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the best dramas that have been produced on our stage for many months. It is called "A Nine Days' Wonder," and the central figure in it is a widow, Mrs. Fitzroy (admirably acted by Miss Madge Robertson). Mrs. F. is a woman with a strange history. When we make her acquaintance she is living in the house of a Mr. Vavasour, a middle-aged widower, whom years ago she had jilted to marry a professed gambler. Subsequently, while on the Continent, she had run away from her husband with one of his friends, owing to his ill-treatment, leaving her son to shift for himself. Her husband had followed and overtaken her, and had been killed in a duel with her seducer. Mr. Vavasour, however, does not know all this; he only knows that his affection for his "old flame" is returning. He has a sweet daughter, Kate; she loves a young man named Christian Douglas, who is too poor to offer her his hand. Kate tells her fond father this; he, unlike most fathers, considers Christian's poverty no obstacle to the marriage, and invites him to spend a few days at his house. The young man comes, and then the most exciting part of the drama begins. Christian recognizes in Mrs. Fitzroy his mother; she, not knowing that her son is to be Kate's husband, adjures him to be gone, so that she can the better "angle" after Mr. Vavasour, whom she has, scheming woman that she is, set her mind on marrying. After a keen mental struggle, Christian does go, on the condition that, before his mother weds Mr. Vavasour, she will acquaint him with her errors. Shortly after Mr. Vavasour proposes, is told all, and still offers Mrs. Fitzroy his hand. She is about to accept it, when, learning the sacrifice her son has made, she quits the house forever, the end being that, after all, Christian, instead of his mother, marries into the Vavasour family. The acting is first rate. As Kate, Miss Hollingshead, who has not long been on the stage, plays most gracefully and intelligently, as, of course, as I have hinted, does Miss Robertson. Mr. Hare as Vavasour, and Mr. Kendal as Christian, are also excellent. The dialogue of the piece is often brilliant, always good; the incidents are in good sequence, and are well worked out. WILL WILLIAMS.

sum is expended in the construction of permanent works which may be of continual service, provided the results attained are favorable. It is yet estimated that each one of these great guns will cost the English government at least ten thousand pounds. As the weapon is designed strictly for naval service, a ship must be built to carry it, with suitable gun-carriage and other appointments for rendering it manageable and effective; hence we are not surprised to learn that such a piece of artillery will entail, before it is ready to be used, an expense of three hundred thousand pounds sterling!

We have chosen to present these facts regarding the nature and expense of modern naval weapons and warfare in order that our readers may more readily comprehend the true significance and value of the torpedo, the success of which must of necessity check all further advance in the direction of heavily plated and armored vessels. If it is possible to approach a vessel by an unseen enemy, whose attack is made from below the water

line, and hence beneath the range of the monster gun, the mission of the latter is evidently at an end. At an early day we shall hope to present to our readers a descriptive and illus.

1 AUG. 6.

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plosion must result from the sudden displacement of a volume of water, which would cause an equally sudden and powerful strain to be put upon all portions of the hull above, or within reach of its influence. The experiments were seven in number, and were conducted at the relative distances shown in the illustration, the surface depth, however, being in each case forty-eight feet. In every case save the fifth the mine rested on the bottom, and the published report of the results obtained is given in full as follows:

No. 1 is the position on August 6th, the charge, five hundred pounds of compressed cotton, being placed at one hundred feet horizontally from the starboard side on the ground, at forty-eight feet depth of water. The effect, judging from the apparent leaking, was at first thought to be serious, but proved to be due to dislodgment of tubes imperfectly fixed.

No. 2, August 21st.-Charge fixed at eighty feet horizontally from starboard side, depth, etc., as before; effect slight.

No. 3, September 5th.-Charge at sixty feet horizontally from starboard side, depth, etc., as before; effect again inconsiderable.

No. 4, September 26th.-Charge at forty-eight feet from starboard side; effect considerable; condenser broken, and other severe injuries,

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OBERON

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Science, Invention, Discovery.

THE OBERON TORPEDO EXPERIMENTS.

