Late one night, in the year 1755, it was observed from the shore to be on fire. Its upper works having been constructed of light timber, probably could not bear the heat. It happened fortunately that Admiral West rode with a fleet at that time in the Sound; and being so near the spot, he immediately manned two or three swift boats. Other boats put off from the shore; but though it was not stormy, it was impossible to land. In the mean time the fire having descended to the lower parts of the building, had driven the poor inhabitants upon the skirts of the rock; where they were sitting disconsolate, when assistance arrived.

The next light-house, which is the present one, was built by Mr. Smeaton, and is entirely of stone, in a circular form. Its foundations are let into a socket in the rock on which it stands, and of which it almost makes a part; for the stones are all united with the rock, and with each other, by massy dovetails. The door of this ingenious piece of architecture is only the size of a ship's gun-port; and the windows are mere loopholes, denying light to exclude wind. When the tide swells above the foundation of the building, the lighthouse makes the odd appearance of a structure emerging from the waves. But sometimes a wave rises above the very top of it, and circling round, the whole looks like a column of water, till it breaks into foam and subsides.

THE POWER OF POETRY.

WE may animate the canvass with the features of one we love we may cast upon the changeless brow, the calm sunshine of her gentle nature; we may elicit from the expressive eye, the speechless tenderness of a confiding affection; we may curl around the lip the smiling pledges of reciprocal fondness; we may spread behind her glowing cheek, the richness of her flowing tresses; we may cast around the symmetry of her form, the waving softness of her graceful drapery; and we may give her the air in which romantic devotion ever

beholds the angels of its vows. We may represent, near at hand, the favorite glen in which we strayedthe moonlit arbour, in which we sung-the silvery lake on which we sailed. We may look on this representation of life and nature, and deem it reality. We may gaze till bewildered sense reels in rapture.—But look again, the floating vision becomes more calm, the associations less vivid, the tumult in our breast subsides.But look again, here and there a new shade may be developed; here and there an unfamiliar expression be caught. But look again, it is what you have seen before; it is changeless-it is cold tapestry!

But give this glowing subject to the poet, surrender it to the magic of his genius. The changeless object lives; the motionless object moves; the silent object speaks. The heart where quenched existence had its grave; is kindled and renovated; life gleams through its shroud as the warm sun through its light vesture of clouds. The fount of feeling is stirred, and its current comes forth, fresh as the overflowing of spring, when it melts away the icy fetters of winter. The features lose their fixed expression, and are radiant with a bright train of passing thoughts, and glad imaginings. Hope is there, mingling its colors with the shade of doubt; confidence is there, banishing distrust; affection is there, lighting up adversity. Every feature lives, every look tells. We not only see the glen, but here the soft whispers of the breeze, the mirthful voice of the brook; we not only see the arbour, but hear the echoes, waking from their slumbers, repeat the favorite strain; we not only see the lake, but hear the light drip of the suspended oar, and the soft murmur of the breaking wave. Every object is animated, and lives before us in palpable reality. We may gaze, and turn away, and gaze again, but new images, new sounds, new feelings, and new associations, crowd upon us like stars on the stedfast vision of the astronomer.

Or we may animate the marble, with the features of the man we venerate. We may render these features radiant with the noble qualities of his mind and heart. We may make the ruling passion brightly apparent

upon the majestic brow. We may give the countenance that peculiar cast which calls up the lofty, the tender recollection. And we may imagine the departed sage, still existent, and before us, in undecaying strength and beauty. But just lay our hand on this faultless resemblance; the clay of the grave is not colder; it is death with its icy chill!

But commit this departed saint to the gifted spirit of the poet. The veil of the grave is rent; the silent sleeper called up from the couch of corruption, and in the garments of immortality. His actions are grouped around him, in the brightness of their first appearance ; his feelings recalled in the freshness of their innocency ; and his secret motives are revealed in their innocency with which they were conceived; and his generous purposes, which perished in the bud, revived, and expanded into fragrant life. You see the whole man, not in cold marble, not in awful abstraction from his fellow beings; but within the warm precincts of friendship, love," and veneration, invested with the sympathies and attributes of real existence.

THE CABINET OF NATURE.

ATMOSPHERE.

