lime, for the reasons you have just given, I, in the same way, call Geology romantic, because it not only leads us to travel among the wildest scenery of nature, but carries us back to the birth and infancy of our little planet, and follows its history of deluges, and hurricanes, and earthquakes, which have left such numerous traces of their devastations. Would you not think it romantic to travel, as must be done by the geological inquirer, among mountains and valleys, where tempests have bared and shattered the hardest rocks, and where alternate rains and frosts are crumbling the solid materials of mountains, while the springs and rivers wash away the fragments, to deposit them again in the various stages of their course? And would you not think it romantic to dream about the young world emerging from darkness, and rejoicing in the first dawn of created light? To think of the building of mountains, the hollowing out of valleys, and the gathering together of the great waters of the ocean? And will it not be romantic to discover the traces of the ancient world before the time of Noah, in every hill and valley which you examine

"Edward. This will, indeed, be romantic and interesting, though I am not sure I shall understand it so well as Astronomy.

"Mrs. R.-On the contrary, I think Geology is, perhaps, better fitted for our limited comprehensions than Astronomy; for it is more within our reach to examine the structure and formation of mountains, than that of the sun or of the stars; and it is easier to bring the mind to rest on the comparative littleness of the earth at its creation, than to let our thoughts travel abroad through the boundless fields of infinite space. When we descend to the earth, we feel ourselves more at home; we are not so overpowered by sublimity as in the contemplation of astronomy; we can think more calmly and reason more at ease; and we can trace the finger of God more visibly,-perhaps because more nearly."

This is the usual style of the work in those parts where the more argumentative topics of the science are not the subject of discussion. In that case, though the style admits of fewer ornaments, the interest is kept up by apt illustrations, curious facts, and unexpected transitions in the argument.

More than two-thirds of the volume are devoted to the two leading Geological Theories of Hutton and Werner, the advocates severally for the agency of fire and water, whose followers are usually designated Vulcanists and Neptunists. Our readers may not be displeased to see a brief outline of these celebrated theories, as we shall attempt to redact it from the luminous sketches in the "Conversations."

For the purpose of making a globe like the earth, the seas, continents, and islands, diversified with hills and valleys, and productive of food for various animals, Dr. Hutton considered it as indispensable that other globes should have previously existed, from which materials for the structure might be derived.

These supposi

titious worlds being acted on by the moist atmosphere, by rains, and by the frost and thaws of winter and spring, would, in a long course of years, be crumbled down, or, as the Geologists say, disintegrated, and gradually carried by rivers, in the form of sand, clay, and gravel, to the sea. At the bottom of the sea these materials would arrange themselves in beds, differing in thickness, according to the circumstances by which they might be affected. But those beds would have continued in the soft state of sand or clay for ever, unless something occurred to harden them. It is here that Dr. Hutton brings in the agency of fire, and tells us, that there is at the bottom of the sea sufficient heat, from a great central fire which he conceives to exist in the centre of the globe, to melt all the clay, sand, and gravel, and to form them into rocks. He provides for the appearance of these above water, by supposing that the central fire occasionally expands itself, and elevates the newly

formed rocks into islands and continents, diversified by hills and valleys, these being destined in their turn to the same changes of destruction and renovation, as those from which they took their origin.

According to the rival Geological Theorist, Werner, all the substances which now constitute rocks, mountains, and soil, on the earth's surface, were originally existing in a state of solution in the waters of the great Chaos, which he supposes at the beginning to have surrounded the globe to a vast depth. The substances or materials of rocks, thus swimming in the primitive ocean, he conceives to have gradually fallen to the bottom, sometimes by chemical, sometimes by mechanical means, and sometimes by both together; and in this manner, he thinks, all the rocks have been formed which we now find on digging into the earth. The inequalities of mountains and valleys on the surface of the earth, which were thus produced as soon as the waters began to subside, (and this subsidence is an important point in the system,) gradually rose out of the primitive sea, forming the first dry land. The rocks which were in this manner first formed, Werner calls the Original, or Primitive Formation: they consist of granite, greiss, different species of slate, marble, and trap.

The formation of these rocks, however, did not, it seems, exhaust the materials floating in the waters, for the deposition went on, and a class of rocks were formed consisting of grey wacké, limestone, and trap, which rested on the primitive, and are called by Werner the Intermediate or Transition Rocks; because, on their appearance above the waters, the earth, he conceives, passed into a habitable state.

After the formation of those primitive and transition rocks, Werner alleges that the water suddenly rose over them to a great height, covering them in many places, as it again subsided, with a new formation of rocks consisting of sandstone, conglomerates, limestone, gypsum, chalk, and rock

salt, which he called Level or Floetz Rocks.

Since that period, the wearing down of the rocks, by the action of the weather and other causes, and the washing away of the worn materials by rains and streams of water, have formed soil, gravel, sand, peat, and the various other beds which are called Alluvial.