SINCE

INCE the earliest adaptation of the rifledgun and iron armor-plate to offensive and defensive warfare, there has been a constant advance in the effectiveness of these weapons and the strength of the resisting surface against which their power is directed, from the armor of the Meteor and Thunderer that in the Crimean War proved invulnerable to thirty-two-pound shot, to that of the modern iron-clad two feet in thickness, against which it is proposed to direct a shot projected from an eighty-ton gun. This latter weapon is now in the course of construction at the Woolwich Arsenal, and we learn that "the actual outlay for the production of this first enormous gun, including new forges and forty-ton hammer, steam and hydraulic cranes, special furnaces, rolling and bending machinery, gigantic tongs of thirty tons weight, and multitudes of minor paraphernalia, will be little short of one hundred thousand pounds sterling."

It is true that a large per cent. of this

trative account of the progress that has been made in the construction of that form of naval vessels known as torpedo-boats. At present attention is briefly directed to certain recent experiments that have been conducted with a view to determine the effectiveness of stationary or moored torpedoes.

Early in August of last year the English Admiralty, in order to test the effectiveness of gun-cotton in submarine explosions, caused the following experiments to be made: The hull of the vessel Oberon was first strengthened, so that it should represent the class of vessels to which the iron-clad Hercules belonged. She was then anchored directly above a submarine slope, as shown in the accompanying illustration. The direct purpose of this series of experiments was to ascertain the effect of the explosion of submarine mines resting on the botton, though at varying diagonal distances from the vessel. In each case, however, the depth directly below the surface of the water was forty-eight feet, and the charge of the torpedo in every instance was five hundred pounds of compressed gun-cotton. It will thus appear that any disastrous effects from this order of ex

such that the vessel could hardly have proceeded on her course, her engines, etc., being probably too much injured.

No. 5, November 12th.-The starboard side of the vessel having greatly suffered, it was decided to attack the port side at thirty feet distance; but, the vessel lying as before, the charge could not be placed on the ground without altering all the conditions, the depth at the The spot in question being seventy-two feet. charge was therefore suspended at forty-eight feet, the actual distance from the ship's bottom being about fifty-two feet. The effect was much less than on the last occasion, showing incidentally the great disadvantage at which a suspended or floating charge acts as compared with a ground one.

No. 6, November 28th.-The charge was at thirty feet horizontally from the starboard side, at a selected part. The effect was an increased one, water-casks and ship's thwartplates now suffering, and great leakage arid injury caused.

No. 7, May 20th.-The same charge-five hundred pounds of compressed cotton--was placed vertically under the starboard side of

the vessel, at the same depth-forty-eight feet -resting on the ground. The effect is not yet fully ascertained and reported. The vessel's back is certainly broken, and she is a com

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plete wreck; but for the reason of the difference in weight and structure between the Oberon and a real armor-clad, it is still more important to ascertain how far her actual bottom plates have suffered, and what direct local injury has been caused, than to know what dislocation of her structure has taken place. However this may be, the series of experiments has given most important results, and will probably have the effect of shaping our entire system of subinarine defense-modifying it, indeed, to an extent that was hardly contemplated by any one previously.

A review of these results, though they are of a negative character, does not lessen their importance, and as the subject of torpedoes

is one in which our own Government is at present specially interested, owing to our extended coast-line, these experiments with the Oberon become of direct interest and value. As briefly stated, the conclusion reached is that torpedoes containing comparatively small charges, but so moored as to explode in actual contact with the vessel, are much more effective than those even more heavily charged, but the force of whose explosions must be transmitted through an intervening

stratum of water.

THE theory, or rather hypothesis, that many or all of the members of the stellar and planetary universe are the abodes of life, that is, of living organisms, has long been received with favor, and, although the question would appear to be beyond the limits of argument even, yet it has been made the subject of many a learned essay or poetic effusion. In a recent number of the Cornhill Magazine, Richard A. Proctor ventures again to approach the subject, reviewing it under the title "Life, Past and Future, in other Worlds." Deeming it probable that many of our readers may fail to meet with the paper in full, we are prompted to give extended space to a condensed review of its main points-convinced that they will recognize in the author's line of reasoning, though necessarily one of analogy, many points in favor of the conclusion, viz., that it is more probable that life is wanting than that life exists at this present time in other worlds than ours. At the close of a brief reference to opinions expressed in former essays, and at variance with those now advanced, the writer adds: "Let the matter be explained as it may, it was only gradually that both the Brewsterian and Whewellite theories of life in other worlds gave place in the writer's mind to a theory in One sense intermediate to them, in another sense opposed to both, which seems to accord better than either with what we know about our own earth, about the other members of the solar system, and about other suns which people space. What we now propose to do is to present this theory as specially illustrated by the two planets which adorn our evening skies during the summer months of the present year." The planets to which allusion is here made are Jupiter and Mars, and their past, present, and future conditions are made the subject of thoughtful consideration. groundwork upon which Professor Proctor bases his whole argument against the probable present existence of life in other worlds may be stated as follows: Organic life is but a natural phenomenon, and depends upon congenial physical conditions, without which there could be no life. In other words, to prove that life abounds on any planet we must first accept the fact that the physical conditions on

