference to French expletives. This is unworthy of our national spirit, and a deep indignity to the manly language of the Eng. Lish people.

most scrupulously obeyed. I was conducted into a superb apartment, the walls of which were covered with mir→ rors, showing me my own ill-apparelled figure in every possible attitude and direction-in front, profile, back view, side view, foreshortened, but all equally true and mortifying. My shabby habiliments were soon whirled off by my aerial little friends the Peris, not with out many significant nods and sly looks at each other, as they discovered the holes which had before been ingeniously concealed by my slippers, or the patches which now for the first time emerged into open day. My new dress it is needless minutely to describe. It was rich, full, and flowing. I was literally "clothed in purple and fine linen ;" and after the toilet was completed, one of my winged domestics hovering above my head sprinkled me over with perfume, which she scattered from a little censer. When I stood up, inhaled the delicious fragrance which was emitted, and perceived myself reflected as before on every different side, I felt a kind of complacency and satisfaction, which was a striking contrast to the mortifying reflections my former appearance had created. It is difficult to express the contempt with which I kicked into a corner my former thread-bare apparel.

It was now pretty well advanced in the evening, and the sun was just setting behind the mountains which enclosed the valley, as I set out for Jovius' villa, under the guidance of one of my Peris. The scene which now presented itself was consummately beautiful. The romantic peaks of the mountains were partially gilded with his beams, whilst their broad bases lay buried in shade. The lake itself was, in the words of the greatest master of romantic painting,

"One burnish'd sheet of living gold." The spires and colonnades, which have been before described, and the lofty trees which surrounded them as they caught the level rays, shone with a lustre, which was finely contrasted. with the blue and shadowy haze which enveloped the rest of the landscape. Sunset has been often described, and has been as often pronounced stale.. and trite ground by the critics. Yet to myself, if there is any time in which Nature appears more lovely,

and her language more deep and devotional than another, it is at sunset. But I must proceed with my narration, As I continued my way, I perceived, carelessly seated beneath a tree, whose foliage overhung the road, on a mossy eminence at its root, a figure, who, by the intentness with which he gazed on the scene before him, appeared certainly none of those who affect to be tired of sunset. He seemed wholly engrossed in his own contemplations, -and if he moved, it was only to raise his head to heaven in an attitude of deep thought, and with an expression in which there was a mixture of triumph and devotion. There was something in the air and appearance of this solitary which rivetted my attention. I stopt instinctively, and, pointing to him, turned to the little Spirit who walked beside me. It evidently had not perceived him, for immediately on doing so, it put its hands to its lips, motioning me to be silent, and coming close up, "That," said she," is one of the greatest men in our valley; and we are under the strictest orders never to intrude upon him in his solitary hours. Here is a spot, however, from which you may see him clearly without disturbing him. That is William Shakespeare." At this magic name it is impossible to describe my sensations. Shakespeare, the immortal, the imperishable Shakesspeare, was before me. Had all the emperors in the world appeared, I could have turned my back on them. It was indeed a moment worth centuries of after existence, which showed me Nature in all her loveliness, and Shakespeare, her own anointed, seated like her high priest in the temple of her beauty. I felt, as I approached nearer the mount on which he lay, that I was on holy ground,—and as I passed by in silence, fearing to awake him from his profound meditation, it was with feelings little short of adoration; I could not help often turning back, fearful that I might have seen him for the last time. At length he arose, and, winding slowly down the mount, disappeared in the woods. As my eye gazed after him, the Peri observed, that I need not look so wistfully, for I should certainly see him at Jovius' rout. He and old crusty Ben Jonson will be there to a certainty, and you may chance also to find his other favourite cronies, Shirley and ugly Will Davenant."

As we walked forward, I perceived, on one side of the road, surrounded by woods, a large turreted building, from which, as I approached, I could distinctly hear sounds of such deep complaint, and shrill and high toned objurgation, as convinced me that no scene of merriment was concealed within them. "That," said the Peri, "is our Bridewell, or Literary House of Correction, and the murmurs you hear proceed from those unfortunate authors whose literary crimes have there condemned them to a temporary punishment. We have no time fully to examine it, but we inay just take a peep into the wood, and trust to what first offers."

As we entered, I saw, seated at some distance from me, a man, who appear ed to be writing something much s gainst his will. He took every oppor tunity of stopping in his labour, bit his nails, tore his quill, made various contumelious lounges with his pen a his inkstand, and exhibited every pos sible indication of impatience and disgust. But whenever he stopt, two little fiends, in the shape of printers' devils, who stood on each side of his table, admonished him, by a stroke of their whips, to proceed. In his coun tenance there was an expression of great talent, but seasoned with no common dose of malignity and deri sion. At some distance, and seeming. ly smiling at his misery, stood three aged-looking persons. One in partic ular I remarked, as in his appearance one of the most striking-looking men I ever beheld. His countenance, and indeed his whole demeanour, was that of an ancient Roman. It was rendered more venerable by a long beard which reached almost to his middle; and his figure, which was considerably above the middle size, and enveloped in flowing drapery, recalled to my mind those white-stoled sages who wandered in the groves of the Acad emy. I thought that, as the unfor tunate scribe looked at this remarkable person, his countenance assumed tone of darker malignity, and his unwillingness to write evidently brought more reiterated admonitions from the devils at his elbow. The old man, on the other hand, looked on him with an expression which convinced me that his feelings were more in sor row than in anger."

"That first culprit, whom you see yonder," said the Peri, "is the fa