let us confine our attention to one, Tycho. Suppose we are up in the moon for a short time, taking a walk; we approach Tycho through a very rugged region, and the first thing we should see would be a sort of wall of rock extending about 50 miles, an almost unbroken ring, and about 1,200 feet high Suppose we ascended to the top, we should expect to find a plain or slope on the other side, but instead of that, here we are standing on the top of a sheer precipice descending down by one leap 13,000 feet! At the bottom of that terrific wall there is a small terrace, and beyond that there is another descent, and the centre of this immense pit is 17,000 feet deep! If we descended to the bottom, we should find a wall rising 17,000 feet, that is 2,000 feet loftier than the top of Mont Blanc. There is not a cleft or opening by which one could ascend to the surface of the moon.

It is only in comparatively recent times that we have gained a true conception of the history of our earth. Geologists formerly regarded the mountains as without order, the result of one grand convulsion; but we find that the earth presents to us the result of the progress and convulsions of long ages-periods of time inconceivably long, and which must be reckoned by millions of years. The indexes of these periodic convulsions are our mountains, which are perfectly chronological. We know whether one mountain range is older or younger than another, and how much. The Andes, for instance, are the products of the last grand convulsion. After a great chain of mountains was thrown up, the world resumed comparative repose for a long period; this epoch was disturbed by the throwing up of another vast mass of mountains in another part of the earth, which changed the relations of land and water.

Now of these mighty steps in the history of our globe we count about 26, tolerably well ascertained. How far these convulsions were severed from each

other we cannot say, but may form some idea. The Andes, I have said, were thrown up last, and they altered the relations of land and water in North America since then the rivers must have flowed as they do now. How long has the Mississippi rolled in its present bed? The question seems insoluble. However, rivers as they flow constantly carry down debris to the sea, which is usually deposited at their mouths, forming deltas. Sir Charles Lyell was lately in that part of America, and having the opportunity of examining a small part of the delta of the Mississippi, he put to himself the question, “Can I find out how long this part of the delta has been in formation ?" He came to the conclusion on good grounds, that it could not have been formed in less than three millions of years! What time the whole delta would take he could not venture to guess. Such is the view we now have of the character of the earth. Look at the moon as it now exists. At first sight we are inclined to agree, with the old geologists, that it shows nothing but chaos. But that is no more likely to be true of the moon than of the earth. The geologic structure of the moon cannot be seen, but the priority of certain formations has been proved. The larger craters, such as Tycho, are the oldest formations; the force seems to have lessened. The oldest formations on the earth have craters; the two orbs therefore seem to have had a similar history. The moon is the younger orb, and it is presenting us with the condition in which the earth may have been at an early epoch. We are astounded when we come into the presence of these mighty solemnities. It may be asked, what is the use of such inquiry? The more we extend our inquiry the more the universe appears to baffle us. We go back and back only to find that we cannot reach the Divinity; we can never get to the ends of space, nor to the commencement of time.

DOUGLAS JERROLD:

HIS LIFE AND

WRITINGS.

BY THE EDITOR.

[The "Athenæum's" able obituary notice of Douglas Jerrold forms the basis of this lecture.]

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DOUGLAS JERROLD was born in London, on the 3rd January, 1803. Those were troubled times, wars and rumours of wars abounded. The French, our natural enemies," as they were called, threatened the invasion of England. Napoleon Buonaparte was at Boulogne, and the citizens of London suffered a panic in consequence of his anticipated invasion. The father of the young Jerrold was manager of the two theatres of Sheerness and Southend; and those who are acquainted with these seaports, and remember how firm was the belief in England's supremacy on the sea in those days, will not be surprised at the strong bias displayed by him for sea life and adventures. Much of the terseness of his style, and the wholesome vigour in his writings, with their pervading garniture of sea phrases and stories, may be traced to the influence of his early years before the mast. He was christened Douglas William Jerrold: Douglas being the maiden name of his grandmother. With commendable and characteristic love of brevity and simplicity in speech and writing, combined with a desire to honour his maternal progenitor, he contented himself with the short and fine name of Douglas Jerrold. There seems a sort of fatality in

K

names; how many might be mentioned belonging to the famous ones which would furnish material for a discourse on the text "What's in a name ?”

Douglas Jerrold was the fruit of his father's old age, and it is recorded by one who knew him personally, that he held a belief that the children of old men were always vigorous and quick in thought, and short-lived. Instances might be mentioned where the children of healthy old age have possessed remarkable minds, and been long-lived. Handel was born after his father had attained his sixtieth year, and our "chief musician" reached a good old age.

Jerrold's school-days were few, nor did he make much progress in his studies while thumbing the spelling book in a public school at Sheerness. That he was dull at school is recorded; and had such not been, the case, it would have surprised me, knowing the forbidding nature of learning at the outset, especially to imaginative minds. I refer to the perplexities of the spelling book. Of a reform in our mode of spelling, as attempted by Messrs. Pitman and Ellis, Douglas Jerrold was in his maturer years an advocate. Two favourable articles on the subject he inserted in his " Shilling Magazine," and recorded the encouraging opinion, in his "Weekly Newspaper," that "many reforms of a more imposing character will prove less historical than the "writing and printing reformation." How many clever men, especially poets and imaginative writers, have been notoriously dull at school: amongst others may be mentioned Sir Walter Scott and Lord Byron. This is partly owing to the difficulty of learning to read, and spell, and write, in consequence of the misuse of letters, and the tediousness of long-hand; and partly to the want of system in teaching, which is still the great want in our middle-class schools. The result is that the mind of the dull child becomes deadened; but the boy of naturally quick parts and innate energy of mind triumphs over all obstacles in the

path of knowledge, and learns in spite of having gone to school. Jerrold used to say in a tone of merry melancholy, that the only prize he carried home from school, was a prize ringworm. At nine years of age he could scarcely read. His impetuous mind and strong imagination rebelled against the slowness and incongruities of learning to spell each separate word, when the whole book of nature, spread profusely and enticingly around him, was open to his perusal without a key or dictionary. The breakers of the sea were the books he liked to study. He had few friends or playmates of his own age to share with him the games of childhood, and he was consequently thrown upon his own resources for amusement. He used to say that the only boy he knew familiarly at Sheerness, was the buoy at the Nore! Bred up among ships and sailors, it is not surprising that he conceived a partiality for the sea. On the sea England was fighting great battles; and the ships of war which sailed majestically past the Nore seemed to his youthful imagination the very embodiment of freedom, and the centre and source of those aspirations which are ever found in great hearts in times of national ferment.

Sea

To sea he would go, and fight the French; and he entered his majesty's service as a midshipman on board the Namur. His commander was Captain Austen, a brother of Miss Austen, the great novel writer; a man of a large and genial soul, who, when duty was done, amused himself, and brother officers and crew, with private plays on board ship. service was then severe; but its very hardships seemed attractive, for service in the navy was then a national passion,-the immortal spirit of Nelson had inspired Britannia's sons. Jerrold caught this fury, natural enough to a boy born in the panic of invasion, and trained in a war-port: and to his last year there remained in his writings and in his conversation the echo of this spirit.