rain. But volcanos furnish a provision against both contingencies. In the lava and trachyte thrown up to the surface, the alkalies-lime and magnesia-exist in a dormant condition; but which, acted upon by the car bonic acid continually evolved, are separated, the rock disintegrates, and in process of time, becomes highly productive soil. "Thus every volcanic," writes Dr. Daubeny, "as well as every granite rock, contains a store-house of alkali for the future exigencies of the vege table world, whilst the former is also charged with those principles which are often wanting in granite, but which are no less essential to many plants-lime and mag nesia. Had the alkalies been present in the ground in beds or isolated masses, they would have been speedily washed away, and the vegetables that require them would by this time have been restricted to the imme

the distribution of volcanos appears to be regulated by a certain law. Some are central to others grouped around them, and many range in lines. Vesuvius, Lipari, and Etna, are said to be the points of greatest intensity in a volcanic belt stretching lengthwise over the peninsula. A belt passes through the Ionian islands, and through Mexico. It has been observed, that with rare exception, volcanos are found near the sea: a belt commences on the coast of the Bay of Bengal, crosses to Sumatra, Java, the Philippine and Kurile islands, and terminates in Kamtschatka. A line of active volcanos extends along the American continent from the fifth to the forty-fifth degree of latitude. It is in eruptions among the latter that the ejection of boiling water and mud most frequently occurs, mingled, according to Humboldt, with fishes. The presence of these animals has led to the conclusion, that large lakes, fitted for their abode, exist in the ca-diate vicinity of the ocean." vernous hollows of the mountains. The existence of This suggests to us sublime and interesting views of large hollows is rendered probable, by the falling in of the arrangements of the Deity, in thus having made all the enormous mountain Papandayang, in Java, a catas- things subservient to one common end; and having or trophe which involved the subsidence of a district 15 dained that the mighty agents of destruction, which miles long by 6 broad, with 40 villages and a great num-exist in the bowels of the earth should minister, like ber of the inhabitants. Professor Hopkins estimates the malignant Genii of some eastern fable, to the wants the thickness of the earth's crust at 400 to 1,000 miles; and necessities of the living beings which He has placed and taking into view the comparatively slight depth to upon its surface. which excavations have been made, does not consider the fact, as established, that the internal heat must necessarily increase with the descent.

Dr. Daubeny suggests that volcanic action may have originated, in sea-water finding its way through fissures to the interior of the earth, and refers to the purposes which volcanos may serve in the economy of nature, not the least important of which is the evolution of ammonia for the support of vegetation. In this point of view they lose much of their terrific character, and may be regarded as safety-valves by which the burning materials of the interior, by whatever cause produced, force themselves to the surface with the least mischief. Earthquakes are most destructive where there are no volcanos; but for these vents, how awfully tremendous would have been the effects of confined heat. And what would the earth have been without them? Australia, which has few or no mountains, is, in the interior, a howling desert, no rivers, no vegetation, or undulating scenery. But let a chain of mountains be upheaved, and the land becomes physically beautiful, fertile, with beneficial modifications of climate. Volcanos supply carbonic acid to vegetation, and the immense growths of former ages are not, according to the work under notice, due to the presence of a superabundant quantity of this gas at one time, but to have been maintained by a supply gradually evolved. "Whilst coral animals" pursues the Doctor," and mollusca of various kinds are continually adding to the amount of carbonate of lime at the bottom of what is now the sea, which will one day doubtless form dry land; volcanos on the other hand, are employed in redressing the balance, by expelling the carbonic acid from limestones of older date, and forming rocks of silicate of lime in the place of those composed of carbonate." In the same way, it is shown, the supply of ammonia and nitrogen is kept up :"Granting," observes the writer, "that these have been produced, not by processes of animal decay, but by such as were proceeding within the globe prior to the creation of living beings, the notice of a slow and continuous disengagement of both compounds, from the earliest period to the present time, will be received, perhaps, as at least the most probable mode of accounting for their unfailing supply."

THE HAPPINESS OF HOME.

THE happiness of man consists in continuous and agreeable feeling, arising from the sense of pleasure with which he regards objects surrounding him. Those objects are merely relative. One man is happy, where another is miserable. One has the highest delight in poetry, painting, sculpture, and music; the other would sacrifice them all to the figures of arithmetic, the columns of the ledger, and the melodious voice of the customer. Therefore, as the objects are identical in each instance, they merely act a relative part in the production of human happiness.