Besides alluvial strata, however, there are several others of recent formation which are not comprehended in this outline of the Wernerian system, such as volcanic rocks, and those which are composed of coral, and are at this moment progressively increasing. Of volcanic rocks Wernerians take as little notice as possible, inasmuch as the very name is inimical to their water theory; for, like all theorists, they carry their notions to a ridiculous length, as a plain man, though ignorant of Geology, may well understand, when we tell him that some of the disciples of Werner have exerted their ingenuity to prove that lava rocks, the chronology of whose formation is ascertained and recorded, have never been melted by fire, but are genuine aqueous deposits from the Wernerian waters! Of the coral rocks and islands, we have a most lively and interesting account in the work before us; and, though it is not quite so short as to render it suitable for an extract, we think our readers will be pleased to see so much of it, as we can spare room to insert.

"Mrs. R.-The polypus zoophytes which manufacture coral and build islands, are minute and delicate in structure, and seem to have the power of encasing themselves with a hard crust for the purpose of protection.

"Edward.-More, then, it would appear, like a snail or a shell-fish than an insect.

"Mrs. R.-You are right; and you may judge of the number of a coral colony, from the extraordinary facts related by voyagers of unquestionable credit. Captain Flinders, for instance, tells us that the quantity of coral reefs between New Holland,

New Caledonia, and New Guinea, is such that it might justly be called the Coraline sea, there being here, for three hundred and fifty miles in a straight line, a coral reef or barrier, uninterrupted by any large opening into the sea; and this reef is connected with others so as altogether to make an extent of nearly one thousand miles in length, and from twenty to fifty miles in breadth.

"Edward.-I should like very much to see the little creatures at work upon such an immense mound.

"Mrs. R.-That would be impossible, as their work is slow and gradual; you might as well say you would like to see a snail at work in making its shell, or a rose-tree at work in making its flower.

“Edward.—The process of the coral polypus, at least, has been explained, I presume.

"Mrs. R.-As to that, it is the same with the process of forming the snail-shell. The sea-water always contains lime, as do the vegetables upon which the snail feeds; now, you know that, when lime meets with carbonic acid gas, it unites with it and forms chalk, or lime-stone, or marble. “Edward.—All this is obvious; but I cannot conjecture where the coral zoophyte, or the snail, gets the carbonic acid gas to unite with the lime.

"Mrs. R. So you have forgot your pretty chemical experiment of blowing through a glass tube into limewater?

"Edward.—Oh, no! but I did not know that a coral zoophyte, or a snail, breathed as I do.

"Mrs. R.-It seems to be a general law of all living things to produce carbonic acid gas in a way similar to ourselves; and it is probable, that in the snail and the coral zoophyte this gas passes off from the surface of the body, where it meets with the lime that forms the basis of the shell; and this is cemented into a firmer substance by the slime of the animal which is present at the same time. Some sorts of coral, you know, are so hard as to take a fine polish, and are

made into trinkets; but they all consist of lime, carbonic acid gas, and the slimy substance of the polypus for a cement.

"Christina.-I can understand this perfectly, and I am quite delighted with this history of coral; but I had no notion that I should meet with such things in Geology.

"Edward.-I cannot, however, conceive well how such animals concert together to form a reef or an island, as I presume they are no less stupid than snails seem to be.

"Mrs. R.-With respect to their intelligence, we can derive our information only from their works; and, from what I shall tell you, it must be concluded, either that they are very wise and skilful, or that they are immediately directed in their operations by an all-wise Providence.

"Edward. In the formation of shell, at least, there is no intelligence manifested on the part of the little manufacturer; it is only the result of a natural

chemical process, over which it seems to have little, if any, control.

"Mrs. R.-Right: but what I refer to is a union of purpose and design in all the individuals of a coral colony, which you will confess to be surprising, when I tell you that most, if not all, of the coral reefs are built in the form of a crescent, and sometimes of a circle, with the back to the sea, as if the coral animalcules were aware of the properties of the arch, and knew that it would resist the dashing of the waves better than a straight line.

"Edward.-This is indeed most

wonderful.

"Mrs. R.-The wonder is increased when we find that the back of the coral crescent is generally directed towards the quarter from which storms most frequently come. Now, these are circumstances which cannot be explained otherwise than by the operation of intelligence and design; for the sea would naturally beat in the back of the crescent, and, by reversing it, turn its bosom to the waves in the form of a bay."

This is followed by details in the same narrative style, of the coral islands described by Flinders and Cooke, in the South Seas, and by Salt and Bruce in the Red Sea; but for these we cannot spare room, and must refer such as are interested in the subject to the work itself.

We have only to add, that the "Conversations on Geology" are not inferior in pointed illustration, perspi

cuity and plainness of style, and accurate knowledge of science, to the "Conversations on Chemistry," &c., which have become so deservedly popular. The volume before us is, besides, the first attempt to exhibit the fashionable science of Geology in a familiar dress, adapted to general readers and those who have not leisure to dip into more ponderous works.

SAID I in vain that sky and earth

Are gushing o'er with many a tale? And that this silent night gives birth To thoughts whose memory ne'er should fail?

Said I in vain, there breathes a story Through yon blue tracts of star-lit glory? No, Lady, no! Thou, too, has felt

The might and rapture of the hour;
And deep within thy spirit melt

Its soothing charm and pious power;
Its presence to thy heart is nigh,
With strength serene and awful eye.

