Thy powerful verse, to grace the courtly hall, Shall many a tale of elder time recall, The deeds of knights, the loves of dames proclaim, [fame. And give forgotten bards their former Enough for me, if Fancy wake the shell, To Eastern minstrels strains like thine to tell; [restore, Till saddening memory all our haunts The wild-wood walks by Esk's romantic [to fail shore, The circled hearth, which ne'er was wont In cheerful joke, or legendary tale. Thy mind, whose fearless frankness nought could move, [love. Thy friendship, like an elder brother's While from each scene of early life I part, True to the beatings of this ardent heart, When, half-deceas'd, with half the world [green; between, My name shall be unmention'd on the When years combine with distance, let me be "Or Ocean's waves successive flow In just gradations to the shore." THERE C. Mr.URBAN, New Romney, March 7. HERE are few, if any, of the existing pleasures of life, that have power to interest the mind or affect the heart so deeply as those which we derive from returning after long absence to a place in which we have passed our early days. That of our nativity in particular, as it stands first in the order of time, so is it commonly, indeed almost invariably, connected with the warmest sentiments of attachment to every well-remembered object whether animate or inanimate, which never fail to advance their appropriate claims, and forcibly engage a much greater portion of regard and attention than ever we felt befo or ever should have known, but for that dormant power of attraction which long-continued absence awakens or creates in almost every human breast, before, "When we retrace once more the paths Of Childhood's flowery scenes." To the feelings arising from those objects which were first presented to the eye "when life was new," as few have received a stronger impression of them, or preserved them with greater care than myself, so have I repeatedly paid them the most minute and ample tributes of commemoration both public and private. The next impressions of this nature are those which have been made upon the mind by the places and persons amongst which we have passed the suc succeeding period of youth. Of these impres impressions, I experience at the present moment some that are extremely interesting, although, from the many years that have elapsed since my last renewal of them, they are become inevitably of a mixed and opposite nature, producing, at almost every step, the alternate sensations of pleasing and painful even in the same dwellings; where I meet, perhaps, one or more of the few surviving friends of my early days that I last beheld in the bloom and activity of youth, to whom advancing age has given the pallid check or the trembling step, and marked their brows, like my own, with the strong lines of grief or care, so as to cause a momentary hesitation of the mind, before it can be induced to admit their identity, and which, when confirmed by indubitable proofs of recognition, brings with it the recital not only of many a joyous but also many a mournful event, which an interval of thirty or forty years must be expected to produce. On this and other occasions I have derived from the correspondence you have done me the honour to admit on your respectable pages, the gratification of finding that I have been oftener thought of by distant and long separated friends than I should otherwise have been, and that it has kept alive in them an interest in the progressive circumstances of my life, to which I owe, perhaps, in many instances, the favourable and friendly reception I have every where experienced from the surviving acquaintance of my younger days. This, with me, is an object of much superior consideration to that of any literary credit I have the least pretensions to aspire to; whatever may have been conceived ceived or affected to be thought of me in respect to the frequent publication of my sentiments; which having been on subjects invariably coming from and addressed to the heart, I have the pleasure to be convinced, have met with that approbation from those whom I most wish to interest, which I have ever been far more solicitous to obtain than any distinction that could be acquired by genius or learning, were I possessed of either. In revisiting the place I date from, "How many fond memorials rise From every spot I see!" And the painful apprehension expressed in the succeeding lines "But who can tell if former friends Will e'er remember me."