Happiness is the true condition of the soul, as virtue is the true condition of character. The soul is not constituted to be miserable. Its desires never tend towards wretchedness, nor its longings to unhappiness. We all wish to be happy-we all try to be happy. The aim of life-the struggles of emulation-the darings of ambition the emotions of pity-the communion of souls-all derive their origin and support in the desire of happiness. Man would not rouse his latent energies, or discover the existence of his faculties, were he not absolutely driven by the cravings of his soul for sublunary pleasure. As this desire is a component power of the mind, happiness is plainly one of its states or conditions. This state or condition invariably has its origin in love-in affection. This is the sole cause of happiness. Without this, it could never exist; it would be unknown.

But, as the sum of human happiness, in its units and its total, has its universal origin in affection, and, as affection is an active power of the mind, it follows that there must be some person or thing on which it must be exercised. These become objects of affection from causes varying as widely as the characters of individuals, and the features of their countenances. They are pleasant or painful, according to the natural disposition, training, cultivation, or taste, which constitute or form elements in their characters. We possess certain powers of perception, and the cultivation thereof widens the range and improves the character of these perceptions, which, Without a proper supply of material, every way fitted whether natural or acquired, enable us instinctively to for it, organic life could not go on. To ensure healthful know what is lovely, and what is unpleasant, both in the vegetation we must have potass, soda, certain carthy characters of persons, and in the form or appearance of phosphates, lime, and magnesia. Some of these are in-matter. The delight is intuitive-the pleasure irresistible. soluble in water, while the others, if unmixed with Whether it be occasioned by the solution of a problem, other substances, would be washed away with every or the composition of a waltz, the brilliancy of oratory,

or the acumen of logic, we instantly perceive what is delightful and what is unpleasant, and are accordingly happy or miserable.

We have thus traced the source of happiness to affection, or admiration, which is a synonymous term, applied to the same power of the mind; varying a little in shade. but not in colour. We have also noticed, that this active power of affection, like all the faculties of the mind, derives its vitality from its communication with the world of matter and outward being. Now, as there is a standard of virtue in the world of morals, so there is a standard of affection in the world of happiness. There are objects universally acknowledged to be the relative causes of happiness. No man will deny that there is a noble delight in philanthropy-in universal love. The miser never feels it, but he dare not deny the proposition. He sees its truth beaming in the eyes, and he hears it from the lips of others; aye, and he envies them; and could he but have the hated fang of avarice torn up by the roots; could he but overcome the stronger love of money, he would

himself feel that "to bless is to be blest."

One would think Cowper had just read those glorious lines when he exclaimed

"Domestic happiness, thou only bliss

Of Paradise, that has survived the fall!"

Again, there is an independence of feeling, a manliness of character, in assuming the position of the head of a household: the station intended by Heaven for every man, in which alone he can apply all the powers of his mind, and fulfil all the capabilities he possesses. Here, he exerts new influences, and acquires a more steady position in society. He obtains greater respect, and his conduct and character exercise a far wider and more important sway upon the conduct and character of others. Then, look at the position of a husband and a father. Can you find happier relationships in the whole realm of society? Look at your home-not the cold habitation of a recluse, but the abode of feeling--the temple of love. Is there anything in the wide world more blessed than loving confidence? No one should be ashamed to open the treasures of domestic happiness, and show them to others. Delicacy becomes morbid and unworthy, when

Objects of affection are natural or artificial. We pre-it prevents the action of moral good.

sume there can be no question as to which is the most pure, or the most attractive. Money, rank, and power are artificial pleasures. Adam knew no rank-he possessed no money-he exercised no dominion over his fellow-creatures. These, then, are artificial objects. They have been created by the ambition of the soul-the manners of the world, and the customs of ages. We must not, however, forget that they are often desired, not as objects of pleasure, but as affording means to obtain such objects. No man loves poverty. He works for competence; but, the mere income is not the object of his exertions. He sees that that is the sole agent which can accomplish his purposes of happiness; and, therefore, he seeks and employs it. But we must bear in mind that this is the agent only, and not the cause of his labour, or the origin of his prospective joy. It is the mere instrument in obtaining his hopes and realizing his expectations.

