ON THE STUDY OF NATURE. IN the original constitution of things, it is wisely ordered, that happiness shall be found every where about us. We do not need to have a rock smitten, to supply this thirst of the soul; it is not a distant good; it exists in every thing above, around, and beneath our feet; and all we want, is an eye to discern, and a heart to feel it. Let any one fix his attention on a moral truth, and it spreads out and enlarges its dimensions beneath his view, till what seemed at first as barren a proposition as words could express, appears like an interesting and glorious truth, momentous in its bearings on the destinies of men. And so it is with every material thing; let the mind be intently fixed upon it, and hold it in the light of science, and it gradually unfolds new wonders. The flower grows even more beautiful, than when it first opened its golden urn, and breathed its incense on the morning air; the tree, which was before thought of only as a thing to be cut down and cast into the fire, becomes majestic, as it holds its broad shield before the summer sun, or when it stands like a ship, with its sails furled, and all made fast about it, in preparation for the winter storm. All things in nature inspire in us a new feeling, and we begin to consider their fate and fortunes, their birth and decay, as resembling those of man. The truth is, that ignorance and indifference are almost the same, and we are sure to grow interested, as fast as our knowledge extends, in any subject whatever. This explains how men of great ability are so engaged in what are often ignorantly regarded as little things; how they can watch with the gaze of a lover, to catch the glance of the small bird's wing, or listen to its song, as if it were the breath of a soul; how the world, and every thing in it looks so spiritually bright to them, when to others the bird is but a flying animal, and the flower only the covering of a clod.

A devoted attachment to the works of nature is an evidence of delicacy and refinement; and the common prejudice which regards it as inconsistent with energy of thought and action, is entirely unfounded; for assuredly, the radiant files of war can show no spirits more resolute than those of the men, who leave the abodes of civilized life, launch their canoes on unbroken waters, depend on their rifle for subsistence, keep on their solitary march till the bird has sung his evening hymn, and have no society at night but the beating sound of their fire. Neither is it inconsistent with a strict regard to all the duties of life; on the contrary, it is the part of duty to draw happiness from these sources, which, in all the changes and misfortunes of life, will never cease to flow. The poet Gray, one of the most intellectual and fastidious of men, says, "happy they who can create a rose-tree, or erect a honeysuckle; who can watch the brood of a hen, or a fleet of their own ducklings as they sail upon the water." The words are true as inspiration, and we recommend them to our readers, of whom a due proportion, no doubt, are miserable. They will learn from them, what is of great importance to know, in such calculations,that their unhappiness is owing, not to the want of pleasures, but to their not understanding how to select and enjoy those which they possess, since they are given freely and impartially to all, so that no avarice can monopolize them, and no oppression take them away. This being the case, those who point out to us the extent and variety of such resources, and show by their own example how full, rich, and inspiring they are, deserve to be recorded amongst the benefactors of mankind. No greater treasures can be offered to human desire than enjoyments like these, which at once exercise the mind, and improve the heart, repel the influence of sordid passions, and encourage the suggestions of humanity, virtue, and religion. North American Review.

Tanner, a good authority on such subjects, who was himself Bishop of St. Asaph, and died in 1735, makes the following statement. "Kentigern, bishop of Glasgow, being driven out of Scotland, founded an episcopal seat and monastery here, about the middle of the sixth century, and became the first bishop. Upon his return into Scotland, he made ASAPH, or HASSAPH, an eminently holy and good man, his successor; and from him both the church and place have since been called St. Asaph. But from the death of St. Asaph, A. D. 596, there is no account of the monastery, and little or no account of any bishop till 1143*. And though there hath been a constant and regular succession from that time, yet by reason of the wars between the English and the Welsh, and Owen Glendour'st, or Glyndyfrdwy's rebellion, the cathedral church, with the bishop's and canons' houses, were more than once destroyed, and for many years in ruins. Upon one of these devastations, or the fears of it, Bishop Anian the Second endeavoured, in 1278, to remove the see to Rhuddlan‡, two miles northward. And king Edward the First granted his license for it, in 1284, and promised both ground for the church, &c., and 1000 marks towards the building; but this did not take effect. Besides the bishop, here are dean, archdeacon, six prebendaries, seven canons cursal, four vicars choral, an organist, four lay-clerks, &c." Notitia Monastica.

