God does, which it is superfluous, or unprofitable, for man to consider. Of the sublime and awful scenes, which are presented to those who live in the neighbourhood of Volcanoes, and more especially to those who investigate the mighty wonders of their caverns, the inhabitants of this country have no opportunity of forming any idea, except from the narration of others. These gigantic masses of conflagration, are as interesting objects of enquiry, as almost any, which natural history can furnish. Yet, from obvious causes, less has been written, and less is known by the generality of reading people, of the more minute particulars of Volcanoes, than perhaps of any similar, and equally striking phenomena. Indeed, the details of the different mountains which possess this terrific character, have lain, for the most part, dispersed in unconnected works. The volume before us removes this disadvantage; and presents us with a` concise, comprehensive, and entertaining account of the subject which it professes to illustrate. The following passage in the preface, led us to form an opinion of the author, which was confirmed as we proceeded through his work. "Our Creator appears to have reserved to himself the knowledge of the two extremes of his economy of nature, the origiu and the end of every thing. I say, our Creator; for nature, distinguished from its author, is merely a creature of the imagination, a word destitute of meaning. In natural philosophy, as in metaphysics, as soon as we have attained a certain point, it is in vain we endeavour to dive deeper, the understanding has no longer a hold in stretching to seize the truth which it is conscious is beyond it. We then deal largely in hypotheses, each framing his own, and the judgment of those who possess the highest reputation, becomes a part of what we call science: and yet, what are our hypotheses, but a formal acknowledgment of the real limits of our understanding?" (p. 7.) sure The history of Volcanoes furnishes, as might be expected, instances of very curious and striking events. Such is the one which is mentioned in the 141st page. "In the eruption (of Etna) in 1669, a little hill covered with vines, was undermined by the lava, and transported half a mile from the place where it stood, without the vines being damaged." The following extraordinary circumstance is related, page 36. "The magnificent dome of the principal church (at Antioch) had been thrown off its perpendicular, by an earthquake, and remained inclining towards the north, supported by props. On the 31st of De cember 589, (which was about three years after) another earthquake, more violent and replaced the dome upright." than the former, threw down the props, dreadful circumstances which attend Having enumerated some of the the convulsions of a volcano, the author says, "In such a crisis of nature, what are cities? Catania, built over the vaults of Etna, has always been a considerable place, and though much reduced, still contains more than thirty thousand souls. It has been observed, that in the course of two thousand years, there are few centuries, in which it has not been entirely thrown down, and all its inhabitants, or at least the greater part of them destroyed." (p. 113.) That such perilous regions should be habited, after suffering such frequent so repeatedly and so copiously reinand extensive devastations, must appear unaccountable to those who have not observed the improvidence, with regard to future evils, which gene rally attends the eager pursuits of the objects of worldly attachment. The observations which are made on this subject, by the author of the work before us, are sensible and appropriate. "Most of the volcanoes have considerable intervals of repose. The ear then becomes accustomed to the groanings of the earth, and to the hollow rumblings of subterraneous thunder. The eye grows familiar with those whirling clouds of smoke and sparks, that are perpetually flying up. Men, by use, live upon the resounding soil, although they know that it covers tremendous fires; and an inhabitant becomes, at length, less affected by the reality of his danger, than we are, by the idea we form of it. He thinks only of the prodigious fertility which those mountains scatter around them, by their exhalations and sulphureous ashes. The additional salubrity which the air certainly derives from them, seems too a natural compensation for the apprehensions they may excite: to these allurements he rash where his interest or his pleasure is yields, and we see man, always blindly concerned, building villages and towns on those quaking vaults, the basis of which a fire is perpetually consuming. largest city in Italy is at the foot of mount The Vesuvius. to similar danger; namely, the plain of Quito, which is fertilized by a number of lofty blazing summits." (p. 103.) The number of known volcanoes are stated, to be an hundred and eighty nine. p. 227. The author of this work is a decided opposer of those "bold and celebrated writers, who, in latter times, have ostentatiously made use of the remote antiquity of volcanic vestiges, against the truth of the deluge.' He pronounces their assertions on this subject to be very superficial, even when considered only in a physical point of view. And having noticed the possibility of the revival of the fires, even in such a case, as that supposed by the anti-mosaical speculators; and also the known and certain existence of volcanoes burning under the he very properly asks, can any thing be more plain and natural than to suppose, that several of the Volcanoes on the land, which were burning at the time of the deluge, should, in like manner, be indued with sufficient force to struggle successfully against their extinction, by using their craters so as to obstruct the influx of the