me that the scales were the same, and Mr. Shore* afterwards informed me, that when the voice of a native singer was in tune with his harpsichord, he found the Hindoo series of seven notes transcend like ours, by a sharp third."

From these extracts it will appear, that the Hindoos, at an early period, cultivated music as a science, and that they were moreover deeply cognizant in the theory of sounds. This music, if we examine its modes, appears to have the same origin as that of the Greeks, and also that of the Arabs, under the Caliphs, although but few fragments of the two latter remain. There is, however, one peculiarity in the music of the Hindoos: every melody is in correct measure, and may be barred like an ordinary European air. The Arabs, on the contrary, had no fixed measure, the length and brevity of their notes being, like the modern recitative, subordinate to the performer's taste. The lyric music of the Greeks was measured by the prosody of the poetry to which it was adapted. The only thing possessed by modern Europeans, which bears any resemblance to the music of the ancients, is the Gregorian canto fermo, modelled upon what was supposed to exist among the Romans, before the decline of art. In this chant the same variety of modes exists as in the music of antiquity, and the same names have been applied to each. Modern writers usually mistake these modes for different keys, though they all belong to one key, being composed, to speak intelligibly to a modern musician, of the different scales of the diatonic heptachord.

These same modes exist in the Hindoo music, and therefore, many of them will not carry a regular modal harmony, such as distinguishes all modern European music, which contains only two modes. Thus the Hindoos, like the Greeks and Arabs, sing only in unisons, though in the native concerts I have sometimes distinguished a third or a fifth struck upon the final note. But this is mere instinct: the human ear naturally conceives these harmonic intervals, and this is so true, that I have heard bands of Mozambique Negroes, whose music is strictly that of nature, sing in three parts, and their ear led them instinctively to the common chord, and the chord of the dominant seventh. The Hindoos pretend to musical science, and are therefore disposed to reject that which nature teaches them; the consequence is, that where they light unconsciously upon and sound a harmonic interval with its fundamental note, it breaks the monotony of their unisons, which they consider a blemish.

Subjoined is a Hindoo song of extreme antiquity, to which a musical friend of mine has added a simple piano-forte accompaniment, for the purpose of showing, that wild and singular as it must appear to the European musician, it will, nevertheless, bear regular harmonies, although such combinations of sound have always been unknown to the Hindoos.

The practice of music is universal. There appears to be no nation upon the face of the earth to whom it is not familiar. It may be considered to be almost coeval with the creation; for man, soon perceiving that his voice was susceptible of most expressive modulations, of producing an innumerable variety of tones, and of modifying its inflexions in endless changes, would naturally employ the power with which his Creator had gifted him, in embodying that music which he felt himself to have the power of expressing. He perceived that there was, more or less, a vocal melody in every thing which God had created, capable of emitting voluntary sound. The late Lord Teignmouth.

The birds, those artless choristers of the grove, suggested nature as at once the most exquisite and transporting prototype of art, and man was led to imitate,-of course, at first, rudely and imperfectly,— what Divine Wisdom had pronounced to be very good. The Deity had stamped every thing with the signet of consummate harmony. The very roar of the tiger became the solemn stillness of the forest, as much as the plaintive notes of the nightingale the silence of the glen, or those of the thrush and blackbird that of the secluded copse.

We find that even among the most savage tribes, there generally prevails a keen relish for, and a ready aptitude in, producing an artificial combination of sounds, constituting a melody in which they delight; so that music is a universal, and, to a certain extent, may be denominated, an intuitive art.

We are to remember, in considering the musical qualifications of different countries, that our perceptions of the harmonious, as well as of the beautiful, depend upon circumstances. Our minds are moulded and our tastes nurtured by these circumstances. The man who had never beheld the sun but from a mighty eminence, or from valleys surrounded by gigantic shapes, where vast crags tremble above his head, precipices yawn beneath his feet, and the perpetual dash of the mountain-torrent chimes in his ear the clamorous music of his native hills,--such a man, surely, would entertain very different feelings of the sublime and beautiful, as well of what was addressed to the ear as to the eye, from him who had passed his days among grassy meads and sunny plains, where the sweet song of birds, and the beautiful livery of fruitful fields, had impressed his heart with gentler melodies, and his eye with more subdued objects of delight. Our notions of external things are as various as the expression of our features. The African is said to paint the devil white, and to his ear that may be delightful harmony, which to ours is "horrid discord.' The savage

Whose rough untutor'd mind,

Sees God in clouds and hears him in the wind, may, perhaps, discover as fine a melody in those rude tones which shock our more refined perceptions, as we do in the ravishing strains of Mozart or Haydn. Our fastidious tastes have been taught to reject every thing musical, that has not been consecrated by the high creations of genius, or, at least, been submitted to the intricate rules of science; so that we may fail to discover in the rude strains of the mere musician of nature in savage life, agreeable unions of sound, which are evident to less sensitive ears.

