ON THE MORAL AND PHYSICAL CONDITION
OF MAN.
I.

It is essential to the developement of the energies of that intellectual principle which is within us, that an intercourse be established between it and the material existences without.

The immaterial and undying soul is, in this, our present state, so wrought around and entrammelled by its material appendages, as to be incapable of any availing exercise of its powers, until they have first been schooled and disciplined by that intercourse. Without it, reason there could be none, where there would be no data; memory none, where nothing had been perceived; imagination none, where there was no reality. Man, endued with all the attributes of humanity, could possess none of its energies. His form might combine all the elements of power and beauty: the blood of life might flow through it; the soul might hold in it her accustomed seat; and the senses, her ministers, might be disposed around, ready to do her bidding; but were there no external objects whereon to occupy those senses, or were the sentient principle careless or unable to avail herself of their ministry, the whole would present the emblem of a death-like repose, of a perpetual and dreamless sleep. For the carrying on of this intercourse, man is provided, in the organs of sense, with means of boundless application, and of most exquisite contrivance.

The Hand, for instance, is capable of moving accurately to any point, of varying the quantity and direction of its motion and pressure in every conceivable way, and, by habit, it may be made to measure, and to take note of this power and direction with inconceivable minuteness. The manual skill acquired by painters, sculptors, and operative mechanics, is no other than the application of a knowledge of the effects of different, and of exceedingly minute, developements of force, accurately measured, both as to their quantity and direction, in the mechanism of the hand, and treasured, with these results, in the memory. It is beyond the power of imagination to conceive the variety and complexity of its operations. Writing is one of the simplest of them, and yet, in the formation of every written character, there takes place a certain minute developement of force, varying in quantity and direction, which is accurately poised in the hand as to its quantity, measured as to its direction, and remembered, and may be re-formed again, the same, even without the assistance of the sight.

The hand serves further as a probe, to measure the degrees of the hardness or softness of bodies, and the smoothness of their surfaces; as a balance, to compare weight; as a thermometer, to estimate their temperature.

The Ear estimates for us the motions of the minute atoms of that form of matter (the air,) which is among the most subtile; regular vibrations of the atmosphere, when made with different velocities, producing distinct sounds. And, similarly, the Eye notes the motions of the still more minute particles of light, indicating their different relations in the varieties of colour.

How exquisite must be the mechanism which enables us thus to measure the force of impulses of whose existence the lightest body we can conceive, however delicately suspended, will, when opposed to them, give no perceptible evidence; impulses of atoms so minute, as to be incomparably less than the smallest portion of matter, whose distinct existence we have ever been able to recognise.

Exquisitely wrought as are the senses of hearing and sight, who will assert that any superfluous contrivance has been bestowed on their construction?

Were it not for the perfect sympathy thus established between our organs of sensation, and those subtile fluids of air and light, which pervade the space in which we exist, all that we see, having distinctness and form, and all that we hear of modulated sound, would have been lost to us. There might, with less of contrivance in the eye, have been the perception of light, but there could have been none of those exquisite varieties of shade and colour, which enable us to appreciate the objects we look upon; and so, with a less-delicate mechanism of the car, there might have been hearing, but all distinction of the rapid and evanescent varieties in articulate sound, would have been impossible, and there could have been no perception of measured harmony.

Not only has man the means for carrying on the intercourse thus essential to all that constitutes his active existence, but he is irresistibly impelled to the use of those means, and to the establishment of that intercourse; for, the circumstances in which man is placed, impel him, of necessity, to acquire the knowledge which he has thus the means of acquiring. He is so constituted as never to be capable of deriving entire satisfaction from any thing which he may obtain. Not only is he gifted with senses enabling him to distinguish the minutest differences of external things, but each of the perceptions which he thus obtains is coupled with an emotion equally delicate and varied, of pleasure or pain. Thus exquisitely sensitive, he finds himself urged perpetually by wants which nothing in the world he inhabits offers itself to gratify, liable to calamities which nothing, of itself, intervenes to screen him from; and he is never without the hope of some enjoyment, or the terror of some suffering.