Now, it is our firm opinion, that the highest state of happiness man can attain is in communion of spirits unity of feeling-kindred desires-and, above all, in mutual acts of love and tender solicitations. Thomson sings

"Thrice happy they! the happiest of their kind! Whom gentler stars unite, and in one fate

Their hearts, their fortunes, and their beings blend." There is something essentially spiritual, and devoid of earthly consideration and selfishness, when two beings enter into a solemn bond of conjugal love and fidelity. Sordid lucre destroys its lustre at once. Anything touching on the selfish breaks the bond of unity, although the marriage-vow be still warm upon the lips. We would not, however, deprecate a due consideration of the means required for its accomplishment. Let all things be done properly and in order. Let no one rush madly into domestic existence, without preparing for its demands, and considering the various claims it has upon his exertions and his purse: but, if these be sufficient, the man who seeks domestic happiness, seeks happiness in its brightest and loveliest form-in its most enduring character-in its most independent and influential position.

Milton pourtrays most beautifully the happiness of our first parents in the garden of Eden. That man's soul must be dead to all emotion, who can listen to the inimitable, the heavenly strains, in which he sings of their conjugal felicity, without feeling their truth. Their addresses to cach other are as fragrant with beauty of thought, as they are rich with the costliest emblems of language. We cannot conclude that they are only to be found in the imagination of the poet. Surely, allowing for his exuberance, there are some delights remaining as living realities.

I had just returned from visiting a friend, suffering in the agonies of pain. He was reclining upon a couch, and there, at the head, was his young and lovely wife, watching every throb, smoothing his pillow, and sharing his pains! Is that a scene to be passed over lightly? As I passed along the road the other day, I nearly ran over a merry little fellow who was in eager haste running to meet his father returning home in the evening. I watched the intense delight with which that father clasped his darling in his arms, and pressed the kiss upon his little rosy lips. I thought of the happy home that man possessed, of the blessed comfort he must enjoy, in retiring after the toils of business to a little world of his own; where he would find the cheerful light of a warm fireside, and the more cheerful looks of affection from her, who stirred up the glowing coals when she heard his wellknown foot-tread. Are these scenes to be trifled with or ridiculed? Not long ago, I looked in upon a venerable friend of mine, and of my father before me. I was delighted with his calm and solid joy in the evening of life. He sat by the side of one who had been his companion in life for forty years, who had mingled his sorrows with her own, and shared in all his comforts; and now, in the sunset of existence, they were calmly declining together on the verge of the horizon.

Domestic happiness is enviable in every period of existence. It is highly honourable in early manhood, where a man has been compelled to use extraordinary means to obtain it: it is solid and lasting through the vexations and cares of life: it is peaceful and happy in old age. Its pleasures are really the offspring of spiritual unity-of

"Thought meeting thought, and will preventing will
With boundless confidence."

It derives lustre from its constancy, and loveliness from
its purity. It increases by its possession. It fades not
with the smiles of friends-it shrinks not at the cold
frost of adversity. The more it is crushed by the press-
ing hand of misfortune, the more balmy is its fragrance,
the more sweet are its enjoyments. As the stars in the
firmament, it shines most brightly on the darkest night.

EDUCATION.

Some suppose that every learned man is an educated man. No such thing. That man is educated who knows himself, and takes accurate common sense views of men and things around him. Some very learned men are the greatest fools in the world; the reason is they are not educated men. Learning is only the means, not the end; its value consists in giving the means of acquiring, the use of which properly managed enlightens the mind.

"TURN AGAIN WHITTINGTON."

Be it fable or truth, about Whittington's youth,
Which the tale of the magical ding-dong imparts,
Yet the story that tells of the boy and the bells,
Has a might and a meaning for many sad hearts.
That boy sat him down, and looked back on the town,
Where merchants, and honours, and money were rife,
With his wallet and stick, little fortuneless Dick
Was desponding, till fairy chimes gave him new life,
Saying, "Turn again Whittington!"

And up rose the boy, with the impulse of joy,
And a vision that saw not the dust at his feet,
And retracing his road, he was found with his load,
In the city that gave him its loftiest seat.
Hope, Patience, and Will, made him bravely fulfil

What the eloquent tone of the chimes had foretold,
And that echo still came, breathing light on his name,
When by chance his hard fortune seemed rayless and cold,
Saying, "Turn again Whittington!"