The first church, on the site of the present cathedral, was of wood; but it was soon succeeded by one of stone. This, however, in 1282, shared the frequent fate of ecclesiastical buildings at that early period, and was burnt down. The loss was quickly repaired, and the diocese benefited by liberal grants; but in 1402, fresh disasters occurred by fire, the repeated injury being so great that the cathedral, as well as the bishop's palace and canons' residences, lay in a state of ruin for nearly eighty years. The fabric now standing, was (with the exception of the choir, which has been restored by means of a fund vested in the hands of the dean and chapter, as trustees,) erected through the liberality of Bishop Redman, (consecrated in 1472,) aided by the contributions of others, whose zeal he excited to the work. It is in the form of a plain cross, and consists of a choir, a nave, two aisles, and a transept, with a low square tower in the centre. The eastern end is lighted by a large window in the * From this date, including GILBERT, consecrated in 1143, there have been sixty-six bishops of St. Asaph. Dr. William Carey is the prelate who now presides over the diocese.

+ SPEED, speaking of the reign of Henry the Fourth, says, "Albeit the face of England seemed smooth, yet Gop thrust a thorn into King Henry's side, when and where he little expected; for the Welsh, whom former kings of England had so yoked, and subjected, did, contrary to all men's expectation, break forth into open acts of hostility under the conduct of a gentleman of that nation, surnamed Glendour of his lordship of Glendour, in Merionethshire, whose owner he was: the wrath and justice of heaven is always so well furnished with means to exercise the mightiest; those chiefly at whose amendment God aims by chastise ment."

Once a most important place; a stronghold and occasional residence of King Edward the First; but now reduced to a village.

Length of the cross-aisles, or transept, from north to south . . .

Breadth of the nave and side aisles
Height of the central tower

Feet.

179

119

60

108

68

93

The

The monuments in the Cathedral are few. most interesting, (assigned to Bishop David Ap Owen, a generous benefactor to the fabric, 1513,) is an altar-tomb with a figure in the episcopal dress.

Among the bishops of St. Asaph, we find the following remarkable persons, notices of whom may be acceptable to many of our readers.

GEOFFREY OF MONMOUTH, so called from the place of his birth, otherwise Geoffrey Ap Arthur, a British historian, who flourished in the reign of Henry the First, was Archdeacon of Monmouth, and promoted, in 1152, to the bishopric of St. Asaph. He is known among antiquaries and readers of the early, and we may add, fabulous history of Britain, as the author of a famous Latin Translation from the Welsh; being A Chronicle of British Kings, the original of which was said to have been supplied to him by Walter de Mapes, Archdeacon of Oxford, who found it in Normandy. He begins with Brute, a Trojan, great-grandson of Eneas, and, therefore, descended from Jupiter; and states his invasion and conquest of our island, to have happened 1059 years before the Christian era! This is a specimen of the fanciful character of the work; and the romantic nature of its narrative may be imagined from the circumstance of its containing the affecting story of Leir, King of Britain, the eleventh in succession from Brute, who divided his kingdom between Gonerilla and Regan, his two elder daughters, and disinherited the younger, Cordelia. It supplied Shakspeare with the materials for his beautiful and pathetic tragedy, though the poet has heightened the interest by making the death of Cordelia precede that of Lear, while in Geoffrey's story, the aged father is restored to his kingdom by means of Cordelia, who survives him. It is to sources like this, that we owe the stirring legends, some of them so attractive in our early days, such as The Seven Champions of Christendom and King Arthur of the Round Table. We are sorry for Geoffrey's credit, to add that his Chronicle is supposed, for good reasons, to be a garbled version of a work written by Tyssilio, a bishop of St. Asaph in the seventh century.