The

...

that planet are "life-supporting." Returning | ceeding our sun a thousand-fold in volume."
now to the main argument, the writer notices The remainder of the attractive essay is
at length the various forms of life upon our occupied in an attempt to prove, by analogy
globe, and the possible conditions under and fact, so far as facts are attainable, that,
which it exists, giving special attention to the viewed merely as a problem of chances, it is
evidence that "Nature possesses a power of improbable that at the present time or at any
modifying the different types in accordance given time the conditions of two or more plan-
with the varying conditions under which they ets will be so closely allied as to make them
subsist. . . . Still," he adds, and in this sen- life-supporting. Mars has in all probability
tence sounds the key-note of all subsequent passed this stage, and Jupiter is yet far from
reasoning, "there must be a limit beyond it, though advancing. "Nor need we stop,"
which the change of the earth's conditions, he adds, "at solar systems, since within the
whether through the cooling of her own globe infinite universe, without beginning and with-
or the diminution of the sun's heat, will be out end, not suns only, but systems of suns,
such that no conceivable modification of the galaxies of such systems, to higher and high-
types of life now existing could render life er orders endlessly, have long since passed
possible. . . . The struggle for life involves through all the stages of their existence as
the repeated victory of death. Nature, systems, or have all those stages yet to pass
wasteful of individual life, is equally wasteful through. In the presence of time-intervals
of types of life," and "at length the time thus seen to be at once infinitely great and
comes when the struggle for existence can infinitely little-infinitely great compared with
manifestly have but one end, and then, though the duration of our earth, infinitely little by
the type may linger long before it actually dis- comparison with the eternities amid which
appears, its disappearance is only a question they are lost-what reason can we have for
of time." Admitting the justice of this gen- viewing any orb in space from our little earth,
eral proposition, the writer arrives naturally and saying now is the time when that orb is,
at the following conclusion: "We have also like our earth, the abode of life? Why should
only to consider that life on the earth neces- life on that orb synchronize with life on the
sarily had a beginning, to infer that it must earth? Are not, on the contrary, the chances
necessarily have an end. Clearest evidence infinitely great against such a coincidence?
shows how our earth was once a fluid haze If, as Helmholtz has well said, the duration of
of light,' and how for countless æons after- life on our earth is but the minutest ripple in
ward her globe was instinct with fiery heat, the infinite ocean of time,' and the duration
amid which no form of life could be conceived of life on any other planet of like minuteness,
to exist, after the manner of life known to us, what reason can we have for supposing that
though the germs of life may have been pres- those remote, minute, and no way associated
ent in the midst of the fire.' Then followed waves of life must needs be abreast of each
ages in which the earth's glowing crust was other on the infinite ocean whose surface they
drenched by showers of muriatic, nitric, and scarcely ripple?" It should be borne in mind,
sulphuric acid, not only intensely hot, but as lessening the chances of a coincident of life
fiercely burning through their chemical activ- in two worlds, that the life-sustaining period
ity. Only after periods infinite to our concep- of a planet's existence covers but a minute
tions could life such as we know it, or even period of its actual existence, and hence it may
in the remotest degree like what is now justly be regarded as "antecedently improbable
known to us, have begun to exist upon the that any planet selected at random, whether
earth." The reader will discover that Pro- planet of our own system or planet attending
fessor Proctor anticipates the vague objec-
on another sun than ours, is at this present
tions of the purely imaginative opponents
time the abode of life." Though we close our
by limiting his definition of life to that which review with this sentence as embodying Pro-
exists"after the manner known to us." fessor Proctor's conclusions deduced from
If we have succeeded in the rather difficult his main premises, justice to the author bids
task of condensing an already succinct argu- us recognize the extended efforts-here un-
ment, the reader will be ready to follow the noticed-by which he appears to justify the
author in his next step, and, as he has defined claims which we have hardly more than set
the nature of this step in a few brief sentences, forth and defined.
we give them as follows: "We see our earth
passing through a vast period, from its first
existence as a separate member of the solar
system, to the time when life appeared upon
its surface; then began a comparatively short
period, now in progress, during which the
earth has been and will be the abode of life;
and after that. must follow a period infinite to
our conceptions when the cold and inert globe
of the earth will circle as. lifelessly round the
sun as the moon now does. We may, if we
please, infer this from analogy, seeing that the
duration of life is always infinitely small by
comparison with the duration of the region
where life appears; so that, by analogy, the
duration of life on the earth would be infinite-
ly short compared with the duration of the
earth itself. But we are brought to the same
conclusion independently of analogy, perceiv-
ing that the fire of the earth's youth and the
deathly cold of her old age must alike be in-
finite in duration compared with her period of
vital, life-preserving warmth. And what is
true of the earth is true of every member of
the solar system, major planet, minor planet,
asteroid, or satellite; probably of every orb in
space, from the minutest meteorite to suns ex-

