sections. Enquiring what it was, he informed me, that Viviani, and many other mathematicians, had shown what portion of the spherical surface was taken away when the sphere was pierced perpendicularly to the plane of one of its great circles, by two cylinders, whose diameters are equal to the radii of the sphere. They have likewise shown, that the portion of the spherical surface remaining is quadrable, and equal to four times the square of the radius. But, continued he, they have not pointed out a remarkable property in that portion of the solid of the sphere, which remains after cutting out a pair of such cylinders. Now, after infinite labour, I have succeeded in demonstrating, by the method of triple integrals, that the remaining portion is cubable, and is equal to two-ninths of the cube of the sphere's diameter.

This discovery, my friend, said I, gives you, doubtless, as much pleasure as Mr. Heyne would have derived from lighting on a manuscript of Virgil, in which the half lines which occur in the Eneid had been drawn out to their due length by the poet himself; or such as Daines Barrington would have found on recovering the original plan of Cardiff castle; or Barthelemi from a true series of the coins of Hiero the Syracusan. Nay, I doubt whether sir Joseph Banks would have been equally delighted with a new species of blatta, from the bay of Carpentaria, or count Rumford with making a pint of good soup by means half a farthing less expensive than the mode hitherto in use in his own cook-shops.

My friend smiled at these comparisons, and, as usual, pointed out, with great solemnity and emphasis, the superior wisdom of mathematical researches, by means of which, among innumerable benefits, men are enabled to build ships that shall go through the water with the greatest possible speed, and to erect bridges which shall bear the greatest possible weight without flinching: whereas none but dreamers and

idiots would waste their time in looking for the plan of an old castle, from which no instruction can be drawn in planning fortresses at present; in searching for coins which are of less value in the market than the same weight of gold or copper in the shape of a cent or an eagle; in restoring the mutilated lines in a ridiculous story of gods, who were only devils in disguise, and of heroes that deserved to be hanged. What man of common sense, continued my friend, would find any satisfaction in discovering a new kind of cockroatch, when our domestic comfort requires that the whole race should be extirpated; or in compounding a cheaper soup than turtle, since it can only serve to multiply the numbers, and aggravate the idleness, of the poor?

Bravo! my friend, cried I, I earnestly advise you to sit down this moment and write an essay to demonstrate that all are heretics who do not worship Newton, and that all language, except the language of algebra, is no better than the chatter of monkeys.

W.

For the Literary Magazine.

MY NATIVE LAND.

AH! how many things are expressed by this short sentence !there is a charm in it which language cannot describe; it excites all the tender emotions so dear to the human heart; it awakens a recollection of all the pleasures and pains, all the hopes and fears we have once experienced, in those happy days, when, treading the soil which nourished us, we passed the morning of life in the pursuit of innocent pleasures, regardless of that which was concealed by the dark and impenetrable veil of futurity.

When our minds are awakened to a recollection of the disappointments we have met with, the misfortunes we have suffered, and the

miseries we have sustained (considered abstractedly), they seem to exceed the pleasures we have experienced; but when these recollections are connected with the country which gave us being, they lose much of their weight: they seem as trifles, compared to the attractions it possesses, the happiness it has once afforded, and can still bestow. All our pleasures seem heightened, and all our griefs seem lessened; time seems to have cast a softening light over the darker parts of the picture; the different tints seem to mingle; it is no longer composed of brilliant light and gloomy shade; we see them no more contrasted, like the splendour of noon with the darkness of night, but, like the calm beauties of twilight, with blended pleasure and sadness, and pleasing melancholy.

That the love of our country is a general sentiment might, I think, readily be proved; that it is a natural one needs no proof. Among the simplest people it reigns with peculiar energy. As men become more polished, this sentiment loses some of its force, but among no people, and, I think, from no bosom has it been wholly eradicated. Men of reflection, whose minds are enlarg ed by study, and elevated by philosophy, are apt to weigh the advantages which may be possessed in residing in one part of the world in preference to another, but the untaught and unsophisticated sons of nature ever find the most attractions in their native land; they think no advantages can compensate for an eternal absence from it. Short terms of absence may be endured with composure, but few would wander about the world, if they had not some hopes of one day or other returning to that land where first they saw the light of heaven, and played in the warmth of its beams.

On the other hand, we find that thousands leave their native land, and encounter the inconveniences and dangers of a long voyage to transport them to our own; but this objection to the opinion I have

have been supporting loses much of its force when we consider the peculiar and powerful motives which actuate them. They leave a country where the necessaries of life are not to be procured without great exertions; where the little which honest and persevering industry has accumulated is endangered by the violating hands of unprincipled hordes of hostile warriors, or the still more distressing depredations of those, who, by birth, are ranked among their friends; and where large portions of their earnings are applied to the support of a tyrannical government, by whose command their sons, the props of their age, are torn from the arms of their pa rents, to fight the battles of a prince, whose reign is oppressive and detestable: for one where industry will more than supply the means of subsistence, where its savings are secured to them by just and equal laws, where peace and liberty have established, and, I hope, will for ever hold their blessed reign, where the spoiler dares not lift his arm, and the tyrant is held in bondage.