This apparent destitution of man is the great element of his intellectual and physical superiority; inasmuch as it forces him to the acquisition of that KNOWLEDGE in which he finds the secret of supplying his wants.

Nature has so ministered to the comforts of inferior animals, as to limit the wants they are themselves called upon to supply, to a definite and an exceedingly small number; and limited as these wants, are their means of perceiving the qualities of the external things which are necessary for their gratification.

Man is a creature of boundless desires and wants, and he is thus intellectually and physically great, because his desires and his wants are thus boundless.

Urged on in a perpetual round of new sensations, every one of which is more or less permanently registered by the memory, and rendered an element of knowledge; he may be called emphatically, as distinguished from all others, a learning animal.

Had he possessed no other distinctive qualification than that of organs infinitely better suited than those of any other class of animals, to convey to his mind distinct perceptions of the material world in all its modifications, coupled with equally acute emotions of pleasure and pain, together with unlimited desires for the enjoyment of the one, and for exemption from the other; and, thus constituted, had he been placed as we find him in a world where nothing was supplied to his hand, for the gratification of these desires; where every desire and every suffering pointed to the KNOWLEDGE of some class of material existences, through which that desire might be satisfied, or that pain avoided; were there no higher attributes of humanity than these, it is scarcely pos

sible to affix a limit to the superiority which might, even with these aids, be acquired by it in the scale of existence.

Here, then, is evidence of wisdom and goodness even in the wants and the sufferings which have been allotted to man, eminently calculated to reconcile him to the discomforts which it has pleased heaven to place around him,-the restlessness of those desires which are implanted in his bosom, and his apparent destitution in creation-elements, as these are, of that which constitutes his pre-eminence.

With power almost creative over the material existences around him-with knowledge, the secret of applying that power-with senses, admirably adapted for acquiring that knowledge-and with necessities, impelling him to its acquisition-let us combine the godlike faculty of REASON, a principle of life to the whole, and we behold in man a being created for dominion in this lower world. Thou, O God, hast made him a little lower than the angels, and hast crowned him with glory and honour. Thou madest him to have dominion over the works of thy hands."

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Thus furnished for combating with the physical evils around him, how complete is his triumph over them! He piles up for himself a dwelling, in which, surrounded by an artificial heat, he endures the storm, and may, if he chooses, scarcely be sensible of the variety of the seasons. One animal he strips of its coat for his covering, the life of another is sacrificed for his food, and a third bears his limbs in luxurious ease. The earth no longer produces the variety of her own spontaneous fruits, but yields her increase more abundantly under the exercise of his skill. Her natural boundaries impose no restraint upon him, the inequalities of her surface vanish from his path, and he harnesses the winds to his chariot and traverses her seas. No distance removes her stores beyond his reach. Within the boundaries of civilization it is to be doubted whether there be any individual so destitute or so wretched, that the four quarters of the globe do not daily minister to his necessities or his comfort.

When, in obtaining for himself the objects of his desires, his own strength fails him, he seizes upon the forces inherent in matter, and brings them, in all their stupendous energy, to co-operate with his

feebleness.

He can accumulate the weight or attraction of inanimate matter to any extent, and direct its combined operation to any point; that power, as existing in fluid matter, he can cause to transfer itself any where, disseminate itself through any space, and exert itself in producing effects, however minute, or however powerful; in sweeping away the smallest particle of dust, or causing to revolve a vast complication of machinery.

He holds in equal mastery that force of repulsion which also pervades matter as universally as attraction, and which we call heat. He can unloose it from the mineral substances amidst whose atoms it lies bound. He can infuse it into others whose parts are held together by forces inconceivably greater than any we can appreciate; he can overcome those forces, and separate those parts. He can cause it to insinuate itself, for instance, within the pores of the diamond, scatter the cohesive power which constitutes it the hardest of material bodies, and dissolve it in air. In its combination with fluids, in the form of steam, he can accumulate and concentrate this repulsion to any extent, and cause it to transfer itself to any point where it may suit him to avail himself of its energies.