ISAAC BARROW, appointed Bishop of St. Asaph in 1670, was son of Isaac Barrow, a gentleman of Cambridgeshire, and uncle of the celebrated mathematician of the same name. He suffered with many of his brethren during Cromwell's reign of terror, and was ejected by the round-heads from his living of Hinton, to which he had been presented by St. Peter's College, Cambridge. At the restoration, his character for integrity and judicious zeal was generally appreciated, and in 1663, he was consecrated Bishop of Sodor and Man, then in the patronage of the Earl of Derby. The Isle of Man, in a deplorable condition with regard to religion, presented a wide field of usefulness for such a character; and he lost no time in improving the diocese to the best of his power, by the establishment of schools, and increasing the incomes of the poorer clergy. Among other results of his liberality, was a collection of money

which he made, to purchase of the earl all the lay impropriations in the island, settling the proceeds upon the clergy proportionably to their respective wants. His removal from Man to St. Asaph, was felt by the inhabitants of the former, as a serious personal loss: for "his name and his good deeds," says Bishop Wilson, " will be remembered as long as any sense of piety remains among them." But this circumstance gave him further opportunities of fulfilling his earnest desire of doing good. He repaired several parts of the Cathedral, especially the north and south aisles, new covered them with lead, and wainscoted the east part of the choir. He also made provision for future needful repairs, and for the better maintenance of the choir. Besides expending large sums on the bishop's palace, he built and endowed an alms-house for eight poor widows; he had also made arrangements for erecting and endowing a free-school, but was prevented by death. Two hundred pounds were, however, recovered from his executors towards this purpose. He died in 1680, and was buried on the south side of the west door of the Cathedral church-yard.

WILLIAM BEVERIDGE was a native of Barrow in Leicestershire, where his grandfather, father, and brother, successively, were vicars. At Cambridge, he was distinguished not only for his proficiency in classical literature, and his successful application to the Oriental languages, but for unaffected devotion and exemplary purity of conduct. The vicarage of Ealing to which he had been presented soon after his ordination as priest, he resigned for the living of St. Peter's, Cornhill, London. Here he so steadfastly and kindly discharged the duties of his pastoral care; and so happily were his labours crowned with success, that his parish was quoted as the best model and pattern for its neighbours to copy. After his appointment as archdeacon of Colchester, and, subsequently, as chaplain to King William and Queen Mary, he was offered, in 1691, the bishoprick of Bath and Wells, then vacant by the deprivation of Dr. Thomas Ken, for not taking the oath to the King and Queen, but he refused that see, his conscience not allowing him “to eat Dr. Ken's 'bread." In 1704, however, he was consecrated Bishop of St. Asaph, vacant by the translation of Bishop Hooper to the diocese of Bath and Wells. No sooner was he advanced to this dignified and responsible charge, than he addressed a letter to his clergy, pressing upon them the importance of catechising and instructing their flocks in the principles and chief truths of our Religion, an essential branch of duty,-at the same time supplying them with a plain exposition of the Church Catechism, Dr. Beveridge was a person of sincere piety, strict uprightness, and, in all its senses, of indefatigable charity. He was called the Apostolic BEVERIDGE, and when dying, it was justly said of him, "There goes one of the greatest and best men England ever bred." He is also celebrated for his extensive, and almost universal learning; his admirable labours being, even at this day, most beneficial to the pastors of the church, in the fulfilment of their ministry, as well as to the private Christian for his instruction and comfort. At his death, which happened in 1708, he left the chief part of his property to the two Societies, that for the Propagation of the Gospel, and the Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge. His principal works are his Sermons, Private Thoughts on Religion, and the Thesaurus Theologicus.

Dr. THOMAS TANNER, who was placed over this diocese in 1732, is principally known as an eminent antiquary, and as the author of "Notitia Monastica; or an Account of all the Abbies, Priories, &c., in

England and Wales," a laborious work, which, with that of Dugdale, often forms the ground of more modern descriptions. He died at Christ Church, Oxford, and was buried in the nave of that Cathedral, under the pulpit, without any funeral pomp. He ordered his body to be wrapped in the coarsest crape, and his coffin to be covered with common serge. also directed that the pall-bearers should have one of Basketts' folio Bibles each, and the several underbearers, a copy of " Sherlock on Death." His character has descended with honour to posterity.

