The beauteous spring, the fruitful summer, would be unknown; our rivers, our ocean, would be universal ice; our blood would stiffen in its windings; and drear, and solitary, and everlasting winter, would assert its reign! watch, the final cause is to ascertain | Saturn. In that case, our organs of the progress of time; in a musket, the vision could not collect the sun's rays, final cause is, to project a ball with scattered and diverging as they must force and velocity; in a telescope, be, at such a distance from him, and the final cause is, to assist vision. we must subsist in comparative darkSuppose now you were to meet withness. a person, who seriously maintained that the spring, box, chain, fusee, wheels, balance, index, case, glass, &c. of the watch; the trigger, spring, flint, pan, barrel, gunpowder, &c. of the musket; the lenses, tubes, &c. of the telescope-suppose you were to meet with a person who should seriously maintain that all these things jumped into their present happy form, order, and arrangement, by a lucky chance; and that all talk of a watchmaker, gunsmith, or optician, is mere weakness and superstition, the reverse of true philosophy; would you not instantly conclude that person was mad? But such is the madness of every man who excludes intelligence and wisdom, contrivance and design, from the works of nature; and this is what We now proceed to establish. Our first proof and illustration of final cause in nature, shall be taken from astronomical phenomena. It is very well known that the planet which we inhabit, revolves round the sun at a mean distance from it, of somewhat more than ninety-five millions of miles. Now it requires but a very slender acquaintance with science, in order to perceive, that a distance from the sun, materially nearer, or materially further off, would be utterly incompatible with the existence and well-being of nature upon the surface of our globe, constituted as that nature now is. If, for instance, the earth's path lay materially nearer to the sun; in that case, the rays of the sun falling upon us in a more parallel, collected, concentrated form, would yield a light more destructive than useful, more calculated to blind than enlighten; and the heat which would be transmitted, would dry up the ocean, consume the animal and vegetable tribes, and leave the surface of the globe a scene of awful fiery deso lation. Contrary effects, but effects no less terrible, would take place, if the orbit of our planet, instead of being smaller, were much larger than it now is; say, for instance, as that of Jupiter or Both these kinds of ruin would ensue, if our planet, instead of moving in an orbit slightly elliptical, as it now does, were to move in a very great ellipse; in such an orbit as the comets actually have. In such an eccentric course, and with things constituted upon our globe as they now are, at is perihelion, or least distance from the sun, the whole earth must become metallic, or vitreous, or aeriform; and at its aphelion, or greatest distance from the sun, it must be desolated and locked in with thick - ribbed ice. We see, therefore, how necessary the present magnitude of the earth's orbit is, to the well-being and order. nay, to the very existence, of things upon its surface. But let us reflect a little, how many other things go to the production of this one thing; how many intermediate and connecting particulars are necessary to bring about this due and suitable magnitude of the orbit of our earth. and 1. In the first place there is required a specific, constant, never-failing law of gravitation. It is not enough that there is such a thing as gravitation; not enough that matter attracts malter. For the accomplishment of our purpose, it must attract in a fixed certain proportion. Let us, for instance, suppose that matter attracted matter the same at all distances; that ten or ten thousand miles made no difference in the centripetal force. It is easy to perceive, that in this case, the present planetary arrangement would not subsist,-no, not for a moment. The planet Jupiter has a proportionate bulk to the earth of more than twelve hundred to one, and yet the velocity with which he moves in his orbit, is less than that of the earth by more than one half. If, therefore, the force of attraction were the same at all distances, it is obvious that Jupi ter would break in upon the earth's ..... path, or fall into the body of the sun; or rather, perhaps, the earth, and Jupiter, and all the planets, if not the sun himself, must fly off, to fall into or revolve round some larger and more distant sun. But the fact of the case is, that while the proportionate bulk of Jupiter to that of the earth, is more than as twelve hundred to one, his density or attractive power is not more than as three hundred to one. Or let us suppose, that instead of the present law of attraction, the force of it increased as the distance increased, or decreased at the same rate; or increased or decreased as the cube of the distance ;-in any, in all of these cases, it is manifest the present planetary order,-the present magnitude of the earth's orbit, could not subsist at all. The truth is, that one, and one only law does in fact, and that one, and one only law, can meet the case which is required, and that law is-that the force of attraction shall be INVERSELY as the square of the distance. For example, a body which, at a given distance from the earth, say, ten times its own diameter, would weigh a hundred pounds; at only half that distance, would weigh four hundred pounds; and at a third of that distance, nine times as much. So likewise, a power which at ten times the diameter of the earth, would support a thousand pounds, at twice that distance could support four thousand. But why this law? why a centripetal force of this proportion? why this proportion rather than any other of the millions, which, for aught we can see, were equally possible? Intelligence, wisdom, final cause, account for this; -nothing else can !! 