No less complete is his control in the application of these powers when acquired. By the intervention of machinery he can vary their quantity and direction in any way. Concentrate them so as to cause forces, acting through ever so large a space, to exert themselves through ever so small a one, with energies greater as that space is less. He can again dilute these in any degree, so as to cause them to exert a feebler influence over a larger space. The same quantity of power which, with infinite lightness, but inconceivable rapidity, fines the point of a needle, may thus, under another form, be made slowly to lift the hammer of a forge. To carry on the analogy of a fluid, he can pour this force from one body to another, accumulate successive influxes, and then throw their united energy wherever he chooses to avail himself of it. How wonderfully is it seen acting in the different parts of a manufactory, moving, as it were, through huge channels along its centre, thence diffused in smaller veins to its extremities, and yiel ding there to each workman a fountain of power proportioned to his wants!

MOSELEY on Mechanics applied to the Arts.

MAN is, for the most part, equally unhappy, when subjected, without redress, to the passions of another, or left, without control, to the dominion of his own. This, every man, however unwilling he may be to own it of himself, will very readily acknowledge of his neighbour. No man knows any one except himself, whom he judges fit to be set free from the coercion of laws, and to be abandoned entirely to his own choice. By this consideration, have all civilized nations been induced to the enaction of penal laws; laws and by which, though all are restrained, yet all are by which every man's danger becomes every man's safety, benefited.―JOHNSON.

THE MINES OF GREAT BRITAIN.

VI. SURFACE WORKS OF MINES. OUR preceding articles on the subject of Mining, will have conveyed to the reader a tolerably accurate idea of the nature of mineral veins, which, in most countries, form the chief depositories of the metallic ores. They have also traced the progress of those subterranean operations, which the ingenuity of man has devised for discovering these hidden stores, and availing himself of their contents.

Any account of the various and complicated machinery and apparatus made use of in these operations, or of the processes employed, would far exceed our limits; we may, however, glance at a few of the difficulties to be surmounted in their progress.

The rock to be penetrated is sometimes so hard, as immediately to turn the edge of every tool employed against it; at others so soft, as immediately to crush in upon the miner, unless his excavations are closely followed by the strongest timbering. The air he breathes is sometimes so impure, as scarcely to allow a candle to burn or to support respiration,

and when a second communication with the atmosphere cannot be obtained, it is only by various ingenious contrivances that this evil can be remedied. Even when ventilation is established, the temperature in which the miner carries on his laborious occupation, is equal to, and in some cases greater, than what is felt at the surface during the hottest summer's day. A perpendicular descent by ladders, sometimes amounting to 1500 or 1600. feet, conveys the miner to his work; and the still more fatiguing ascent from that depth, is required to bring him to the light of day when his labour is ended; while, in either case, inevitable and frightful death would follow from a faltering step, or a slip from a careless hold.

As the workings of the mine proceed in depth and extent, the water of the surrounding country filters through the rock in such a quantity, that were it not for the continual action of enormous columns of pumps, worked by very powerful steam-engines, the mine would be immediately inundated.

Even when these and many other difficulties have been surmounted, at vast expense, by skill and perseverance, it sometimes happens that the hopes of the miner are disappointed, the irregularity of nature, in the disposition of her mineral treasures, being in some cases such as to deceive the best founded expectations of success.

Let us now, however, turn to the surface of the mine, and trace the changes which will have taken place there during the progress of the underground works described in the preceding papers; for although these operations are themselves unseen, their effects are extremely apparent. We suppose, of course, that the mine is found to be productive, as otherwise the undertaking would early have been brought to a close.