FOR months the air has been heavy with rumors, and at times apparently authorized statements, regarding the discovery of a new motor or motive power, which was not only to supersede steam, but accomplish more wonders than were ever hoped for by any inventor of perpetual motion. We acknowledge that it appears hardly gracious to condemn that of which we have no knowledge, and in this century of wonders the sight of a steamboat crossing the Atlantic or a train crossing the plains urged by a force generated from a vialful of water, or a dew-drop even, would not altogether amaze us. It may be the fault of an education which has sadly marred our faith in mechanical miracles, but we freely confess that we have been but slightly impressed by the astounding advices received regarding the Keeley motor. As there may be those among our readers, however, who, if not credulous, are at least curious regarding the claims of this new engine of progress, we submit the accompanying description of the motor as given to the Tribune by its Philadelphia correspondent. As to the desirability of purchasing stock, well, we all remember the advice of Punch to

strangers who might come near them. This
seemed dangerous as well as disagreeable, so
we gave up our intention. However, one even-
ing returning from the Convent de los Mar-
tires, we had scrambled up a rough path to
have a better view of the Generalife, when, on
turning a corner, we came upon the rocks in-
habited by this curious people.

Finding ourselves there, we thought it
best to try to appear fearless and pleased,
though we were far from feeling so; there-
fore, going up to a young woman, with a bun-
dle or a baby in her arms, seated on a stone
somewhat apart, we saluted her in Spanish
fashion, and begged her to show us the short-
est way to the Generalife.

the friend contemplating marriage--" Don't."
The report to which we allude reads as fol-
lows: "The inventor's name is John W. Kee-
ley, and he calls his invention the Keeley
Motor.' It is owned by a stock company com-
posed chiefly of New York and Philadelphia
capitalists, who have paid in a working capital
of about one hundred and fifty thousand dol-
lars, and hold stock of the nominal par value
of one million dollars. They hold the stock
at fabulous prices. The apparatus that gen-
erates the power is called a 'multiplicator,'
and is composed of a number of iron cham-
bers of cylindrical form, connected by pipes
and fitted with certain cocks and valves. The
machine upon which experiments have been
conducted during the past eight months is
about thirty-six inches high, twenty-four long,
and thirteen wide, and its cylinders will hold
about six gallons of water. A small brass
pipe, with an orifice one-quarter of an inch in
diameter, leads from it to a strong, wrought-in
iron reservoir, six inches in diameter and
three feet long, where the power is stored, and
whence it is fed to a beam-engine through a
still smaller pipe. The process of generating
the power consists in forcing air into the up-
per chamber of the multiplicator, and after-
ward letting water run in from a hydrant until
the receptacles are nearly filled. In the exper-
iments lately made, the inventor has used his
own lungs for an air-pump, blowing through a
tube for a few seconds, then turning a cock to
shut off the air, connecting the tube with the
hydrant and opening the cock until sufficient
water runs in. Within two minutes after this
operation is performed the cocks on the tubes
connecting the upper with the lower cylinders
are turned and the power is ready for use. The
little machine exerts, through the small tube
one-eighth of an inch in diameter, a pressure
varying from two to fifteen thousand pounds
to the square inch, at the will of the operator.
The power is accurately measured by a force-
register. When applied to the engine it runs
as rapidly as it is prudent to permit, the sup-
ply of power always being kept below its full
capacity."