2. The second thing necessary to the production, and to the continuance of the present orbit of the earth, is a proportionate momentum of velocity, or projectile force. It was a law discovered by the celebrated Kepler, that a two-fold velocity will balance a four-fold attraction; that if the force with which a body gravitates towards the sun be as four, a centrifugal force, which is as two, will prevent it from falling into the sun, and so make it describe a curve. It is by the operation of this law, that the planet which sustains us, keeps its due and regular course. The earth is said to move in its orbit at the rate of seventy-five thousand miles in the space of one hour; and it requires this prodigious velocity to balance the centripetal force. But if, instead of seventy-five thousand miles in one hour, the earth's motion in its orbit were only thirty, or twenty, or ten thousand in the same, it is manifest the force of gravity must prevail, and we should fall into the sun; or, if double that distance in the same time, we must fly totally off from the sun, or into so fearfully elongated an ellipse, as must prove equally ruinous and dreadful. Now, whatever may have originally communicated, or whatever may continue to communicate to the earth, its momentum of velocity, or centrifugal force, this much is evident, that with a most surprising exactness that momentum is adjusted to the central force, or the power of the earth's gravitation! But why this adjustment of velocity? why not swifter? why not slower? Knowledge, foresight, contrivance, will furnish the answer to this: all other solution is absurd, the ignotum per ignotius of nonsense or atheism." 3. The third particular which must go to produce the just and suitable magnitude of the earth's orbit, is a certain given DIRECTION to its velocity. A right momentum is not sufficient; the line, the direction of it, must be right also, or the effect will be lost. With a radius drawn from the centre of attraction, what innumerable angles may be formed! but of all those angles, not one will do, but that which is a right one, or nearly so any considerable deviation from this, either towards the centre of gravity or from it, would be death to us all; death to all that breathes and lives; death to the whole scheme of nature upon the face of the earth! But of the millions of angles which might be made; of the millions of directions which were possible,-why this one, this one only? Because a wise Intelligence perceived this alone was the right one. No marksman, taking the most exact aim, ever elevated or depressed his piece, with half such nicety, as the first supreme Power levelled the direction of the earth's velocity. 4. There is yet another particular which is equally indispensable to this end, this due proportionate orbit of the earth; and that is, a due and proportionate distance and relation of all the other planets. An error in this particular would have rendered all the other precautions vain. Let us suppose, for instance, that the planet Jupiter, instead of revolving round the sun at the immense distance he now does, had moved in a much lower orbit; say half the diameter of that in which he actually moves. And it would only require a greater degree of velocity to sustain Jupiter in an orbit so contracted. But it is evident, that as the bulk of that planet is so much superior to our own, being, as we have already noticed, as twelve hundred to one ;—and as his power of attraction must be in the same ratio ;and as his attractive influence over our earth must increase as he approached unto it ;-were he moving in such an orbit, he must affect and disturb the course of the earth in such a manner, as is utterly incompatible, not only with our comfort and convenience, but most likely with our very existence also. WITH feelings like those above de scribed, we turn from the feverish lucubrations of our modern poetlings, from the bards of Fleet-street and the Strand. Holborn Hill, whatever the worthy parishioners of St. Andrew's may think, makes but an indifferent Parnassus; and if we are "to drink deep or taste not," we would rather decline the Helicon that runs down Gutter-lane. With all possible tenderness to some of our metropolitan sons of song, let us tell the truth. The poet cannot breathe the air of cities-he sickens and dies in soul within the bills of mortality-his nature recoils from every object around him— his foot, from the smooth pavementhis eye, from the dead brick wallhis ear, from the hum of men-bis soul, from their sordid occupations. His proper walk is on the