And even those persons leave not their former abode without the deepest regret, without casting a long and lingering look behind," on those scenes, on which their eyes now rest perhaps for the last time; but motives, more powerful than those which restrain their flight, urge them forward to try their for tune amid those scenes which report and fancy have painted in such engaging colours.

It will be said, they remain here. True. The same motives which introduced them here still prevail, and others are daily arising: the ties of conjugal love, the cares of a family accustomed to the country they inhabit, the consequence they acquire by their industry, in a country where merit is supposed to con fer dignity, and many others, equally powerful, which prevent their returning. But yet, in spite of all these advantages, still do they view their native land with peculiar satisfaction; its productions, its cus

toms, its manners, its manufactures, are all superior, in their estimation, to those of the land they inhabit. These are certainly prejudices in most instances, but prejudices which may be pardoned; they are not those of education, but which nature has planted in their bosoms for valuable purposes, and which, though they may not be evidences of enlarged minds, are still those of honest hearts.

VALVERDI.

To be continued.

For the Literary Magazine.

TERRIFIC NOVELS.

THE Castle of Otranto laid the foundation of a style of novel writing, which was carried to perfection by Mrs. Radcliff, and which may be called the terrific style. The great talents of Mrs. Radcliff made some atonement for the folly of this mode of composition, and gave some importance to exploded fables and childish fears, by the charms of sentiment and description; but the multitude of her imitators seem to have thought that description and sentiment were impertinent intruders, and by lowering the mind somewhat to its ordinary state, marred and counteracted those awful feelings, which true genius was properly employed in raising. They endeavour to keep the reader in a constant state of tumult and horror, by the powerful engines of trap-doors, back stairs, black robes, and pale faces: but the solution of the enigma is ever too near at hand, to permit the indulgence of supernatural appear ances. A well-written scene of a party at snap-dragon would exceed all the fearful images of these books. There is, besides, no keeping in the author's design: fright succeeds to fright, and danger to danger, without permitting the unhappy reader to draw his breath, or to re

pose for a moment on subjects of character or sentiment.

I lately took up a novel of this kind, and it having been some time since I looked into a similar performance, I read with some degree of curiosity, and congratulated myself on having fallen on so fine a specimen of the prevailing taste. I cannot forbear admitting my reader to a participation of my pleasure, by transcribing a page or two. All its chapters are so nearly alike that any one will answer, and the sagacious reader need not be apprized of preliminary matters.

Edmund, at first undetermined how to act, now arose, and went down to the next story. The room which he recognized as the apartment of his Adelaide, and which a few hours before was, as well as the rest of the house involved in total darkness, was now, to his extreme surprise, in the middle of the night completely illuminated. He enter ed: but the object which presented itself rivetted him to the spot. Every function of his body, every sensation of his soul was suspended; a deadly chilling stopped the circulation of his blood: without having fainted, and in an erect posture, he appeared annihilated. On a table, surrounded by large sable wax ta pers, lay a coffin, covered by a black cloth reaching the ground.

When recovering from this stu por, the dread of the worst that could betide him quickened his heart to every racking sensation. Twice, urged by despair, he attempted to lift up the pull, and to discover by the plate on the coffin, whether his Adelaide-twice the dread of a horrid certainty withheld his arm. During this excruciating suspence, he again heard steps ascending the stairs: wanting resolution to make enquiries, he with precipitation withdrew behind a curtain suspended in a corner of the apartment.

A young lady of the most elegant form, and arrayed in deep mourning, now entered, eagerly ap proached the coffin, then turning to

her female attendants, by a motion of her hand bade them withdraw.

Oh, Edmund! what were the ectasies of thy heart, how enviable thy feelings when so suddenly revived from the dread of losing for ever thy richest treasure, in the beautiful mourner thou beheldest thine. But hush! she speaks!

"Precious remains of an ever-beloved parent," softly breathed Adelaide, mournfully viewing the coffin, "let me take one last look, let me behold once more those features whose image will ever live in my heart."

As she spoke, she slowly removed a part of the pall, lifted up the lid, and in silent sorrow gazed on the countenance of her departed aunt. Then recollecting her own forlorn situation, she continued, her eyes swimming in tears:

"O thou! from whom I experienced"

She could say no more, but kneeling by the coffin, she reclined her head on the edge of the table. Her tears, her sobs bespoke the abundance of her grief.

"No!" said the deeply affected Edmund starting from behind the curtain, kneeling by her, and taking her hand, "No! thine Edmund, at least, lives for thee."

