III. By the wild and wintry tempest, All thou wouldst most forget. IV. By all those happy moments Whose memories thrill thee nowMemories which dim thy downcast eyes, And flush thy drooping brow; Which quiver on thy false, false lip, And heave thy faithless breast, And long in that frail heart of thine Shall live in deep unrestMemories beneath whose silent might Thy cheeks with tears are wet; Do I bind thee to remember All thou wouldst most forget. V. By love, with all its rapture, By all that thou so well hast known, VI. Oh! false as thou hast been to me, By thine own guilt and my deep wrong By weary life and welcome death, By shame, despair, regret, Do I bind thee to remember All thou wouldst most forget. COMMON as is the opinion that the laws of Nature are immutable, a very superficial inquiry will prove that the axiom must be received with large exceptions and restrictions. We may presume the stars to have been formed and fixed in accordance with some general law; yet several, even in modern times, have followed the lost Pleiad, while new ones have appeared; and as to the earth we inhabit, it seems to have been governed by no rule but that of incessant change, though these mutations may, probably, be in accordance with some comprehensive and final scheme, the tendency of which we cannot even conjecture. Judging, however, by what we see and know, we should be justified in affirming that the distinguishing characteristic of Nature is her constant inconstancy, her endless transformations, her almost capricious abandonment of old forms, and her substitution of novelties in inexhaustible and infinite variety. Geological investigations and the exhumation of tropical products in polar regions lead to the conclusion that there must have been a change in the position of the earth with reference to the sun; we know that sea and land have been, and still are, constantly changing places; while numerous fossil remains, those God-written revelations of an earlier world, incontestably prove that the whole Fauna and Flora of that period, with all their boundless and marvellous varieties, have passed away to be succeeded by new organisations equal in the diversity though not in the stupendous magnitude of their forms. It would seem, in fact, as if the process of creation had never ceased, and that the gradual extinction of Nature's old offspring became necessary, in order to afford room for the new families which the prolific mother is constantly bringing forth. Even in our own days the Dodo and the Apteryx Australis are said to have become extinct: is it irrational to conclude that other beings have been called into existence to supply their place and participate in the enjoyment of life? Why may not every day be the birthday of a new animal or vegetable? For my part, whenever I contemplate a flower or a quadruped recently imported from the antipodes, and affirmed to be a fresh discovery, the suggestion that it may in fact be a fresh creation, that it may have just been consecrated by the touch of Nature's plastic hand, that it may be a new present from heaven to earth, exalts and hallows my admiration by infusing into it a feeling of reverence. remark, that an undevout astronomer must be mad, is equally applicable to an irreligious naturalist. The Of the formative power and infinite inventiveness displayed in the fossil Flora a faint notion may be formed, when we state that 300 species of plants have already been discovered in the coal formations of Great Britain alone, extraordinary in their configurations, and exceeding the luxuriance of the present equatorial climes. Several of these, engraved in the 124th Number of the "Art-Journal," show that the plants and Feb.-VOL. LXXXV. NO. CCCXXXVIII. N flowers of the by-gone world, and whose orders are now extinct, must have rivalled in elegance and variety the most beautiful existing products of our forests, fields, and gardens! Still more signally do recent discoveries attest the prodigality of Nature in the ancient insect world. "Recent microscopical investigations," writes the celebrated Dr. Mantell, "have shown that a large proportion of our rocks and strata are composed of animalcules, millions of which are contained in a cubic inch of stone." And it has been ascertained by the same accurate observer, that the chalk formation which constitutes so large a portion of the earth's crust, is an enormous aggregation of shells, so minute as to be singly invisible to the unassisted eye, though his microscope empowered him to trace, classify, and delineate them with perfect accuracy. Of these once-living atoms many varieties are detected, and nothing can be more graceful and diversified than the outlines and markings which they present. As we know that every thing living is doomed to die, so may we now affirm that the whole superficies of the inanimate earth has once been alive, and that its different strata are a succession of countless catacombs. Yes-this fair globe with its over-arching sky is but a vast sepulchral vault. We live, and move, and have our being in a burial-ground, whose walls are the horizon, and the depths of whose crowded graves have not yet been fathomed; and this world-cemetery is made beautiful and glorious, and its dust and ashes revivified by the fertilising processes of decay and death. From generation to generation we See dying vegetables life sustain, Nor does nature, in more recent æras, appear to have experienced the least exhaustion from the incessant exertion of her plastic inventions and undiminished fecundity. The hydro-oxygen microscope has revealed to us a crowd of animalcules in a drop of ditch-water; as many, but of totally different genera, have been detected in an equal quantity of seawater; earth is not less lavish of her vitality now than in the vigour of her younger cycles. Who can see the mysterious and magnificent boon of life conferred upon such myriads of animalcules, for unquestionable purposes of enjoyment, and not feel as deeply impressed by the beneficence as by the power of the Creator? Blind and benighted as we are, how can we duly appreciate the infinite range and inventiveness of the divine mind, when it is probable that we know not a moiety, perhaps not a tithe of the creation, the bounds of which are undergoing a constant enlargement in every direction with the improvement of our optical instruments? Astronomers find reason to conjecture that our solar system occupies a very subordinate station in the stupendous scheme of the universe, and that the unpenetrated vastitudes of space may be illumined by other suns, surrounded by planets of greater magnitude, and teeming with more profuse vitality than our own. One more advance in telescopic art, and a revelation of new celestial worlds may burst upon our astonished vision; while a correspondent improvement of our microscopes may disclose to us myriads of fresh animalcules still more minute and various than any from which we have uplifted the veil that rendered them previously invisible. The imagination loses itself until "function is smothered in surmise," as we attempt to follow out the results involved in these bewildering conceptions. To