It will, then, be manifest, if there be any truth in the premises I have advanced, that music may really exist where we do not perceive it, only because our habits have been familiarized, and our emotions wont to be excited by different modes of acoustic combinations. Let us not, therefore, affect to despise the music of Hindoostan, because we happen to think it inferior to our own, remembering, too, that even Europeans living in India, very seldom hear it in its perfection.

The pictorial illustration which heads this article, exhibits a band of itinerant musicians, such as are commonly engaged by the natives, for the niggard remuneration of a few pice t. The picture represents rather an unusual thing, a mixture of Hindoo and Mohammedan performers. This distinction may be traced in their dress, as the former always fasten their jumma, or tunic, on the left side, the latter on the right. It will, therefore, appear, that the figures in A small copper coin, in value about the third of a penny.

the animal seems to be aware of the greater facility with which a renewal of the claw can be effected at thèse parts; for if it chances to receive an injury at the extremity of the limb, it often, by a spontaneous effort, breaks off the whole limb at its junction with the trunk, which is the point where the growth more speedily commences. The wound soon becomes covered with a delicate white membrane, which presents, at first, a convex surface: this gradually rises to a point, and is found, on examination, to conceal the rudiment of a new claw. At first this new claw enlarges but slowly, as if collecting strength for the more vigorous effort of expansion, which afterwards takes place. As it grows, the membrane is pushed forwards, becoming thinner, in proportion as it is stretched, till, at length, it gives way, and the soft claw is exposed to view. The claw now enlarges rapidly, and in a few days more acquires a shell as hard as that which had preceded it. Usually, however, it does not attain the same size; a circumstance which accounts for our frequently meeting with lobsters and crabs, which have one claw much smaller than the other. In the course of the subsequent castings, this disparity gradually disappears. The same power of restoration is found to reside in the legs, the antennæ, and the jaws.

[DR. ROGET's Bridgewater Treatise.]

O. N.

THE angels of heaven, who are spirits, see God present to them; but we on earth can only see him through a glass darkly, when we contemplate his glory in the sun, his terrors in the thunder, his wrath in the lightning, his quickening power in the air that gives us breath, his majesty in the noise of the sea, and the gathering of the clouds. JONES of Nayland.

BISHOP KEN.

THE remains of the pious BISHOP KEN are deposited in Frome churchyard. It has been erroneously stated, that there is not a stone to mark where he lies; whereas, there is a monument near the spot, probably erected at the time of his death, by the noble family at Long Leat, where the Bishop died; but the sculpture is decayed, and the epitaph has disappeared. Some years ago, one of the churchwardens was induced, by respect and veneration for his memory, to plant a few flowers round the grave, and some of these still remain. The following verses were composed by the Rev. W. L. BOWLES, Canon Residentiary of Salisbury Cathedral, and writer of a Life of Ken.

UPON this nook of earth forlorn,
Which KEN his spot of burial chose,
Peaceful shine, oh! Sabbath morn;
And eve, with gentlest hush, repose.

To him is raised no marble tomb,

Within the dim cathedral-fane;

But some faint flowers of summer bloom,
And silent falls the winter's rain.

This only monumental stone

Records his resting-place and name-
What recks it! when thy task is done;
Christian! how vain the sound of fame.

Oh! far more grateful to thy God,

The voices of poor children rise",
Who hasten o'er the dewy sod,

To pay their morning sacrifice.
And who can hear their evening hymn-
When sad, and slow, a distant knell
Tolls o'er the fading landscape dim,

As if to say," Vain world, farewell!"
Without a thought, that, from the dust,

The morn shall wake the sleeping clay,
And bid the faithful and the just
Up-spring to Heav'n's eternal day.
Alluding to Morning and Evening Hymns," by Bishop Ken

OF MODERATION.