He

SAMUEL HORSLEY became Bishop of St. Asaph in 1802. Our limits do not allow us room for a full memoir of this learned person, who preserved to the last his extraordinary vigour of mind, and continued to exert his zeal, both in parliament and with his pen, for the support of his church and country. His lot was cast in the most turbulent periods, when the throne and altar were alike threatened with ruin; and he was, undoubtedly, a warm and powerful champion in the cause of both; though it must be added, he sometimes forgot the necessity of maintaining a meek and gentle temper. In his controversy with the unitarian, Dr. Priestley, he displayed, with great benefit, his ponderous learning, splendid talents, and vast knowledge of ecclesiastical history. He died at Brighton in 1806, in his seventy-third year, and was buried at Newington Butts. M.

GREAT NUMBERS.

66 a

No. II. NUMBERS DESCRIPTIVE OF DISTANCE. IN Oriental countries, it has been the custom from the earliest ages to reckon distances by time, rather than by any direct reference to a standard of measure, as is commonly the practice in the present day. In the Scriptures, we find distances described by day's journey," "three days' journey," and other similar expressions. A day's journey is supposed to have been equal to about thirty-three British statute miles, and denoted the distance that could be performed without any extraordinary fatigue by a footpassenger. "A Sabbath day's journey" was peculiar to the Jews, being equal to rather less than one statute mile.

It may not be in exact accordance with our habits of thought, and usual forms of expression, thus to describe distances by time; yet it seems to possess some advantages. A man knowing nothing of the linear standards of measure employed in foreign countries, would receive no satisfactory information, on being told that a particular city, or town, was distant from another, a certain number of miles*, or leagues †, as the case might happen to be. But, if he were told that the city, or town, which had been the subject of his inquiry, was distant from another a certain number of hours, or days, there would be something in the account that would commend itself to his understanding. A seavoyage is oftener described by a reference to time than to distance. We frequently hear persons inquire how many weeks, or months, it will occupy to proceed to Madeira, to the West Indies, to America, or other distant parts of the world, but they rarely manifest any great anxiety about the number of miles. This mode of computation seems especially applicable to steam-navigation; a voyage by a steam-packet, under ordinary circumstances, being performed with

In Holland a mile is nearly equal to three and three-quarters; in Germany it is rather more than four and a half; and in Switzerland it is about equal to five and three-quarters British miles.

A league in France is equal to two and three-quarters; in Spain to four; in Denmark to four and three-quarters; in Switzerland to five and a half; and in Sweden to siz and three-quarters British miles.

such surprising regularity, that it might, with greater propriety, be described by minutes, or hours, or days than by miles.

The improvements in travelling, and in the conveyance of merchandise, by sea and land, which have resulted from scientific invention and commercial enterprise, during the last few years, have wrought an important change in all the relations of society. Distant parts of the same country are hereby, in effect, brought closer together; neighbouring nations are better enabled to cultivate the reciprocal interchange of social and mercantile advantages; whilst those more remote receive a corresponding impulse, although its effects may not be so immediately apparent.

It is not many years since, that a journey of one hundred miles, even in our own country, was looked upon as a serious undertaking; occupying, by the most approved modes of conveyance, the larger portion of a week. By stage-coaches, the same distance is now regularly performed in about eleven hours, and by a steam-carriage, on a rail-road, in five hours. The rail-roads in progress on both sides the metropolis, and those which are projected in continuation of them, will have the effect of placing the provincial towns that skirt their course, at about half their present distance from London, with respect to time. Birmingham is distant from London one hundred and ten miles, the journey thither being performed by the mail, and other fast-coaches, in something less than eleven and a half hours. The length of the rail-road will be one hundred and eleven and a quarter miles, and supposing no greater speed to be attained than is now averaged on the Liverpool and Manchester rail-road, the journey will occupy five and a half hours. The distance from London to Southampton is eighty miles; the journey occupying from eight to nine hours. By the rail-road it will average only four hours.