waters, as we find it done by the submarine volcanoes? (p. 241.) sea; 66 We shall close our extracts from this volume, with one of some length, It contains a well executed delineation of a very sublime scene. The whimsical conclusion of the extract will, perhaps, somewhat abate the solemnity of feeling, which the preceding part is calculated to inspire. "Let the reader figure to himself Vesuvius, near four thousand feet high, Etna, which is more than twelve thousand, Pichanca, which is fifteen thousand, Cotopaxis or Antisana, which are eighteen thousand; or, in fine, the insular Volcano we have already mentioned, which was thought to exceed Chinboraco, and which, were it only equal to it, would still be nineteen thousand three hundred and ninety two feet in height: let him imagine a column of fire, of three or four miles in circumference, and sometimes more, whose height is more than double that of the mountain, rising from it with a thundering noise, greater than that of all the cannon in the world discharged together. It seems as if it would set the sky on fire lightnings flash from it. The daz. zling brightness of its fire could not be endured by the eye, did not immense spiral clouds of smoke moderate its fierceness at intervals. They spread through the atmosphere, which they thicken: the whole horizon is covered with darkness; and at length, nothing is to be seen but the burning summit of the mountain, and the wonderful column of fire. "Its height, bulk, and explosion, result from the confinement in which the air has been kept within the volcano. Rarefied to the highest degree, forced on by the increasing heat of the immense pit, and pressed more and more by the prodigious fermentation of the lava, the inflamed air, reduced to the size of the crater, at length escapes, spinning round and round. Breaking the top of the shaft, it bears it along in a thousand pieces, with soot, ashes, and pumice, with which the sides of the abyss were loaded. whirlwind, it is even common to see huge pieces of calcined rock, torn from the bosom of the mountain, carried into the air. In this horrible "The display of this phenomenon, in its extent and duration, depends upon the degree of force in the circumstances we have just mentioned. When the parts, first raised, lose this force, and being left to their own weight, would naturally sink, those that come next, being still themselves supported, repel and throw them off. At that juncture, an overspreading of the fire takes place at the top of the column, which adds to its beauty. I it, that the younger Pliny drew his compa rison between the production of that eruption of Vesuvius, by which his uncle was killed, and of which he himself was an eye-witness, and the cypress tree. think it must have been from this view of "In a short time, the whole of the column turns into a horrible shower of red hot rocks, flints, and ashes. Monstrous burning masses are seen bounding and rolling down the side of the mountain. Wo be to those places, which lie in the direction of the wind, prevailing at the time of this tremendous shower! Pompeil, Herculaneum, and Stabiæ, three towns to the south-west of Vesuvius, disappeared, about seventeen centuries ago, by a simi lar occurrence: and it was only in this century (the eighteenth) that they were discovered. A column, such as that we have been describing, broke over them, and the land about them: they were buried more than fifty feet under a mass of ashes and calcined flints, which was further covered by a bed of lava, several feet deep. If the wind be violent, the ashes are carried to an incredible distance. "Rome and Venice, the former of which is a hundred and fifty miles trom Vesuvius, and the latter, double that distance, have been several times incommoded by its ashes. In our times, June 1794, all the south-east of Italy was coverA letter written by the ed by them'. archbishop of Tarento, dated June 18, dur ing the eruption, says, We are covered with thick clouds of volcanic ashes.' Some variation of the wind must have altered the first course of that light substance, as the archbishop in his letter presumed, that they proceeded from Stromboli or Etna. Those clouds passed Tarento, which is more than two hundred and fifty miles from Vesuvius, went beyond Otranto, at the extremity of the province of Lecce, and were lost in the Mediterranean, at the entrance of the Adriatic Sea, nearly four hundred miles distant from the point of their departure. This no doubt is prodigious: but that the tops of the houses at Constantinople, which is almost a thousand miles from Vesuvius, should have been covered four inches with its ashes, would have been difficult to believe, had not contemporary authors, some of whom were at the time living in that city, reported the fact, and uniformly dated it on the eleventh of November 472, at noon, when the people were attending the games of the Circus. (See P'Histoire du Bas Empire, tom. 8, page 59). We are less surprised then to read, that the ashes of Etna, which is three times as high as Vesuvius, and a little nearer to Egypt, reach ed Alexandria: a town, the inhabitants of which have lately witnessed an event, that, though of a different kind, must have appeared to them quite as extraordinary. At the eastern confines of Africa, on the first of August 1798, they saw thunderbolts dart from the north-west of Europe, break suddenly over their shores, and in the course of a few hours completely destroy a powerful navy that rode at anchor before the town. I need not add, that the thunderbolts I mean, were those of Great Britain, directed by Lord Nelson." (p. 125-129.) CIX. Defence of the Character and Conduct of the late Mary Woolstonecraft Godwin, founded on Principles of Nature and Reason, as applied to the peculiar Circumstances