account for the miraculous precision with which such stupendous creations are regulated, it has been suggested that the infinitudes of time and space may constitute the sensorium of the Deity, whose omnipresence, combined with omnipotence and omniscience, will afford some clue to a mystery avowedly inscrutable, but the solution of which we may reverently attempt to guess. A grand idea-so grand, indeed, that in the difficulty of bringing it down to the level of human apprehension, it has found only a very limited acceptance. From the paramount, the inconceivable magnitude and importance of the operations constantly claiming the exercise of the divine mind, men hesitated to believe that its powers required to be simultaneously exerted upon all the petty details of each inhabited planet, upon the minute distinctions in the genera of an animalcule, or the varieties in the form and colouring of a weed. Reasoning from the analogy of human governments, they imagined, that while the supreme autocratic authority directed and upheld the grander arrangements of the universe, the management of its inferior processes was delegated to subordinate ministers, whose various natures and attributes were adapted to the different duties with which they were intrusted. This notion, in the abstract, presents nothing irrational, nothing inconsistent with the divine power and supremacy. Remarkable is the fact, that all nations, in ancient as well as modern times, have believed in the existence of supernatural beings, who exercised a direct influence upon mundane affairs, and whose functions rendered them the coadjutors, or, to speak more reverently, the agents of the Deity. Though there is nothing irreligious in this creed, it has led to a variety of fantastical and even impious superstitions. That the stars, those bright sentinels stationed around the throne of the Supreme, were also, though in a subordinate degree, administrators of his decrees, and exercised a direct influence upon human affairs, found wide credence in a very early age of the world, until it assumed a regular form, under the designation of Astrology. This science of knaves for the deception of fools was divided into two branches, natural and judicial, the former regulating the physical effects of nature, the latter having reference to moral events, and enduing its possessors, as they pretended, with a prophetical power. Superstitions have a marvellous tenacity of life, and simpletons are still found who believe that the stars of their nativity are the inexorable Fates, who decide their whole future destiny, a comfortable doctrine in one respect, since it enables them to plead, in extenuation of their own follies and vices, that "Their stars are more in fault than they." At a very early age, however, the spirit of Fatalism descended from the sky, and received incarnation either in an animal or human form. From a supposed analogy between certain productions of nature and some of their subordinate deities, the ancient Egyptian priests consecrated these objects, and such types were addressed by the vulgar as symbolised divinities, just as in other countries pictures aud statues receive the homage which should be reserved for the originals whom they represent. From this pregnant fount of idolatry sprang the twenty thousand deities of Greece and Rome, who were, nevertheless, supposed to be the representatives of one supreme authority, by which they were deputed to superintend the various departments of nature, animate and inanimate, human, animal, and vegetable. So numerous an army of celestials could not only afford tutelary and administrative guardians for hills and dales, fountains, woods, and seas, but could supply a supernatural resident, under the title of the Genius Loci, for each individual locality. Northern nations, borrowing their mythology mostly from the Orientals, can lay little claim to originality; but the invention of those fanciful beings, the sylphs and gnomes, which supplied the beautiful machinery for Pope's "Rape of the Lock," is attributed to the Rosicrucian philosophists, who spread themselves over Germany towards the close of the sixteenth century. They maintained the existence of various ranks of supernaturals, divided into the two orders we have named, to whom separate and specific duties were assigned, the former executing their pleasant and beneficent offices as they hover in the air, while the latter often discharge their less amiable functions in mines and other depths of the subterranean world. In such abodes the "Swart Fairy of the Mine" is still believed to exercise a favouring or malign influence in the revealment or secretion of the ore. From the Peri of the Arabs, and other Orientals, has sprung the fantastical creation of our fairies, to whom we are indebted for the charming and exquisitely romantic machinery of Shakspeare's "Midsummer Night's Dream." Even these imaginary sprites are supposed to be ministers of a higher power, and to perform a duty somewhat analogous to that of the Grecian nymphs who presided over woods, mountains, and springs. Fairy genealogies are difficult to trace, but we cannot help suspecting that the Puck, or Robin Goodfellow, who still haunts our villages, may be a dwarfed descendant from the Agatho-demon of Socrates. The tiny elves, whose dances were supposed to make magic circles in the grass, were generally considered subservient to a superior authority, and to perform duties similar to those rendered to Prospero by Ariel, whose office it was, when so commanded, "to tread the ooze of the salt deep,-to run upon the sharp wind of the north,—to do business in the veins of the earth,-to dive into the fire,-to ride on the curled clouds,-to fetch dew from the still vexed Bermoothes." Though we may reject the forms, the qualities, and functions of these various existences, as the vain phantasy of poets, dreamers, and visionaries, there is nothing irrational in the supposition that intelligent and invisible beings, ancillary to the subordinate purposes of the Divinity, are perpetually hovering around us. We have scriptural authority, indeed, for the existence of millions of angels, whose names of thrones, dominions, principalities, and powers, suggest an order among them, though we know not its nature; and of whose interference in human affairs very numerous instances are supplied by the pages of holy writ. Some have thought that every kingdom, every element, every individual is under the ministration of a guardian angel,-a salutary and hallowing belief, which cannot be disproved, though it may not have sacred warrant for its support. Sterne's beautiful fancy about Uncle Toby's oath may have been more than a pious conjecture; it may have been literally true, that "when the Accusing Angel flew up to Heaven's chancery with the oath, the Recording Angel, as he wrote it down, let fall a tear upon the word, and blotted it out for ever." Traditions of the Rabbis, assigning very undignified occupations to some of the fallen angels, who are allowed to infest the earth, relate that Asael, having A name said to be derived from the arms of Luther, which were a cross placed upon a rose. |