The broad and solemn shades are scattered

By gleams, and paths, and lakes of light, As when, ere man's young hopes were shattered,

Angels came floating through the night, And shed with pinions fresh from God, The glow of heaven on Eden's sod.

The world is not asleep, but fill'd

With that unbroken, happy calm Wherein each hastier pulse is still'd,

And every breath a voiceless psalm; And e'en the soul, in memory's spite, Drinks from the skies their starry light. The trees, whose spires, and tufts, and bowers Glimmer beneath the journeying moon;

The turf, whose sweets are fed with showers,
Their nature's cool and dewy boon;
The flakes of cloud that mount the breeze
Light as the foam of azure seas;—

It folds them all, the gentle Eve!

Beneath its wide and purple wings, Too softly, gladly hushed to grieve For the broad lights that morning brings; I, too, have opened heart and sense, And welcomed all its influence.

And if, amid this glorious time,

This thrilling silence, mingle aught Of less aspiring and sublime,

Of troubled dream and selfish thought; If recollections, strange and foul, Come like the scream of boding owl; If thus it be-this seraph night

Hath eyes of mercy and of love, And from each far etherial height Breathes down the peace which lives above

God never sent to man an hour

Of purer hope, of holier power.

But, Lady! in thy gentle breast

The skies no jarring contrast see; The world whose storms are all at rest, In gladness is at one with thee; Thou feel'st what I can but believe, That the heart need not always grieve.

THE heat of the mid-day sun was scorching the desert plain of Arabia Petræa, and the intensity of its rays warned the pilgrim to rest himself beneath the shady palm, and induced the wild Arab to put spurs to his fleet

19 ATHENEUM, VOL. 1, 3d series.

steed, and seek out his temporary home. At a distance were seen the mountains of Horeb and Sinai; between them and the traveller of the desert, appeared one of those delightful spots on which the eye of the Arab

the child of enthusiasm and romance, and though his life is one continued scene of predatory warfare, he bounds over the plains with the rapturous feelings of a superior being, and for him alone is "Eden raised in the waste wilderness." The palm-tree, the tamarind, and the pomegranate, were towering over this garden of the desert. It gladdens the weary pilgrim when he first beholds it from afar, and his heart leaps with delight when he is sheltered in its bosom from the fierceness of the sky, and his feet relieved from the insupportable heat of the burning sands. He sits in this grateful shade, and refreshes himself with the fruit of the tamarind and the Indian fig-tree, and drinks the milk of the cocoa-nut.

An Arab flew along the desert, on his beautiful courser. His long lance was in his right hand, and his sabre hung by his side; his firelock was fixed at the saddle-bow. He passed along with the swiftness of an arrow, but the easy motion of his beast roused him not from the luxury of his imagination. His eye was lifeless, and a settled gravity over. spread his features, but his mind was actively employed in scenes of romance. He was thinking of the fair Cora, the delight of the desert, and he had separated himself from his tribe, that he might search out the tent of the old sheik, her father. He bent his way towards the oasis, nor would he have been long in reaching it, but his attention was at this moment directed to an object which appeared on the horizon at sight of it he abated his speed, and somewhat altered his

course.

:

The dark speck had motion, yet what it might be, a common eye could not have determined; but the eye of a Bedouin is seldom deceived. The Arab placed his spear in rest, and passed on at an easy pace. The object now began to assume a determinate form, and a horseman might be perceived, advancing rapidly across the plain. The Arab eyed the stran

had come up within a bowshot, suddenly wheeled his horse round, and charged him at full speed. The stranger drew his sabre, but the impetuous attack of the Arab could not be withstood; and though the former received no wound, by reason of the spear alighting on the saddle, yet the force of the charge overthrew both man and horse, and, before they could recover themselves, the Arab was at the spot with his firelock pointed on his fallen adversary. "I want a gift for Cora," exclaimed the Arab; "give me your gold, and do not oblige me to shed your blood; it is counted a curse among us to take away the life of a traveller in the desert." "Methinks (answered the other) your scruples are somewhat too nice; after upsetting me so unceremoniously, it cannot be necessary to preach morality whilst you are robbing me.”

"What have the sons of Ishmael?" said the Arab: "by fraud our progenitor was deprived of his inheritance, and by force we may recover our right. Nothing was left for us, but what our arms might obtain from the hands of the spoiler; we have no home but the desert."

"If you will remove that old rusty firelock from my nether jaw," said the traveller, " I shall feel much more at home than I do at the present moment. Here are two bags filled with gold sequins of Cairo-take them, and be satisfied." The Arab stretched out his right hand to take them, still holding his firelock in the left, steadied on the pommel of the saddle, and directed towards his prisoner. should judge by their weight," said he, poising the bags as he spoke,

"I

that it is as you say, and I shall examine them at my leisure. There is no necessity," continued he, slowly replacing his firelock in its rest, "for you to remain longer on the ground, the heat of the sand may incommode you." "Your courtesy is rather illtimed," said the traveller, rising, and clearing his disordered dress from the sand," and I can very well dispense