of her Case; in a Series of Letters to a Lady. pp. 160, 12mo. London. Wallis, 1803. GOOD reader, if you wish to be instructed in the art and mystery of white-washing characters, this neatly printed little volume will afford you some hints, which you may find of use, even on the most untoward subjects. The difficulties which attend the attempt, are such as none but a proficient in the art will be able to overcome. Before he goes to work, thereCHRIST. OBSERV. No. 20. fore, let him acquaint himself with the discoveries of the new philosophy; and observe how the artists, that school, conduct the process. The who have profited by the doctrines of publication, now before us, being one of the fruits of its learned labours, and being directed to the very point of which we are speaking, will be found of some service in the undertaking. There is, in many arts, a leading principle, on the application of which all the success depends. There is such a principle discoverable in our author's defence of his friend. And if you are curious to know, good reader, what it is, we can inform you. It is this; that one of the privileges of man, that " paragon of animals," is the right of doing as he pleases. By the help of this assumption our author has done great things. This is his principle; which, for the benefit of those who may not comprehend his learned terms, we have put into plain english. For the reader should be apprized that the performance we are considering, not being addressed to vulgar souls, the principle by which the author attempts the defence of his friend, was not to be expressed in common language: it is called individuality of thinking and acting. Now by the help of this same individuality, our author endeavours to maintain that a woman who was twice a kept mistress, was a virtuous, and even a pious character. As our readers may not know any thing about the person for whom the author is at all these pains, we will inform them, that it was a Mary Woolstonecraft, born of honest pårents, but from her earliest years a refractory daughter-who began her career by quarrelling with her parents and the rest of the familybroke away from them, and set up for herself, by writing for her breadwas at length taken into keeping by one Imlay; with whom, having a quarrel, she parted, and was afterwards taken into keeping by another man, named Godwin. After having lived with this person for a considerable time, she at length became his lawful wife, to avoid the inconvenience of being excluded from the society of those persons who would otherwise have been so fastidious as not to visit her. 3 R secure to him: But this it cannot be, if those who violate it go unpunished. Now if this potent "individuality" will clear such a character, then surely no man need despair of being able to give a fair appearance to the blackest subject for whom he undertakes to apologize. Should he even have had the misfortune to see an old acquaintance condemned to the gallows, he may yet succeed in defending his character. The illiberal institutions of society may have fixed a halter about the neck of his friend, but his vindication is not to be regulated by their proceedings: "Extraordinary geniuses are not to be estimated by common rules: they are planets, and must be reviewed upon their own principles. While they shine with a brighter effulgence, each moves in its own distinct eccentricity. Minds of this rare, of this superior mould, cannot submit to the imposed direction of rules, which bind inferior understandings; they must be permitted to take a wider range: to coerce them upon common principles, or to reduce them to a level with the thousands that surround them, would utterly destroy the brilliancy of character that renders them the objects of particular attention." Let us see whether by the help of our author's principle, we cannot defend a person, who for his crimes against society has ended his days at the fatal tree. Let us follow the author's method, and " imagine the prisoner to be arguing on his own principles," on the day before his execution," and defending himself against a person who has undertaken the office of a censor morum," page 77. poor gentleman who fell by the hirelings of public justice for our subject. We do not recollect what was the act for which he was condemned to die, but we will suppose it was house breaking. We will take the last Censor. As you have but a little time to live, and I deem it necessary that you have a due sense of your conduct before you go out of the world, I come to enquire whether you are sorry for the offence you have committed? · Prisoner. Offence? What do you mean by that term? Censor. I mean the act of robbery, of which you have been convicted. Prisoner. "Sir, will you have the goodness to favour me with your sentiments" concerning robbery ? Censor. Robbery is a man's taking from another what does not belong to him. You have been convicted of such an act, and for this you ought to suffer. For what a man gets lawful possession of ought to be Prisoner. "Then, sir, you must permit me to inform you that my views of this subject do not exactly coincide with yours. It has ever been a source of generous pride to think, to judge, and act for myself," (p. 78.) I consider that I ought to have the means of enjoying those things which I deem necessary to the comfort of life. And that if I be not in possession of them, I have a right to take them wherever I can find them. I am aware that the laws of the country do not admit my position; but I derive a right of “individual thinking and acting" from a higher authority than political laws can claim. "The sanction of them is, according to my views of this subject, no better than an encroachment upon the paramount laws of nature and reason, in whose court my license" for