277 
In a few instances we have noted slight inaccuracies, such as, p. 121, the 
spadisc of the Arum cordifolium is stated to exhibit a rise of 250° above the 
surrounding temperature—a thing obviously impossible. P. 215, the traveller in 
America after whom the river was named was Alexander (not George) McKenzie. 
P. 107, newly-distilled dew should be newly-c?ep osited dew. 
In discussing the seeming imperfections in the physical government of the 
universe, the author has recourse to the doctrine of the philosophic poet, which 
alone can obtain the acquiescence of reflecting and good men :— 
,c ’Tis but a part we see, and not the whole 
and still more in the moral 
“ All partial evil, universal good.” 
“ Nor must we forget that the schemes of the self-existent are notbounded by 
time but embrace eternity. In the present world, the moral government of 
God is only begun. That may appear imperfect and disordered of which we 
only see a part, when, if the whole were displayed and understood, every minute 
particular, and the united result of the whole, would be found to be the perfection 
of wisdom.”—p. 105. 
We had marked many other passages for quotation which our limits will not 
permit us to adduce ; we can only quote one, and must content ourselves with 
stating that we eagerly long for the subsequent parts, as we consider it the most 
delightful—we may truly say fascinating—work it has been our lot to meet with 
for a very long time. We give this particular passage because it is new as well 
as strikingly true, and will serve to shew how much the world has lost in the con¬ 
versations and casual observations of Burns not having been preserved by some 
discriminating person. Indeed, there is great reason to believe that the best 
sentiments of that remarkable man have perished. 
“ While yet a school-boy, I enjoyed an opportunity of hearing, in my father’s 
manse, a conversation between the poet Burns and another poet, my near relation, 
the amiable Blacklock. The subject was the fidelity of the Dog. Burns took 
up the question with all the ardour and kindly feeling with which the conversation 
of that extraordinary man was so remarkably embued. The anecdotes by which 
it was illustrated have long escaped my memory ; but there was one sentiment 
expressed by Burns, with his own characteristic enthusiasm, which, as it threw a 
new light into my mind, I shall never forget. 4 Man,’ said he, 4 is the god of the 
Dog : he knows no other ; he can understand no other. And see how he worships 
him !—with what reverence he crouches at his feet—with what love he fawns upon 
him—with what dependence he looks up to him—and with what cheerful alacrity 