THE atmosphere is one of the most essential appendanges to the globe we inhabit, and exhibits a most striking scene of Divine skill and omnipotence. The term atmosphere is applied to the whole mass of fluids, consisting of air, vapours, electric fluid, and other matters, which surrounds the earth to a certain height. This mass of fluid matter gravitates to the earth, re volves with it in its diurnal rotation, and is carried along with it in its course round the sun every year. It has been computed to extend about 45 miles above the earth's surface, and it presses on the earth with a force proportioned to its height and density. From experiments made by the barometer, it has been ascertained, that it presses with a weight of about 15 pounds on

every square inch of the earth's surface; and, therefore, its pressure on the body of a middle-sized man, is equal to about 32,000 lbs. or 14 tons avoirdupois, a pressure which would be insupportable, and even fatal, were it not equal in every part, and counterbalanced by the spring of the air within us. The pressure of the whole atmosphere upon the earth, is computed to be equivalent to that of a globe of lead 60 miles in diameter, or about 5,000,000,000,000,000 tons; that is, the whole mass of air which surrounds the globe, compresses the earth with a force or power equal to that of five thousand millions of millions of tons.* This amazing pressure is, however, essentially necessary for the preservation of the present constitution of our globe, and of the animated beings which dwell on its surface. It prevents the heat of the sun from converting water, and all other fluids on the face of the earth, into vapour; and preserves the vessels of all organized beings in due tone and vigour. Were the atmospherical pressure entirely removed, the elastic fluids contained in the finer vessels of men and other animals, would inevitably burst them, and life would become extinct; and most of the substances on the face of the earth, particularly liquids, would be dissipated into vapour.

The atmosphere is now ascertained to be a com

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*The pressure of the atmosphere is most strikingly illustrated by means of the air-pump. But as few persons, comparatively, possess this instrument, the following experiment, which any person may perform at pleasure, is sufficiently convincing on this point. Take a common wine glass, and fill it with water; apply a piece of paper over the mouth of the glass; press the paper to the rim of the glass with the palm of the hand; turn the glass upside down; withdraw the hand from the paper, and the water will be supported by the pressure of the atmosphere. That it is the atmospherical pressure, and not the paper, which ports the water, is evident; for the paper, instead of being pressed down by the weight of the water, is pressed upward by the pressure of the atm osphere, and appears concave, or hollow in the middle. If the flame of a candle be applied to the paper, it may be held for an indefinite length of time, close to the paper, without setting fire to it. The same fact is proved by the following experiment: -Take a glass tube, of any length, and of a narrow bore; put one end of it in a bason of water; apply the mouth to the other end, and draw out the air by suction; the water will immediately rise towards the top of the tube; and if the finger or thumb be applied to the top of the tube, to prevent the admission of air, and the tube removed from the bason of water, the water in the tube will be supported by the pressure of the atmosphere on the lower end, Again-Take a wine glass, and burn a small bit of paper in it; and, while the paper is burning, press the palm of the hand upon the mouth of the glass, and it will adhere to the hand with considerable force. In this case the pressure of the atmosphere will be sensibly felt; for it will sometimes require a considerable force to detach the glass from the hand.

pound substance, formed of two very different ingredients, termed oxygen, and nitrogen gas. Of 100 measures of atmospheric air, 21 are oxygen, and 79 nitrogen. The one, namely, oxygen, is the principle of combustion, and the vehicle of heat, and is absolutely necessary for the support of animal life, and is the most powerful and energetic agent in nature. The other, is altogether incapable of supporting either flame or animal life. Were we to breathe oxygen air, without any mixture or alloy, our animal spirits would be raised, and the fluids in our bodies would circulate with greater rapidity; but we should soon infallibly perish by the rapid and unnatural accumulation of heat in the animal frame. If the nitrogen were extracted from the air, and the whole atmosphere contained nothing but oxygen, or vital air, combustion would not proceed in that gradual manner which it now does, but with the most dreadful and irresistible rapidity: not only wood and coals, and other substances now used for fuel, but even stones, iron, and other metalic substances, would blaze with a rapidity which would carry destruction through the whole expanse of nature. If even the proportions of the two airs were materially altered, a variety of pernicious effects would instantly be produced. If the oxygen were less in quantity than it now is, fire would lose its strength, candles would not diffuse a sufficient light, and animals would perform their vital functions with the utmost difficulty and pain. On the other hand, were the nitrogen diminished, and the oxygen increased, the air taken in by respiration would be more stimulant, and the circulation of the animal fluids would become accelerated; but the tone of the vessels thus stimulated to increased action, would be destroyed, by too great an excitement, and the body would inevitably waste and decay. Again, were the oxygen completely extracted from the atmosphere, and nothing but nitrogen remained, fire and flame would be extinguished, and instant destruction would be carried throughout all the departments of vegetable and animated nature. For a lighted taper will not burn for a single moment in nitrogen gas, and if an animal be plunged into it, it is instantly suffocated.