his resources were very small, yet such was the economy and dignity of his house, that those, who visited him, found nothing mean, or unbecoming his station. His country, to whose interests he had devoted his life, permitted him to remain poor, but there were not wanting those who showed him their regard.

18. In this honourable poverty he continued to a very late period of life; and had not a decent competency fallen into his hands by the very afflicting event of the death of an only son, he must have depended for subsistence upon the kindness of his friends or the charity of the public. To a majestic countenance and dignified manners there was added a suavity of temper, which conciliated the affection of his acquaintance.

19. Some, who disapproved of his political conduct, loved and revered him as a neighbour and friend. He could readily relax from severer cares and studies to enjoy the pleasures of private conversation. Though somewhat reserved among strangers, yet with his friends he was cheerful and companionable; a lover of chaste wit, and remarkably fond of anecdote.

20. His house was the seat of domestic peace, regularity, and method. Mr. Adams was a Christian. His mind was early imbued with piety, as well as cultivated by science. He early approached the table of the Lord, and the purity of his life witnessed the sincerity of his profession.

21. On the sabbath he constantly went to the temple, and the morning and evening devotions in his family, proved that his religion attended him in his seasons of retirement from the world. The last production of his pen was in favour of Christian truth. He died in the faith of the Gospel. He was a sage and a patriot.

22. The independence of the United States of America is, perhaps, to be attributed as much to his exertions, as to the exertions of any one man. Though he was called to struggle with adversity, he was never discouraged. He was consistent and firm under the cruel neglect of a friend, and the malignant rancour of an enemy; comforting himself in the darkest seasons with reflections upon the wis dom and goodness of God.

ADDRESS TO PHILOSOPHY.

WITH thee, serene philosophy! with thee,
And thy bright garland, let me crown my song!
Effusive source of evidence and truth!

A lustre shedding o'er the ennobled mind,
Stronger than summer noon, and pure as that,
Whose mild vibrations soothe the parting soul,
New to the dawning of celestial day.

Hence through her nourish'd powers, enlarg'd by thee,
She springs aloft with elevated pride,
Above the tangling mass of low desires,

That bind the fluttering crowd; and, angel wing'd,
The heights of science and of virtue gains,
Where all is calm and clear; with nature round,
Or in the starry regions, or th' abyss,

To Reason's and to Fancy's eye display'd:
The first up-tracing, from the dreary void,
The chain of causes and effects to him,
The world-producing Essence, who alone
Possesses being; while the last receives
The whole magnificence of heaven and earth,
And every beauty, delicate or bold,
Obvious or more remote, with livelier sense,
Diffusive painted on the rapid mind.
Tutor❜d by thee, hence Poetry exalts
Her voice to ages, and informs the page
With music, image, sentiment, and thought,
Never to die, the treasure of mankind!
Their highest honour, and their truest joy!
Without thee what were unenlighten'd man?
A savage, roaming through the woods and wilds
In quest of prey, and with th' unfashioned fur
Rough clad; devoid of every finer art
And elegance of life. Nor happiness
Domestic, mix'd of tenderness and care,
Nor moral excellence, nor social bliss,
Nor guardian law were his; nor various skill
To turn the furrow, or to guide the tool
Mechanic; nor the heaven-conducted prow
Of navigation bold, that fearless braves
The burning line, or dares the wintry pole!

Mother severe of infinite delights!

Nothing save rapine, indolence, and guile,
And woes on woes, a still revolving train,
Whose horrid circle had made human life
Than non-existence worse; but taught by thee,
Ours are the plans of policy and peace:
To live like brothers, and conjunctive all,
Embellish life. While thus laborious crowds
Ply the tough oar, Philosophy directs
The ruling helm; or, like the liberal breath
Of potent heaven, invisible, the sail
Swells out, and bears the inferior world along.
Nor to this evanescent speck of earth
Poorly confin'd the radiant tracks on high
Are her exalted range, intent to gaze
Creation through, and, from that full complex
Of never-ending wonders, to conceive

Of the sole Being right, who spoke the word,
And nature mov'd complete. With inward view,
Thence on the ideal kingdom swift she turns
Her eye, and instant, at her powerful glance,
Th' obedient phantoms vanish or appear;
Compound, divide, and into order shift,
Each to his rank, from plain perception up
To the fair forms of fancy's fleeting train:
To reason then deducing truth from truth,
And notion quite abstract, where first begins
The world of spirits, action all, and life
Unfetter'd and unmixed. But here the cloud,
So wills eternal Providence, sits deep;
Enough for us to know that this dark state,
In wayward passions lost and vain pursuits,
This infancy of being, cannot prove
The final issue of the works of God,
By boundless love and perfect wisdom form'd
And ever rising with the rising mind.