THOUGH given with no view of exciting an unreasonable alarm, we are yet prompted to warn our readers against a too careless disregard of the possible truth of the statement here. made. It appears that a gentleman in Stettin, having, soon after the purchase of a hat with a brown - leather band, experienced severe headaches followed by the breaking out of ulcers on the forehead, was induced to submit the band to a chemist for examination. The result proved that the dye with which it was stained was one of the poisonous analine colors, and that its properties were such as to render inflammation unavoidable when it came in contact with the skin.

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The woman civilly rose, and was about to direct us, when the infant in the bundle uttered a low wail, so feeble and pitiful that we could not help asking if the little thing was ill. The young woman, scarcely more than a child years, opened the shawl and showed us a tiny baby, rolled in a bit of rag. The little creature, pallid with suffering, its tender limbs emaciated, evidently from hunger, lay motionless, only uttering from time to time a plaintive moan that went to the heart of those who heard it. Tears dropped slowly from the eyes of the poor mother, she did not speak, she did not ask, but she pressed the little creature closer to her, with a tenderness that said more than the most touching words. The poor babe was evidently dying of hunger.

My young companion, touched by the sight of the little creature's sufferings, raised the tiny hand and gently kissed it. This natural act of compassion seemed to go straight to the mother's heart, she burst into tears, and out poured a sad story of suffering, illness, and starvation. She and her husband were dancers, and wandered about from fair to fair. The man had had a serious fall, and for many weeks had been partly paralyzed. He was now lying, suffering and motionless, in one of the holes before us.

The woman said their friends had been very kind to them, but in these times it was difficult to earn any thing, and her child had been born when they were nearly starving. Her pinched features and skeleton-like arms said that at any rate this part of her tale was true.

By this time many others of the tribe had gathered round, and such a set of bright-eyed, gaunt, haggard creatures I have seldom seen. We had but a few small pieces of money with us, perhaps fortunately, as there was no temptation to take that which we gave the young mother; but, poor people, they were all most civil and grateful.

They wished us to see some of their homes, but, being alone, we thought it most prudent to proceed on our way, promising to return another time. Taking our Spanish servant as guard, we did return, and far from finding these people savage and rude, they impressed us most favorably. Like animals, they burrow in the rocks, but the holes they live in, though poverty-stricken to the last degree, were neat and almost clean. They seemed very industrious, and were always at work, the men as tinkers, cobblers, or chair-menders the women making and selling brooms and similar articles.

The dancer's was a sad case. I never saw any one so thin to be alive; his lower limbs were quite paralyzed, and even his hands were feeble, and moved with uncertain action. The poor fellow was lying in a hole little larger than a dog-kernel, propped up by a bundle of straw, and trying to make some baskets. He was cheerful and hopeful when I ordered a

few, and he evidently did not despair of himself. It had been such a very little fall, he said, and added, with a hope that was piteous in its hopelessness, that no doubt when the winter came he should get stronger, and be able to move about again, but it did not need much knowledge to see from the emaciated, sunken features and nerveless hands, that long before the winter came he would be where pain and hunger are unknown.

It was interesting to note how in some ways these gypsies retain traces of Oriental habits; for instance, many of them made a movement as if raising the hem of a superior's garment to the heart and head, an action used in Turkey and the East to express affection and respect.

The holes they live in are like exaggerated sand- martins' nests. Even the dwellingplaces of the rock Arabs we had seen in Syria are superior to these wretched abodes, but the inhabitants seemed content with them, and assured us that in some ways they were better than ordinary houses, being cool in summer and warm in winter. It was curious that, though several of the women were evidently fortune-tellers, never once did they offer to tell our fortunes, or impose upon us any of the tricks of their trade.

DANCING.

Like the Italians, Spaniards are passionately fond of dancing. Among the poor it seems their greatest solace and recreation, and no sooner do the lengthening shadows indicate that the day is drawing to a close than from the shady walks of the Alamedas, and other favorite places of resort, may be heard the tinkling music of guitars and the sound of distant song. Our poor neighbors awake to new life, and young and old are aroused by the inspiriting clatter of the castanets. From our terrace, we delight in watching their graceful movements, for the Spaniards from their earliest youth are imbued with the true poetry of dancing. Occasionally a voice joins itself to the notes of the guitar, and though the melody may be rude, and the singer unlearned, yet in the soft enchantment of an Andalusian night the long-drawn sigh of the "Ay de mi!" with which almost every song terminates, has a charm that scarcely any other music can rival.