I CANNOT but commend, says Bishop Hall, that great clerk of Paris, who, when King Louis of France required him to write down the best word that ever he had learnt, called for a fair skin of parchment, and in the midst of it wrote this one word MEASURE, and sent it sealed up to the king. The king, opening the sheet, and finding no other inscription, thought himself mocked by his philosopher, and calling for him, expostulated the matter; but when it was showed him that all virtues, and all religious and worthy actions were regulated by this one word, and that without this, yirtue itself turned vicious, he rested satisfied; and so he well might; for it is a word well worthy of the seven sages of Greece, from whom, indeed, it was borrowed, and only put into a new coat. For while he said of old, (for his motto,) Nothing too much, he meant no other than to comprehend both extremes under the mention of one : neither in his sense is it any paradox to say, that too little is too much; for as too much bounty is prodigality, so too much sparing is niggardness. Neither could aught be spoken of more use or excellency; for what goodness can there be in the world without moderation, whether in the use of God's creatures, or in our own disposition and carriage, Without this, justice is no more than cruel rigour; mercy, unjust remissness; pleasure, brutish sensuality; love, frenzy; anger, fury; sorrow, desperate mopishness; joy, distempered wildness; knowledge, saucy curiosity; piety, superstition; care, wracking distraction; courage, mad rashness; shortly there can be nothing under Heaven without it, but mere vice and confusion: like as in nature, if the elements should forget the temper of their due mixture, and encroach upon each other by excess, what would follow but universal ruin?

It is, therefore, moderation by which this inferior world stands; since the wise and great God, who hath ordained the continuance of it, hath decreed so to contemper all the parts thereof, that none of them should exceed of their own proportion and degree, to the prejudice of the other. Yea, what is the heaven itself, but (as Gerson compares it well) as a great clock regularly moving in an equal sway of all the orbs, without difference of poise, without variation of minutes, in a constant state of eviternal evenness, both of being and motion. Neither is it any other, by which this little world of ours (whether of body or mind) is upheld in any safe and tolerable estate; when humours pass their stint, the body sickens; when the passions, the mind.

There is nothing, therefore, in the world more wholesome, or more necessary for us to learn, than this gracious lesson of moderation; without which, in very truth, a man is so far from being a Christian, that he is not himself. This is the centre wherein all, both divine and moral, philosophy meet; the rule of life, the governess of manners, the silken string that runs through the pearl-chain of all virtues, the very ecliptic line, under which reason and religion moves without deviation; and, therefore, most worthy of our best thoughts, of our most careful observance. -BISHOP HALL.

NOTHING but the sanctifying influences of religion can subdue, and keep in tolerable order, that pride which is the concomitant of great talents with a bad education.HANNAH MORE.

RICHES, honours, and pleasures, are the sweets which destroy the mind's appetite for its heavenly food; poverty disgrace, and pain, are the bitters which restore it. BISHOP HORNE.

TUNNELS.

THE THAMES AND MEDWAY CANAL. UNTIL Mr. Brunel commenced his great and interesting undertaking below the bed of the Thames, but little attention seems to have been excited to the important works of the kind previously completed in this country above-ground, or indeed, to the subject of tunnelling generally. The idea, however, of constructing tunnels for the purpose of facilitating inland navigation, is by no means new; and appears to have been first carried into effect in France, by M. Regnet, an eminent engineer in the reign of Louis the Fourteenth, who thus conveyed the canal of Languedoc through a mountain which obstructed its progress. It was not until about the middle of the last century, that Brindley, who is, perhaps, the greatest engineer which this country has produced, excavated the first tunnel in England, on the Duke of Bridgewater's canal, in the neighbourhood of Manchester. Subsequently to this, the same eminent individual drove a tunnel through Harecastle Hill, in Staffordshire, for the purpose of uniting the navigation of the Trent with the Mersey; a work of great magnitude, in consequence of the nature of the ground. This excavation is 2880 yards in length, and between 70 and 80 yards under ground.