-CARTER. has been happily done away. The house in which I passed six years of my early life, from the age of fifteen to twenty-one, as a clerk in the profession I had chosen, or rather was chosen for me, is one of the most respectable description for a country town, detached from other houses, and commanding, in front, a pleasant view of the sea, and from a side window above, at which my writing-desk was placed, a prospect of the Sussex hills in the neighbourhood of my present residence, with the conspicuous and well-remembered object of Farleigh church, or what I have always taken and still believe to be so, though I am told it is questionable. It was im possible for me to behold once more even the exterior of this dwelling, which I find but little altered, without a grateful respect to the memory of my old master (an obsolete term, I believe, with clerks of the present day) from whom I constantly received the most liberal treatment, and every reasonable indulgence; a still more cordial recollection of his nephew and contemporary clerk arose to enforce its peculiar claim, of whom I can truly say that he possessed the warmest heart, the most engaging manners, and was in all respects worthy of a firm and lasting friendship which existed between us; ou his part to the latest hour of life, and will continue on mine undiminished as long as I retain the tender but now mournful remem brance of his estimable qualities, and of our summer evening walks on the sea shore, which, in regard to him and other dear companions of my youth, presents an awful and impressive consideration of that rapid stream of time by which they have been carried on to the ocean of eternity. The reader will perceive that I have adopted this idea from one of Addison's Spectators, in which he introduces a very fine allegorical picture of human life, and I have never met with any thing more appropriate to my present subject. The sea is an object which, even from its magnitude alone, is one of the grandest on the theatre of Nature; and, connected as it is in the minds of most men with the remembrance of some deceased or far distant friend, affords the most interesting, sublime, and instructive contemplations; not only to those who "remain in ships, and occupy their business in great waters," of whom it is justly remarked in the inspired writings that they more especially " see the works of the Lord, and his wonders in the deep;" but also those who stand securely on the shore, when "at his word the stormy wind ariseth, which lifteth up the waves thereof," and behold their fellow creatures, in utter dismay, " carried up to the heaven, and down again to the depths;" or when they are awakened in a tempestuous night from that repose on their beds, which a firm habitation and every external requisite for safety and comfort can supply, when, amidst all this security in their own persons, they wake to the consideration of those fearful dangers to which they know so many of the human race, and possibly some of their dearest relatives, are exposed "in an hour like this;" it is surely impossible for a mind of common sensibility not to be seriously alarmed with apprehension and compassion for them, not to offer up an earnest prayer for their deliverance, and to "praise the Lord for his goodness when he maketh the storm to cease." Many a night of this description have I felt the most alarming inquietudes for all who are subjected to the perils of the sea, and in particular for one inexpressibly dear to my paternal affections, who, 1 bless God, was safely conducted by his providence over the trackless deep, although he afterwards fell a victim to the destructive climate of a distant country. Having contemplated the sea on this terrific point of view, I return to those pensive reflections excited by the memory of my former young companions, and of him in particular with whom I was accustomed to enjoy the summer evenings to which I have alluded, when the gentle undulation of its surface responded to the soft and plaintive notes of his flute, while we sat togther on a seat which we had fixed in a favourite spot upon the beach, and beheld the distant ships pursuing their course "on the wide expanse of waters." Those ships, or rather, I should say, the greater part of them that were embarked therein, have long since, in all human probability, finished their repeated voyages; some, doubtless, found a grave in the overwhelming element, others reached their destined ports. May those who have passed "the waves of this troublesome world experience the blessing implored for them at their birth, and be now at rest" in the land of everlasting life; and all who are yet striving amidst its tumultuous billows, seek their final repose on "the rock of ages," the only rock which can for safety be approached in the hour of danger and distress. Before I leave a place in which every surrounding object has called forth these reflections, and made that impression on my mind which is inseparably attached to the remembrance of our young associates in the latter part of life, I will close the subject with a serious admonition to those who are now forming their early friendships. Without supposing that they are either absolutely associates in habits of dissipation, or wholly exempt from youthful error, let them learn from the experience of all who have preceded them in life, that exactly as their present conduct and pursuits are influenced by the principles of virtue or of vice, will be their conscious satisfaction or their lasting regret for many a distant day, when time shall have swept away the companions of their youth, and left them to the feelings which will certainly arise whenever they return to the place of their former residence, and especially if it leads them to a solitary walk on