PEAK OF TENERIFFE.

1. THE island of Teneriffe has received its present name from the inhabitants of the adjacent island Palma,

in whose language tener signifies snow, and iffe, a hill. In extent, wealth, and fertility, it exceeds all the other Canary islands. It continues to rise on all sides from the sea, until it terminates in the celebrated Peak, which is, however, situated rather in the southern part in the centre of the island.

2. The ascent on the north side is more gradual than at the other parts, there being a space along the shore about three leagues in breadth, bounded on the sides by high mountains, or rather cliffs; but more inland, it rises like a hanging garden all the way, without any considerable interruption of hills or valleys. The form of this island is triangular, extending itself into three capes, the nearest of which is about eighty leagues from the coast of Africa.

3. In the middle, it is divided by a ridge of mountains, which have been compared to the roof of a church, the Peak forming the spire or steeple in the centre. The elevation of the Peak of Teneriffe, according to the most accurate measurement, made by Cordier, is twelve thousand one hundred and sixty-six feet, nearly two miles and one third above the level of the sea.

4. In the ascent the first eminence is called Monte Verde, or the Green Mountain, from the high fern with which it is covered, and presents a level plain of considerable extent. Beyond this are the Mountains of Pines, which are said to have formerly grown there in great abundance but its steep sides are now become craggy and barren, and its whole appearance very different from that of the eminence described above.

5. After passing this summit, the traveller reaches the plain upon which the Peak in reality stands. It is a mountainous platform, rising more than seven thousand feet, nearly a mile and a half, above the level of the sea; and here the currents of lava, hitherto concealed by the vegetation, begin to appear in all their aridity and confusion, a few lowly shrubs and creeping plants alone diversifying the surface of a desert, the most dry and rugged that can be imagined.

6. The following extract is from an account published in the first volume of the Transactions of the Geological Society, by the Hon. Mr. Bennet. At the distance of thir ty-four leagues from the island, Mr Bennet had a very

dis

tinct view of the Peak, rising like a cone from the bed of the ocean.

7. "The rocks and strata of Teneriffe," he observes, "are wholly volcanic; the long chain of mountains, which may be termed the central chain, traversing the island from the foot to the second region of the Peak, and sloping down on the eastern, western, and northern sides, to the sea.

8. "Towards the south, or more properly the south-west, the mountains are nearly perpendicular, and though broken into ridges, and occasionally separated by deep ravines, that are cut transversely, as well as longitudinally, there are none of those plains, nor that gradual declination of strata, which the south-eastern and north-western sides of the island exhibit."

9. Mr. Bennet ascended the Peak in the month of September, 1810. We give the abridged details of this expedition in his own words. "The road to the city Orotava, is a gradual and easy slope for three or four miles, through a highly cultivated country. Leaving the town, after a steep ascent of about an hour, through a deep ravine, we quitted the cultivated part, and entered into forests of chesnuts, the trees of which are of a large size.

10. "The form of this forest is oblong; the soil is deep, and formed of decomposed lava, small ash and pumice. I examined several channels in the strata, or ravines worn by the rains, and there was no appearance of any other rock. Leaving this forest, the tract passes over a series of green hills, which we traversed in about two hours, and at last halted to water our mules at a spot where there is a small spring of bad and brackish water issuing from a lava rock.

11. "The ravine is of considerable depth. The range of green hills extending a mile or two further, the soil shallowing by degrees, until at length, the trees and shrubs, gradually dwindling in size, the Spanish broom alone covers the ground. Leaving behind us this range of green hills, the track, still ascending, leads for several hours across a steep and difficult mass of lava rock, broken here and there into strange fantastic forms, worn into deep ravines, and scantily covered in places by a thin layer of yellow pumice.

12. "As we proceeded on our road, the hills on our left gradually rose in height, till the summits were lost in those of the central chain; while, on our right, we were rapidly gaining an elevation above the lower range of the Peak.