broad green earth-the mountain air, his atmosphere-his music, the breath of Does all this look like the work of chance? Is it in the province of fortuitous accident, to combine so many particulars; and to combine them in such exact ratios and proportions, where the odds against them are almost infinite? Does not the planetary system discover a perfect discern-winds--the glorious sun, his compa ment which runs through all the laws of matter, of motion, of distance, of power? Does it not shew design, foresight, the adaptation of one thing to another, of one thing to many things, to an extent unparalleled by finite genius? It does not affect the argument to say, that the orbit of the earth was antecedent to the constitution of things upon its surface. For the perception of fitness, the evidence of design, the proof of final cause, is the same; whether it appear in accommodating the terrestrial globe to its place, or its place to itself. We will not dispute whether the engineer makes the cylinder for the piston, or the piston for the cylinder; that for which we contend, that for which we will contend, is, that the one is made for the other. Hence we may fairly conclude, that if final causes furnish no decisive proofs of wisdom, we shall search for it in vain in that man who denies its existence. nion. He goes on his way conversing with his own high thoughts. Lost to himself, he lives in the grandeur of the world that surrounds him-and while he pours forth his love and adoration in involuntary bursts of passion, he forgets that he himself becomes an object of wonder and admiration to others. No, he is not a poet, whatever be may think to the contrary, who à priori contemplates publication with Mr. Murray, or with Messrs. Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and Brown. He is not a poet who has genius and inspiration in his mouth, but celebrity and profit at his heart; who vacillates between the hazard of printing at his own risk, and the certainty of sharing the emoluments of his muse with his bookseller; who looks forward to the reports of the next month's magazines and reviews with a species of trepida. tion, and dispatches letters and copies of his work to their editors "with the author's respectful compliments." Such gentlemen as these we hold in consi derable esteem: they live-and have not most probably been made in vain. But these are our second and third rate geniuses, who bring up the rear of literature;-and let them continue to fill their proper station; let them not forget to water the pots of mignionette at the window of their lodgings on the first or second floor; let them celebrate their games to Flora, in Covent Garden Market, and hang in mute delight over the vegetable wonders of a greengrocer's shop. When the daisy begins to peep in the gardens of the Temple or Gray's Inn, be the prize their own. Or in some wild enthusiastic ramble to Camden Town or Hampstead, should a tuft of new-blown primroses or nettles meet their view, be theirs the pungent refreshment of bathing their faces amidst its bloom. But let them not lay their unbidden hands upon the bay; nor dare, with lisping and conceited tongues, to imitate the deep and divine melodies of the masters of the lyre. In the entrance-hall of the Royal Academy, at Somerset House, there stands an awful and majestic figure. By our good fellow-townsmen of the west end, on their annual visits to the exhibition, it is generally supposed to be the statue of royalty by our compatriots, per contra, from the cast, it is surmised to be a fac-simile of the city Magog, or the beau ideal of an antique Lord Mayor. It is in fact a cast of the Farnese Hercules. By the side of this stupendous union of superhuman force and dignity, has it ever been thy lot, O reader! to behold the slim and dapper figure, the jerking gait, and the vapid smile, of a modern dandy? or, when the deep-pealing notes of the organ, to which the massy walls of some old cathedral vibrate and respond, are still dwelling on thine ear, hast thou known the effect produced upon the tympanum by the unexpected treble of a twopenny trumpet? We know not how we can more truly express, than by these illustrations, the immense interval between the patriarchs of song, "in bulk as huge As whom the fables name, of monstrous size, Titanian or Earth-born, that warred with 3 Jove," and their modern rivals, who war only on the time and patience of their readers: No. 44. Vol. IV. "Less than smallest dwarfs Like that pygmean race Beyond the Indian mount.' We know that in poetry, as in every thing else, there will be a beginning, a middle, and an end;-a superiority, the fortune of few-an excellence, to be attained by many—and a mediocrity, by more-and a minimum, by no means rare. We do not quarrel with all this: our object is to preserve these proportions in the public taste, and to range every individual in his proper station. We should be sorry to detract from the real merits of modern poetry. In some instances they are great, in many respectable, but in none do they at all approach to the height of those simple and sublime models to which it is the duty of the literary censor to recall, from time to time, the wandering affections of the public. If this be neglected, inferior works will naturally become the standards