breaking open Mr. house 's was granted. "" (See p. 79.) Though I am obliged therefore to submit to the sentence passed on me, I shall not acknowledge myself guilty of an offence. "For persons of gross ideas, legal sanctions may be necessary; but for myself "I entertain a very superior degree of respect." (See p. 33.) By such a reply our Censor must be silenced. It is therefore unnecessary to draw out this dialogue to any further length, as it would only exhibit the embarrassments to which the unfortunate prisoner would reduce his reprover. To be serious. This way of varnishing infamy discovers more of effrontery than genius: and betrays, though sprinkled with some respectful mention of a Supreme Being, a profligacy of mind that must shock every pious reader. Such is the impression which we conceive the perusal of these letters must leave on the mind of a true christian. CX. 4 Sermon preached at the Parish Church of St. Andrew by the Wardrobe and St. Anne, Blackfriars, 31 May, 1803, before the Society for Missions to Africa and the East, instituted by Members of the Established Church, being their Third Anniversary. By the Reverend RICHARD CECIL, M. A. Minister of St. John's Chapel, Bedford-Row. Also the Report of the Committee to the Annual Meeting held on the same Day, and a List of Subscribers and Benefactors. London, Seeley. 1803. Ir is difficult for the Christian Observer to take a survey of the present state of the world, without feeling painful emotions. A large majority of his fellow-creatures are sunk in the grossness of Pagan idolatry, or infatuated by Mahometan imposture. And even in that small portion of Christendom, over which the empire of either Greek or Romish superstition is not established, and where a more scriptural faith is professed, few live, in a manner, worthy of the Christian name. In this country-favoured by Providence above all the nations of the earth, whether we regard the purity of our national creed, the ready access which we all have to the scriptures, the fountain of truth, or the splendid provision made in a variety of ways for the instruction and edification of all classes of society-even here, amidst this profusion of providential gifts, where shall we turn our eyes with any hope of discovering the general prevalence of those principles, and of that practice, which can alone be regarded as Christian? where shall we find that predominant and habitual regard to the will of God, that unfeigned faith in his word, and that love to his name, which are essential to the sincere follower of Christ? Is it not true, that even among our leading political characters, we may perceive a lamentable disregard of religion? Witness the unavailing at tempts so often renewed to put a period to the Slave Trade; the failure of almost every effort to prevent the growing profanation of the sabbath; and the great indifference which has been manifested by them whether our subjects in the east and in the west are Pagans, Hindoos, Mussulmans, or Christians. Of the higher classes of the community, a large proportion are mere votaries of fashion, whose business it is to drown in thoughtless gaiety or criminal dissipation every serious recollection; while the middling ranks engaged in the pursuit either of wealth or sensual enjoyments, too generally forget to lay up treasure in heaven: and lastly, how few shall we find in the lower classes, even where we are not shock ed by gross ignorance of religion, or by undisguised vice, who feel the force of religious motives, and shew themselves to be actuated by the fear and love of God? " But let us not be suspected of a design to blacken the national character. This is by no means our intention, We are persuaded, that on a comparison with other nations we should appear to great advantage. But let us remember, that the important question is, how we shall appear in the all-searching eye of our judge when weighed in his balance, or compared with that unerring standard of rectitude which he has given. And can it be denied that it would be a flagrant violation of truth and decency to apply to the mass of society in this country, the marks by which Christians are distinguished in the Bible? Can it, for instance, be said with justice, of any considerable portion of the community; that they "love God with all their hearts;" that they "fear him always;" that they act from a regard to his will; that they reverence his name," and "hallow his sabbaths;" that they "love all men even their enemies" so as neither to do nor to wish them evil; that they are "pure in heart," honest and upright in their conversation; that regarding the love of mo ney as an evil, they are labouring to mortify and subdue it; that they are "hungering and thirsting after righ teousness;" or that they are "seeking the kingdom of God?" Can it be said of them, that they "abound in the work of the Lord," that "they walk religiously in good works;" that "they are made like the image of the only begotten son of God Jesus Christ;" or that "they feel in themselves the working of the Spirit of Christ drawing up their minds to high and heavenly things?" It is not enough, that any one or more of these marks should be found in an indivi dual, in order to constitute him a Christian. They are all essentially necessary. Without them the pretence to the character of a true follower of Christ is vain. It is to be observed, however, that we have exhibited not an outline of that character, but a few faint traces of its form and lineaments, which are merely intended to shew its striking contrariety to the habits and dispositions of that world around us, which is miscalled Christian. In the midst, however, of the too general neglect of the principles and precepts of christianity, it is consolatory to observe, that the number has |