Should the rail-road that is contemplated between Havre and Paris be constructed, it will be possible to convey passengers and letters between the capitals of England and France in twenty-four hours; supposing the voyage from Southampton to Havre to occupy, as it does at present, about twelve hours.

These interesting facts denote that time is essentially an element of distance, as respects the intercourse of mankind, whether it be of individuals or communities. The only condition that seems necessary to its more general adoption in the ordinary affairs of life, is uniformity in the rate of travelling; an object, that with rail-roads, and steam-packets, is not of very difficult attainment.

In France, a rail-road has been some time in operation, whose length is about 89 miles. Other European nations are adopting similar modes of communication, and it is probable that at no very distant period, a journey from one extremity of Europe to the other will be performed in less time, and with less expense and inconvenience, than formerly attended that from London to Edinburgh, or some other equally distant part of the British Empire. The number of rail-roads in America, already completed, is 46, and there are projected, or in progress, 137 more. Among the latter, is one line of road that will be 330 miles in length, the most difficult and expensive portion of which, extending about 70 miles, is already finished. Upwards of 100 miles of another rail-road is completed, whose entire length will be 135 miles.

We now turn our attention to distances and movements of a totally different character from those which exist on this terrestrial globe.

In contemplating the varied phenomena of the heavenly bodies, the mind is not only filled with wonder, amounting in some cases to incredulity, but it is overwhelmed with awe. Who is there, even if he be possessed of the most gigantic intellect, that can grasp, in all its details, that wondrous mechanism, by which myriads of worlds are kept in their respective places, and are made to pursue, with undeviating regularity, the courses appointed them? It we limit our investigations to that part of the universe to which our own globe more immediately belongs the evidences of design, of order, and of magnitude, are so resplendently conspicuous, that, fatigued and overpowered by the exertion necessary to such research, if it be only of brief continuance, we gladly seek repose from such intense studies, among objects nearer home, and of a less stupendous character. But if it be so difficult thus to ascertain what is going on in our immediate vicinity, how greatly must the labour be increased, when, leaving far behind us our own little system, with its beautiful sun, and his attendant planets, we push our inquiries into the more distant regions of space, where worlds beyond worlds, shining with unborrowed light, crowd every interstice of the vast expanse! Few, indeed, are there, even amongst the most highly-gifted of mankind, who are capable of pursuing, in all its length and breadth, this delightful portion of natural science. Enough, however, might be known, by those whose means for acquiring knowledge are of the most ordinary description, to inspire in them emotions of deep humility; whilst all, from the least to the greatest, from the most ignorant to the most learned, may adopt the language of the Psalmist, "Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; it is high, I cannot attain unto it." Psalm cxxxix. 6.

To understand aright the relative situations of the planets, as respects their distances from the sun, and the rates at which they move in their respective orbits round that luminary, it is necessary to bear in mind, that the sun is immoveably fixed in the centre of the solar system. The rising of the sun in the east, and its setting in the west, is not a real but an apparent motion. The earth is the moving body, and it rotates on an imaginary line passing through its centre, and terminating at the poles, in the same way that a wheel of a carriage revolves on its axle. The rotatory motion of the earth, is in a direction from west to east, exactly the reverse of that in which the sun appears to move; and operating on our senses in a similar way to that of travelling in a carriage, or a steam-boat, when the objects at the sides of a road, or on the banks of a river, appear to be passing us in a contrary direction at a rapid rate. In addition to what is termed the daily rotation of the earth on its own axis, producing the agreeable alternations of day and night, it moves also with great velocity, in the performance of its annual circuit round the sun; to which circumstance, and the peculiar direction of its poles, we are indebted for the variation of seasons, and the difference in the duration of light and darkness.

The sun appears to us to be constantly changing its place among the fixed stars, making an entire revolution of the canopy of heaven in a year. This is an illusion of our senses, since it is ourseives that move; but we are unconscious of it except by directing our attention to external objects. In travelling with great rapidity on a rail-road, the illusion is so complete, that many persons who are strangers to that mode of conveyance, can only with difficulty be persuaded that they are in motion, unless they notice objects external to the carriage. On