And say, is there not, in the gifted one's lot,

A fairy peal ringing for ever and aye ?
Would not Genius stoop 'neath its burden, and droop
If it ne'er heard a mystical chime on its way?
Oh! full often the soul hath been turned from the goal,
Where Glory and Triumph were weaving its meed,
Till some angel-tongued voice, bade it rise and rejoice,
Like the Bow-bells that spoke in the wanderer's need,
Saying, "Turn again Whittington!"

Oh! many bright wings would be motionless things,
If some echo of Faith did not bear them above,
For the world will oft try to coop those who can fly,
But God sendeth a whisper in Mercy and Love.
The breast that is fraught with the great prophet-thought,
May encounter all troubles that vex and destroy,
But a fairy peal still gives it hope, strength, and will,
Like the chimes in our legend that guided the boy,
Saying, "Turn again Whittington!"
ELIZA COOK.

MENTAL TRAINING.

DIAMOND DUST.

A man should live with his friends on such terms, that no change of fortune may oblige him to alter his conduct towards them.

FOUR good mothers have given birth to four bad daughters. Truth has produced hatred; success, pride; security, danger; and familiarity, contempt; and, on the contrary, four bad mothers have produced as many good daughters, for astronomy is the offspring of astrology; chemistry of alchemy; freedom of oppression; patience of long suffering.

PAUPERISM is the hot-bed of crime, and good circumstances are the best security for good conduct.

GOOD-NATURE, like a bee, collects honey from every herb. Ill-nature, like a spider, sucks poison from the sweetest flower.

CANDOUR in some people may be compared to barley sugar drops, in which the acid preponderates over the

sweetness.

ENLIGHTEN Conscience by awakening enthusiastic admiration of virtue, and the effort to resemble what we admire will follow, as surely as light follows the rising of the sun.

PITY all who err, and endeavour to enlighten as many as you can.

In our attempt to deceive the world, those are most likely to detect us who are sailing on the same tack.

FRIENDSHIP is like a debt of honour: the moment it is talked of it loses its real name and assumes the more ungrateful form of obligation.

THE regrets of a feeling heart may harmonize with a contemplation of nature and an enjoyment of the fine arts; but frivolity, under whatever form it appears, deprives attention of its power, thought of its originality, and sentiment of its depth.

A great passion has no partner.

He alone is an acute observer who can observe without being observed.

THE most reasoning characters are often the easiest abashed. The giddy embarrass and over-awe the contemplative; and the being who calls himself happy appears wiser than he who suffers.

In training clerks for intellectual offices, it is advisable not to give them too many instructions with regard to minute details. They should be taught to think for themselves. A man's talents are never brought out until he is thrown, to some extent, upon his own resources. If, in every difficulty, he has only to run to his principal, and then implicitly obey the directions he may receive, he will never acquire that aptitude of perception, and that promptness of decision, and that firmness of purpose, which are essentially necessary to those who hold important and responsible offices. Young men, who are backward in this respect, should be entrusted at first with some inferior matters, with permission to act according to their discretion. If they act rightly, they should be commended; if otherwise, they should not be censured, but instructed. A fear of incurring censure-a dread of responsibility-has a very depressing effect upon the exercise of the mental faculties. A certain degree of independent feeling is essential to the full development of the intellectual character. It should be the object of a banker to encourage this feeling in his superior officers. THE great source of pleasure is variety. We love to Those bankers who extend their commands to the mi-expect, and when expectation is disappointed, or gratified, nutest details of the office, exacting the most rigid obe- we want to be again expecting. dience in matters the most trivial, harshly censuring their clerks when they do wrong, and never commending them when they do right, may themselves be clever men, but they do not go the way to get clever assistants. At the same time, they exhaust their own physical and mental powers by attending to matters which could be managed equally by men of inferior talent.-J. W. Gilbart's Practical Treatise on Banking.

REASON and faith are coeval with the nature of man, and were designed to dwell in his heart together.

BLESSED are the hands that prepare a pleasure for a child.

How entrancing that first bean of intelligence between one's self and the being we adore! There is in the first hours of love some indefinite and mysterious charm, more fleeting, but more heavenly, than even happiness itself.

PERSONS become endeared to each other while partici- ! pating in the admiration of works which speak to the soul by their grandeur.

MELANCHOLY ideas have many charms when we are not deeply miserable.