SPANISH MEN AND WOMEN.

It is perhaps a dangerous topic to touch upon, because every nation has its own standard on such points, but it would be difficult to find anywhere more charming women than Spanish ladies. The average of beauty is exceedingly great, but even when the features are not strictly pretty, the fine eyes have such a depth of tender expression, the slender figure is so graceful in every movement, the low, sweet voice speaks in such tones of earnest persuasion, that critical indeed must be the judgment that is not pleased. And these charms are not those of mere appearance, for Spanish women are true, and kind, and gentle, and singularly free from affectation of either mind or manners. Many are very accomplished, though perhaps the education usually given to women is not very profound. Of course there are admirable exceptions, and these ladies naturally take the lead in society.

The men, too, are exceedingly agreeable. Brilliant and clever, they have also the great fascination of a hearty and sincere manner. There is a profound earnestness in whatever they say or do that is inexpressibly attractive. This faculty of throwing themselves with enthusiasm into the occupation or amusement

of the hour is at once the misfortune and the charm of Spaniards, and is especially characteristic of those of the south.

In the Cortes, in the pulpit, in private life, there are an earnestness and completeness of purpose that one feels to be true. Should the object be ever so trivial, they pursue it with an eagerness that for the moment seems to banish every other thought. But then, it is only for the moment, and how long does such devotion last? The great difficulty is to interest the multitude permanently. "Unstable as water, thou shalt not excel," and this is one feature of Spanish failure.

The Spaniards are any thing but weak in character, they are not even fickle; but the mass of the people easily wander from the hard, weary road of duty into the pleasant paths of to-day's amusement. They are generous, large-hearted, and for the most part singularly free from the love of money. In no other country is a traveler less cheated than in Spain. When spoken to with courtesy and kindness, Spaniards will readily assist a stranger, and will often take much trouble to do so; but they are proud, and keenly resent the slightest appearance of rudeness.

Apart from the Inquisition, which in truth was more the creation of cruel churchmen and cruel kings than the offspring of the people, the Spaniards are not a blood-thirsty race. In the history of civil wars, few nations have gone through such violent revolutionary changes with less of bloodshed than Spain.

A Spaniard loves his country, he loves the political party to which he belongs, he is brave as a lion, and will fight to the death for ether; but with the keen suspicion of a southern mind he doubts his leaders, and puts

tle faith in any. Besides, who can long resist the excitement of the bull-ring, the attractions of a new opera, the pleasant talk in cafes, and, more than all, the fascination of bright, speaking eyes? So the great things of to-morrow are forgotten for the little pleasures of to-day.

ONE of the talkers in the Blackwood papers, "Conversation in a Studio," has something audacious to say about Goethe. They bave been discussing German criticism on Shakespeare (see selections in JOURNAL of June 26th), when the conversation turns to Goethe, and then to Shakespeare and translations:

Belton. It is the same in their criticism of art. Look, for instance, at Goethe's critique on the Laocoon.

Mallett. You mean Lessing's? Belton. No, I mean Goethe's-Lessing's is quite another affair. He has written a most elaborate criticism on this group, in which he fads every thing perfect, every thing done in the highest spirit, with the clearest intelligence and insight, and with a perfection of execution as great as the conception is wonderful. The ancient Greeks are the greatest sealptors, and this is the greatest of their works, and without a single defect. In fact, it is a cut-and-dried panegyric, by a man who Lad no knowledge of his subject, who was detrained to find that whatever is, is right, and ose enthusiasm is all literary and secondand We are told to admire, with upraised ay, the defects as much as the merits. It subtile and exquisite thought to make herpent, while he crushed the group with ads, also bite the most sensitive part of

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the father, and so make him shrink away; and it is no matter at all that the serpent who crushes does not bite. It was an admirable conception to make the sons two little fullydeveloped men, one-third the size of their father, instead of children. The restored parts are admirable also, and there is here a good deal of feeble philosophizing and artistic metaphysics to round the whole.