the sea shore, where the regular succession of advancing and receding waves affords a striking emblem of successive generations, and will anticipate the blissful peace or impending terrors of that inevitable hour which is to fix their fate for ever. H W. B. Mr. URBAN, Worcester, March 17. AVING lately received a letter from a learned and highly respected friend at Exeter, I shall be greatly obliged by your inserting, in your valuable Miscellany, the following extract, and my comments upon it. I have never seen the work alluded to. "A modern French Philosopher (I believe a Mons. Lambert) has published a theory of the heavens, which seems to contain some new thoughts. He supposes that there is one grand centre in the middle of the universe; that the centre of our system is not the sun, as generally supposed, but an opaque spot, which reflects a pale light in the constellation Orion; around which centre the sun revolves in a small orbit, besides revolving on his own axis; that beyond our system other systems revolve round their proper centres; all which centres he conceives to be opaque bodies; that an aggregate of these systems, consisting of a certain number, each having its own sun, stars, &c. the inferior drawn after the superior by the law of attraction, move e together round a common centre; and, finally, that the whole world, or universe of systems, moves round the grand universal centre. This last idea strikes me as presenting to the mind so grand, so simple, so sublime, and so harmonious a spectacle, as gradually amuses the imagination, and raises the thoughts to the contemplation of the stupendous works of the adorable Author of those innumerable worlds beyond worlds, and systems beyond systems." Now, Mr. Urban, from this extract, so elegantly expressed by my friend, (not presuming to follow him through the whole of his heavenly reverie, but confining myself solely to what is ap parent in our own system, as proper only for man to scan) I co certainly think that Lambert's discovery is SO very reasonable, that it has shaken, though, perhaps, not totally overthrown, the Copernican or Newtonian system; because that system, in supposing the sun himself to be the centre, and at the same time admitting him to move in the ecliptic, refutes itself. For how does it move? Seeing Seeing it is physically impossible for' a centre to move, does it move in a straight line up and down? No! that cannot be. It assuredly must revolve round a centre, as Lambert says, for that is most reasonable to the studious mind; because, in my conception, the moving of the planets with such wonderful velocity in a circle, as they are supposed to do, nay must do, is the efficient cause of their keeping so regularly in their orbits; which a straight line could never perform, the Almighty power being out of the question. Seeing then, as I said before, it is impossible in human conception for a centre to move, the following question arises in my mind. If it be admitted that Lambert is right, and that the sun moves in an orbit, whose centre is the centre of our system, is not that orbit perpendicular or vertical to the orbits of our earth and the other planets, and in a North and South plane; and thereby the efficient cause of suminer and winter in them all, if I may be allowed the bold conjecture; supposing them to revolve in the same parallel or horizontal plane with the earth? Again, the supposition that the sun's orbit is perpendicular or vertical, and in a North and South plane, being admitted, I conceive that the aphelion of the sun must be when he enters into Cancer and Capricorn, and the diameter of the earth's orbit passes through the centre of the sun's orbit from those signs, and in a North and South plane; and the perihelion, when he enters into Aries and Libra, and the diameter of the earth's orbit passes through the centre of the sun's orbit, and the centre of the sun himself, from those signs, and in an East and West plane. These premises being granted, I think they clearly confirm the adage that the sun is nearer the earth in the middle of winter than in summer; be cause it is demonstratively so by the difference between the diagonal, or inclined, distance of the sun from the earth in the aphelion, and the paralJel distance in the perihelion, which, of course, must be considerably more than the radius of the sun's orbit: that is, the half of 23° 30". And it also proves that the sun is absolutely nearer to us in England when it is in Capricorn than in Cancer, because we are situated between the fiftieth and sixtieth degrees of North latitude. Methinks, Mr.Urban, this reasonable system of Lambert's might be illustrated by the idea of two circles, one within the other; of such different sizes, in proportion, as the orbits of the sun and the earth may be supposed to be, revolving parallelly and perpendicularly, or vertically and horizontally, on an imaginary centre, common to them both; the parallel, or larger one, representing the horizon*, and divided into twelve parts for the several months or signs; and the perpendicular, or smaller one, representing the meridian, and divided into 