He was proceeding; but the terrified, amazed Adelaide shrunk from his touch, uttered a piercing shriek, and sunk on the ground.

Her lover, astonished at her action, and excessively alarmed, hastened to afford her all possible relief. He had already placed her on the nearest chair, when he felt himself touch by a kind of wand, and, as he turned round, a deep-toned voice awfully pronounced the portentous word-FORBEAR!

Edmund then beheld a tall figure completely clad in a loose black gown that swept the ground. The face of the object was concealed by a veil of the same colour reaching his girdle.

"Who art thou? Whence comest thou? Why this disguise?"

"FORBEAR: I CHARGE THEE, FORBEAR!" was the awful reply.

"To thine admonition, in that treacherous garb, I shall not attend; but, by Heaven, I'll know who thou art."

At the same time, while, with his left hand he sustained the swooning maid, by a sudden spring with his right he tore off the veil, that, to his amazement and horror, had concealed the fleshless, worm-eaten head of a skeleton, whose eyes alone rolled alive in their hollow sockets.

This dismal visage was enough to rob ordinary mortals of their five wits, it must be acknowledged.— What wonders may be extracted from a simple piece of pasteboard, painted into a resemblance of a death's head, with two holes, through which the wearer's eyes may perform their part!

IF our surprise be sometimes awakened by the diversified modes by which men endeavour to obtain money, there is no less reason for surprise at the modes by which men contrive to expend it when it is got. There seems, in general, as much anxiety betrayed, and ingenuity exerted, for the latter as for the former purpose. It is remarkable, that the more freely men disburse money, and the more prone they are to give it away, without recompence or consideration, the more avaricious are they, the more eagerly do they steal, beg, or borrow from others. The seeming inconsistency in human conduct, which Sallust imputes, as a great singularity, to Cataline, is daily and familiarly met with in all the haunts of human society.

I have seldom met, in my reading, with a more curious instance of seeming inconsistency between the

spirit with which money is acquired, and that with which it is spent, than in the conduct of two Russian brothers, named Narishkin. Their property, like that of other Russian jords, consists in lands and peasants, from which the revenue derived is in nature of a poll tax, each individual paying annually so many rubles (dollars) for himself, his wife, and children. This sum is always as much as can possibly be squeezed out of the earnings of the miserable slave, gotten either by husbandry or handicraft. No diet, no garb, no accommodation is thought too coarse or scanty for the peasant and his brats, and all beyond this humble and meagre provision rightfully be longs to the master. As the horse is provided with oats and hay merely that he may be profitable to his owner, so is the Russian boor perImitted to provide himself with onions all rye biscuit that he may continue a productive beast to his proprietor.

The Narishkins have about twenty thousand such slaves, from whose hard hands are annually wrung about twice that number of dollars, and this tribute, we are told, is exacted with the utmost rigour. How, may we ask, do they employ this vast sum, whose real value, in Russia, will be rightly judged of when it is known that the yearly pay, maintenance, and equipment of four thousand Russian soldiers cost the national treasury about the same sum. A late traveller shall help us to answer this question. He tells as that the country-seats of the two brothers Narishkin are frequented, on Sundays, by great numbers of the higher classes. A friendly invitation, in four different languages, inscribed over the entrance to the grounds, authorizes every one of decent appearance and behaviour to amuse himself there, in whatever way he pleases, without fear of molestation. In several pavilions are musicians for the benefit of those who chuse to dance; in others are chairs and sofas, ready for the reception of any

party who wish to recreate themselves by sedate conversation after roaming about with the great throng; some parties take to the swings, the bowling-green, and other diversions; on the canals and lakes are gondo las, some constructed for rowing, others for sailing; and, if all this be not enough, refreshments are spread on tables, in particular alcoves, or are handed about by servants in livery. This noble hospitality is by no means unenjoyed; the concourse of persons of all descriptions, from the star and ribband to the plain, well-dressed burgher, forms such a party-coloured collection, and sometimes groupes are so humourously contrasted, that for this reason alone it is well worth the pains of partaking once in the amusement.

For the Literary Magazine.

VOLCANOES.

A VOLCANO is surely the greatest of natural curiosities, because it is one which bears the least resemblance to those objects which are daily and familiarly passing before our eyes. If a volcano were always insulated in such a manner, that it should constitute nothing but a spectacle, the deprivation of it might be reasonably deemed a disadvantage; but this, alas! is never the case. Its devastations extend commonly far beyond the limits of the sight; and even if a sea intervene between us and the flaming hill, the ground beneath us is often shaken, when the volcanic flame is only faintly seen in the dim horizon, emitting an uncertain ray, like the lamp of a beacon, seen remote.

Happily for us of the United States, we are exempted from the evils which are inseparable from a volcano. For the sake of this security, we shall readily dispense with the gratifications which the fancy might receive from the spectacle, and which, like all other pleasures