The situation of mines is generally dreary in the extreme, often the summit or declivity of a barren hill or mountain; for nature, with a wise economy, usually places her mineral treasures in spots almost unsusceptible of cultivation, and where, therefore, the breaking up of the surface, and strewing it with the accumulated fragments of rock brought from below, can do no damage to vegetation, nor impede the pursuits of agriculture.

The working of the mine will not have proceeded very long, before the influx of water renders it necessary to make an effectual provision for the drainage. For this purpose, if circumstances will admit, large overshot water-wheels are erected, but if not, one or more steam-engines, and, in course of time, very frequently both are employed. The ore and rubbish which is to be raised from the mine, requires also considerable power to be provided for its extraction, and this is generally furnished by the horse-machines termed whims, but in very rich mines by steam engines.

As the quantity of ore produced increases, one or more pieces of ground on the surface are appropriated to its reception, with suitable erections and apparatus, for the performance of the various mechanical operations which it has to undergo, previous to passing into the hands of the smelter, who, by chemical processes in the furnace, reduces it to the metallic state.

The increased traffic to the mine, will, by this time, have occasioned roads to be made, where, perhaps, before, scarcely a path existed, and the rivulets which had before run to waste, will have been conducted by artificial channels to the mine, and employed there in giving motion to machinery and other purposes. Nor will the comforts and convenience of those engaged in these operations have been neglected.

A suitable building will early have been erected as an office, for transacting the business of the mine, and also as a temporary residence for the superintendents, whose duties require them alternately to be on the spot by day and by night. Ranges of buildings for the accommodation of the miners will also have been erected, containing separate sheds for each, in which their tools, powder, and underground clothes are kept, and where also they change themselves when going into the mine. Thus the formerly barren and neglected spot becomes covered with buildings and machinery, and presents a scene of bustle and activity, of which description can hardly convey an adequate idea.

The effects of this new source of employment are not, however, by any means, confined to the surface of the mine itself. Numerous cottages for the miners will have sprung up within the distance of a mile or two around it, and however sterile the soil, it will at length be subdued by patient and persevering industry, and formed into spots of garden-ground surrounding them. The neighbouring town or village will also increase in size and importance, proportionally with the advancing prosperity of the mine. Not unfrequently when the nearest village is remote, one will arise near the mine itself, to receive the population concentrated around it, more especially if, as is often the case, the success of the first undertaking, should occasion others of a similar kind near it, and thus render the population of a permanent character. Such, indeed, has been the origin, at periods more or less remote, of most of the towns and villages scattered over many of the mining districts, both of this and other countries, and which, but for their mineral treasures, would still have remained almost uninhabited. In proof of this, we may give a striking illustration from the works of the celebrated traveller Humboldt, speaking of one of the great mines of Mexico, he observes, "when the Count de la Valenciana (then M. Obregnon,) began to work the vein of Guanaxuato, above the valley of San Xavier, goats were feeding on the very hill, which, ten years afterwards, was covered with a town containing seven or eight thousand inhabitants."

Having thus traced the progress of a mine from its first simple excavations, briefly noticing the works on the surface connected with it, and the wide spread influence of these operations, we may observe, that the village church, with its "heaven directed spire," will not unfrequently form a new and pleasing feature in the scene we have been contemplating.

A FAIR IN HINDOOSTAN.

F. B.

It is not an easy matter to describe the singular scene that is exhibited at the fair of Hurdwar, where the Hindoos assemble in countless multitudes, to combine, as they every where contrive so admirably to do, their spiritual and temporal pursuits.

For several miles before we reached it, we had passed thousands of people in every description of vehicle, hastening towards it. They were of all ages, all costumes, and all complexions; no spot upon earth can produce so great a variety of the human race at one assemblage, and it would be impossible to enumerate the articles of different sorts, or even the countries that produce them, offered for sale in the streets. The merchants, in their own language, praise their own commodities, and make a confusion of tongues highly bewildering to a learned pundit, but to an European "confusion worse confounded."