of taste;-one vitiated and affected style of thought and phrase will only give way to another still more erroneous. It is not in the gloomy energy of Byron, nor in the seductive brilliancy of Moore, nor in the characteristic description and animated action of Scott, that we are to look for the perfection of a great and genuine poet. A violent and dissipated misanthrope can never deserve that name. The noblest heights of poetry are approachable only by souls of sublime and godlike impulse-devoted to wisdom and to virtue-simple, pure, and dignified-meditative and profound. We cannot boast of the wisdom and virtue of the Corsair-of the dignity, purity, and simplicity, of Lalla Rookh-of the reach of thought, and profound genius, displayed in the Lady of the Lake. Take the qualities of these distinguished writers as you find them;impassioned vigour-dazzling brilliancy-unrivalled vivacity-neither separately nor conjoined, will they be found equal to that plain heroic magnitude of mind, which is the true criterion of a great poet. And when, strong in the justice of our cause, we take our station at the gates of the temple of Apollo, and prescribe to votaries like these, stations inferior indeed, but yet 31 "Where one step higher would not take the field against them. But if their multitudes threaten us with the fate of Bishop Bruno-if they grow into a plague, and come shall we hesitate to scourge into their proper distance the motley group of pretenders, whose inane chatterings would overpower the sacred hymn, and who would perch them-up into our bed-cham bers, and upon selves, with idiot impertinence, upon the very altar. our beds, and into our ovens, and into our kneading-troughs," contempt must give way to indignation, and. "And reckon ye yourselves with spirits of for our own sakes, we must stretch heaven." forth the rod over the land. METHODIST CONFERENCE. R. T. WHEN pious individuals meet together to consult, how, by giving circulation to the truths of the gospel, they may best promote the interests of mankind. they present a pleasing spectacle to every friend of virtue. It is natural for bigotry to trace their actions to an enthusiastic or a sectarian spirit; and from men who look no further than this "visible diurnal sphere," we are prepared to receive the charge of sinister ends, and unworthy motives. To reproaches such as these, and to others even of a deeper shade, the ministers which belong to the Wesleyan Methodist connection have been long accustomed; but amidst calamny and opposition, that branch of the Christian church which they have been made instrumental in forming. has gradually advanced to a state of high respectability among the Christian communities of the earth. It may assist us in our further considerations on this subject, to form a sort of analysis, or scale of poetic power, by which the merits of the various candidates may be tried. In the first class, we place the honoured and admirable few, "dear sons of memory, high heirs of fame," the sublimity of whose perceptions is equalled by the copious facility of their productions. Next to these are ranked those minds of a kindred essence, but of limited force. The offspring is noble, but the birth laborious. On them the curse has glanced not without effect, which "greatly multiplies their sorrow, and their conceptions; in sorrow do they bring forth." As we descend in the mental scale, as in the animal creation, we shall find the prolific powers in proportion to the diminutive size and subordinate station of the parent and this forms our third class, in which facility makes some amends for the mediocrity. And On Wednesday, July 31st, 1822 last of all comes the elaborate little- the Annual Conference of this increas the "mus minimus," brought to light ing body, commenced in their large by the parturient throes of an Etna-chapel, City Road, London. Nearly the longest lapse of time, and the a fortnight prior to the above day greatest exhaustion of labour, with several ministers, delegated by their the smallest possible result. As if a respective societies or districts, met fly should emulate that "secular together for the dispatch of some bird," the phoenix-or a shrimp, once | branches of business, as preparatory in an age, reproduce its similitude. to the general conference, and to make To some more microscopic eye we arrangements for the transactions of willingly leave the task of scrutiniz- what concerned their body at large. ing into the minute deformities, or At the commencement of the confe pigmy merits, of these literary non- rence, the Rev. Adam Clarke, LL.D. entities. Nothing is to be hoped or &c. was chosen president, the majo feared from them. If our readers be rity of votes being most decidedly in desirous of a further acquaintance his favour. This is the third time with them, we beg to refer them to which he has enjoyed this exalted what are properly called the cata-honour among his brethren; and it is logues, at the conclusion of some of our reviews and magazines. "Mice and rats, and such small deer," will hardly repay the hunting. As a matter of choice, at least, we the only instance in their history, in which any individual has been thus distinguished. Under his superinten dence, the multifarious concerns the connection were conducted with |