EXPERIENCE to most men is like the stern-lights of a ship, illumining the space gone over.

A MAN without desire and without want is without invention and without reason.

Printed and Published for the Proprietor, by JOHN OWEN CLARKE, (of No. 9, Hemingford Terrace, East, in the Parish of St. Mark, Islington, in the County of Middlesex) at his Printing Office, No. 3, Raquet Court, Fleet Street, in the Parish of St. Bride, in the City of London. Saturday, March 30, 1850.

"MRS. GRUNDY," in the play, is an impersonation of the conventionalism of the world: custom, habit, fashion, use and want, are all represented in her. She may be a very vulgar and common-place personage, but her power is nevertheless prodigious. We copy and imitate her in all things. We are pinned to her apron-string. We are obedient at her bidding, are indolent and complaisant, and fear to provoke her ill-word. "What will Mrs. Grundy say?"quells many a noble impulse, and destroys many a germ of self-dependent action.

[PRICE 1d.

that great Bastile, and we have not the courage-perhaps not the power-to break out of it. The moral cowardice we have imbibed holds us fast.

There is not any more ingenious method of self-torture which man can devise than this "fear of the folk," as they call it in Scotland. We are no less ready to scourge ourselves in this way than others are to scourge us. We refuse to rely upon our own sense of what is right, or to repose upon our own individuality, but cling to others in the hope of their good opinion; as if a man's worth were not in himself, in his own soul-free, sovereign action. Thus do we reduce ourselves to the position of cyphers in the world; peep and skulk about with the air of interMen think within circles, act in sections, belong to lopers; become mere weather-vanes, to indicate which certain ranks and classes, each of which has its own way the opinion of others is blowing. Thus are error, conventional standard. This man belongs to this sect, fraud and injustice, perpetuated from one age to another; another to that party; and so on throughout society. and thus are the most formidable of all barriers interTell me in what class a man is born, and I will, in nine posed in the way of human progress. Our free action cases out of ten, tell you what his opinions are,-not his is circumscribed; we dare not look beyond our sect; own opinions, for few men work out their own,-but the we must not quit our party; we cannot venture an opinion opinions of his class reflected in him. When young, contrary to that of our class. Conventionalism rules all; we are not trained how to think, but what to think. and we are afraid to step out into the free air of indepenThis holds throughout society. There seems to be a dent thought and action. We refuse to plant ourselves general, though unconscious, conspiracy amongst men upon our own instincts, and to vindicate our own spiritual against the individuality and manhood of each other. We freedom. We are content to bear others' fruit, not our own. discourage self-reliance, and demand conformity. Each In private concerns, the same spirit is equally delemust see with others' eyes, and think through others' terious in result. We live as society directs, each acminds. We are idolators of customs and observances, cording to the standard of our class. We have a superlooking behind, not forwards and upwards. Pinned down stitious reverence for it. We dress, and eat, and live in and held back by our ignorance and our weakness, we are our houses, conformably to the "Grundy" law. We must afraid of standing alone, and exploring for ourselves. conform, though the order were to flatten our heads, as We think of the world's opinion, and sink paralyzed certain Indians do, or cramp our toes, as the Chinese in awe. "Mrs. Grundy" directs. So long as we do all this we are respectable, according to our class notions. Thus many rush open-eyed upon misery, for no better cause than a foolish fear of "the world." They are less regardless of their own happiness than of the fear of what others will say of them; and, in nine cases out of ten, those who might probably raise the voice of censure or disapproval, are not the wise or the far-seeing, but far oftener the foolish, the vain, and the short-sighted.

We may be disposed to take a self-reliant part-to strike into a path which we see to be right-to advocate a cause which we feel to be true-to embrace new opinions which approve themselves to our judgments. We do not, however, ask ourselves on such occasions, what will Duty say, or what will Truth say, but a much meaner question, what will People say, or "what will Mrs. Grundy say?" for already we are a part of some class, sect, or party, each one of which has its "Mrs. Grundy." Born and immured within the circle drawn by her, we dare not overleap it; our mind has been moulded to her conventionalisms, prejudices, antipathies, likings and dislikings, stereotyped opinions and phrases; she keeps the keys of

We are ready enough to admit the propriety of paying a due respect to the opinions of others, and a due regard to public decorum. But in the cases to which we refer, this may be, and often is, carried to an extent which is most injurious, and productive only of constant turmoil and