360 degrees. Then supposing the smaller one to be the sun's orbit, in a North and South plane, and both of them in operation; when the smaller one has risen thirty degrees from the parallel one, we may reasonably suppose the sun is entering Taurus; and when it has risen thirty degrees more, then he is entering Gemini, and when thirty degrees more, then he is entering Cancer, or at his zenith or apheliou; and down again to Libra, and back to Aries, from whence he set out. I am pleased with this idea, as it is new to my thoughts this moment; and I think it gives a better idea of the efficient cause of summer and winter on our earth (and we may reasonably suppose on the other planets also) than any I have ever met with for simplicity. Upon the whole, Mr. Urban, this is one of those heavenly contemplations that I have heretofore alluded to on a serious occasion (see last vol. p. 193) " that lead us to wonder and adore." If I am in error in any part, I shall be obliged in being set right by any of your Astronomical Correspondents. R. P. S. Mr. Urban is submissively requested to inform the Architect, through the medium of his Miscellany, from one of the most zealous approvers of his laudable pursuits, who wishes he was Surveyor General of all the Cathedrals in this kingdom; that if, in his approaching summer excursion, he could make Worcester in his way, it would be very desirable; as there are some very material improvements projecting in the Cathe * Can it be a question whether the plane of the earth's or the sun's orbit may be supposed vertical or perpendicular to us? I have presumed the latter. dral, Mr. URBAN, Sloane-st. May 5. YOU must well remember the wel come with which Mr. Burke's famous work on the FRENCH REVO LUTION was received by the higher circles of society when it first appeared; and how sensibly its influence was immediately after extended and felt through the larger masses of the people. That seasonable performance was often, Sir, the theme of your commendation; and the page, which introduced the fallen MARIE ANTOINETTE, to the sympathy of this Nation, was, at the period mentioned, as frequently recited, as a favourite passage in Shakspear. I do not mean, at the present moment, to abate the least portion from the merit of the patriotic and animated author; but that Mr. BURKE had read, with the earnestness of an admirer, a short poem by the late Lord LYTTELTON, and transfused the noble author's spirit into the descriptive passage alluded to, the following comparative extracts must demonstrate: and from the corresponding fervour of language, ideas, and imagery, the claim to ORIGINALITY cannot belong to Mr. Burke. The death of Lord Lyttelton took place, I believe, early in 1779. Extract from the Address to Lady CAT-N A-NS-Y, on her departure for Ireland. From the poems of Thomas Lord Lyttelton, published by Kearsley in 1780. "But I, alas! fix'd on this hated shore, With eyes enamour'd shall behold no [light That blaze of beauty, whose excessive With giddy rapture dims the aching sight. [less pride O DAUGHTER of the ROSE! O matchOf Nature! lovelier than the Spartan bride! [deed For thee contending nations might inFor better reason than Achaia bleed. Could we give HELEN's soul-subduing charms, [to arms; Light up all Greece, and fire the world Extract from Mr.BURKE'S Reflections on the FRENCH REVOLUTION. "It is now sixteen or seventeen years since I saw the Queen of France, then the Dauphiness, at Versailles; and surely never alighted on this orb, which she hardly seeined to touch, a more DELIGHTFUL VISION. I saw her just above the horizon, decorating and cheering the elevated sphere she just began to move in,-glittering like the morning star, full of life, and splendour, and joy." - "Little did I dream that I should have lived to see such disasters fallen upon her in a nation of gallunt men, in a nation of men of honour and of cavaliers. I thought ten thousand swords must have leaped from their scabbards to avenge even a look that threatened her with insult. But the AGE OF CHIVALRY is GONE!" W. P. Mr. URBAN, North Sheen, April 4. R. S. page 311: All altars in churches were ordered to be taken down, and tables placed in their stead, in the 4th year of Edward the Sixth. For an answer to his 3d query, I refer him to Baker's Chronicle, p. 16. "Canute, being one time at Southamp ton, he commanded that his chair of state should be set on the shore when the sea began gan to flow, and then sitting down there, in the presence of his many attendants, he spake thus to that element: I charge thee that thou presume not to enter my land, nor wet these robes of thy lord, that are about But the sea giving no heed to his command, but keeping on its usual course of tide, first wet his skirts, and afterwards his thighs, whereupon, suddenly arising, he thus spake in the hearing of them all: Let all the world's inhabitants know that vain and weak is the power of their kings, and that none is worthy of the name of king, but He that keeps both heaven and earth in obedience. After which time he would never suffer the crown to be put upon his head, but presently crowned more me. |