The Sapperton tunnel, by which the Thames and Severn were united, is another splendid instance of public enterprise, and individual ability; it extends for a distance of two miles and three quarters, two miles of which were cut through the solid rock. The Great Drift, or tunnel in the neighbourhood of Newcastle, however, is the most extensive undertaking ever executed in this department of engineering. This great work, (which was completed in 1797,) is excavated through a whinstone rock of extreme hardness, (equalling the hardest flint in the density of its texture,) for the greater part of its extent. The Liverpool tunnel, at the commencent of the railway, is one of the most considerable works recently executed. Its length is 2250 yards; it is twentytwo feet wide, and sixteen feet high. A double line of railway runs throughout, and a row of gas-lights is suspended from the centre of the arched roof, at a distance of twenty-five yards from each other. effect," remarks Mr. Stephenson, the engineer to this splendid national work, "is strikingly beautiful, for the rays of light from each lamp throw a distinct luminous arch on the roof, and the series diminishing according to the laws of perspective, gives the appearance of a number of distinct arches, instead of one continued vault." Another tunnel of some extent has still more recently been executed near Buxton, on that extensive public undertaking, the Cromford and High Peak railway.

The

These notices of some of the most remarkable tunnels now existing in this country, may not be uninteresting, as introductory to a notice of the subject of our engraving, the tunnel on the Thames and Medway Canal, between Gravesend and Rochester, itself a work of no ordinary magnitude.

By referring to a map, it will be seen, that that part of Kent which lies immediately to the eastward of Gravesend, projects into the German Ocean between the courses of the Thames and Medway, which previously to their junction at the Nore run for about twelve miles, nearly parallel. Across the neck of the peninsula thus formed between Gravesend and Rochester, a canal has been constructed, for the purpose of avoiding the circuitous navigation, which vessels and hoys trading in the Medway had formerly to make in their passage to London. The saving in distance thus effected, is fully thirty miles, as the.

breadth of the peninsula along the line of the canal is only seven miles, whilst it is nearly forty miles between the respective places in sailing round by the Nore; and all delay from easterly winds is thus also avoided.

The canal, (which is twenty-eight feet wide at the bottom, fifty feet at the top, and has seven feet water,) commences on the southern bank of the Thames, in the parish of Milton; and for more than four miles crosses a dead level, chiefly marsh-land. It then meets with a hill or rib of chalk, which intervenes between this place and the Medway. Through this elevation the tunnel is perforated. Our engraving furnishes a vivid idea of the effect of this subterranean canal. Its entire length exceeds two miles and a quarter, but so true is the line, that the light, at either extremity, is clearly visible when viewed near the opposite end. The width of the excavation is about thirty feet, of which twenty-four feet is appropriated for the canal, whilst the remainder of the space is reserved for a towing-path, which is protected by a stout rail of oak, bolted to supports of cast iron, which are let into stone bearers, embedded in the solid chalk.

"

It has not been found necessary to construct an archway of brickwork, except at intervals, during the line; so great is the solidity of the material through which it is carried. The crown of the arched roof rises more than fifteen feet above the level of the towing-path: the sections of the tunnel are of different curvatures, part being parabolic, and part circular, the crown of the arches all coinciding. It is to the reflection of the light from the chalk roof, that we must in a great measure attribute the absence of the almost total darkness, which might be expected to exist in some parts of the tunnel. So far is this from being the case, that about the middle of the excavation, there is sufficient light at noon, to decipher print of a large size. Had the tunnel been arched with brick throughout, however, the absorption of the light would have been so considerable, as to have rendered it necessary to introduce some artificial light; which is evidenced by respectively observing the appearance of the chalk and brick surfaces.

The sensations produced on the mind of a stranger, in exploring this vast and dusky passage, are powerful and impressive, and increase with each succeeding step, as the cheerful light of day is left behind: "the reflection of the chalk on the clear surface of the water," says an ingenious writer, "(more distinctly visible as you approach either end,) apparently doubling the magnitude; and the entire absence of every sound but that of the slow and measured footsteps of the quadrupeds employed in towing the craft, stealing on the car at a distance, and becoming gradually louder and louder as it reverberates through the tunnel, combine to produce an emotion of sublimity, which enhances not a little the interest with which the work will be contemplated by the intelligent passenger."

In consequence of the canal not being sufficiently wide within the tunnel to permit two barges to pass different ways, they are only allowed to enter either extremity at stated times; an encounter cannot, therefore, possibly take place. The periods are so arranged, as to allow sufficient time for the passage of one line of barges one way, and that of another line in the opposite direction; and all barges arriving in the interval, are compelled to wait until the regulated period expires, so that it is necessary for the barges to be ready at the extremities at the precise time, or they are not permitted to pass until the next turn.

About three years since, a small steamer plied on