Mallett. You are very hard on Goethe. Belton. I know I am. I suppose I feel as the ancient Athenian did about Aristides: I cannot bear to hear him called the artist any more than he to hear the great statesman called the Just. Artist! Despite his large talent and his many accomplishments, he is utterly without that innate enthusiasm, that fiery impulse, that self-surrender to passion for his work that alone can make an artist in the true sense of the word. He was essentially cold of nature, and his work is generally cold. He prepared himself elaborately for all his writings, arranged his materials with patience, and, having got them all ready, sat down with deliberation to put them together, and work them into shape in the most mechanical way. He laid up his observations as one makes a hortus siccus, and put them into his work like so many fragments of mosaic. He could not give way to his enthusiasm, but insisted on governing it. He never was possessed, rapt, lifted out of himself, carried away by his theme. He drove his Pegasus in good German harness; Pegasus never ran or flew away with him. I put aside his "Faust," which is far his greatest work. This he wrote in his youth, when he could not suppress his genius, which got the better of him, and in this one sees him at his highest. But this was before he was an artist in his sense, and while the enthusiasm of youth was in him, and would have its sway. Nearly all the rest of his life he was engaged at intervals on the second part of "Faust," piecing it out mechanically, and endeavoring to give some real shape to mere disjecta membra, which he never could put together into any definite completeness. The result of all his art was to huddle together an unintelligible mass of myth and history, without beginning, middle, or end. When his genius carried him away he was great, and the first part of "Faust" has scenes of great power both of conception and execution.

Mallett. Ah, well, I breathe again. After all, it is something to have written one great work.

Belton. It is, but it is the story of Marguerite which alone interests us. Faust is a colorless walking gentleman, without character or individuality, and there is no real "Motiv," to use Goethe's word, for Marguerite's conduct.

Mallett. Pray leave Goethe alone-we shall never agree about him. I have heard you before on this subject, and I say with Galileo, "E pur si muove." I know "Wilhelm Meister "bores you, and the "Elective Affinities" is, according to you, a mechanical mosaic; but I don't agree with you.

grow and develop, one joint out of another, one branch and twig out of another-naturally, freely, unexpectedly-as a tree grows. This is true not only of the characters but of the conduct of each play, and especially of the later ones. Take Othello, for instance, and see how his character develops with circumstances; how the restrained passion of his nature, which gives at first only a genial glow to his bearing, finally bursts forth into an overpowering fury, breaks down all the safeguards of his judgment, destroys his dignity, and ruins his reason. Goethe's plays, on the contrary, are mechanically laid out like a gardenplot, and all his pretty flowers, exotic or natural, are planted in them artificially. They do not grow there by their own sweet will, do not flower out of the theme, but are grafted on it. They do not make themselves, but are made by him. Two and two always make four, but in life they sometimes make five. There's a daring truth of unexpectedness in Shakespeare, as there is in Nature. His characters do not say what you expect, but what their nature prompts. A tree has its law, but it also has its whim and caprice, and one lib and branch is not balanced against another geometrically, as it is in Goethe's plays. In all the deviousness of outline in Nature, there is at once the characteristic and the capricious. In Goethe's "Tasso," for instance, you can forecast every thing that each character will say and think, but you cannot do this with "Hamlet," and "Othello," and "Lear."

Mallett. The world is against you in your estimate of Goethe, and I am against you. But don't let us discuss him any further. You will not convince me. Let us talk about something we agree upon. As to what you say of the German critics of Shakespeare, of course there is one side of him to us as wonderful as any, which they never can feel-I mean his language and his rhythm. No translation can give this, however well it may be done. There is a light, and life, and color in the words of our great poet that most of all is his, which makes them magical. To translate Shakespeare is as impossible as to copy Titian-ay, much more so; the outline, the story, the bones, remain, but the soul is gone-the essence, the ethereal light, the perfume, is vanished. Try in any of his great passages to replace a forgotten word, and you can never improve it. Nothing will fit it but the very word he used. If, then, we ourselves cannot translate or alter his language without loss, how is it possible that the whole should be transferred into another language, with different idioms, and still preserve its quality? Take for instance this

...

"No; this my hand will rather The multitudinous seas incarnadine, Making the green one red "—

and translate it if you can. "Multitudinous seas"-what an expression!--You feel the wide weltering waste of confused and tumbling waves around you in that single word. What beauty and wealth of color, too, in incarnadine, a word capable of dying an ocean! and then, after these grand polysyllables, how terse and stern comes in the solid Saxon, as if a vast cloud had condensed into great, heavy

Belton. Yes, if Goethe talked no better than the characters of those two novels, I am not sorry I never knew him. I am tired to death of gardens, and the way they should be laid out, and I do not admire his theatrical discus-drops-the green one red! Turn it into Gersions; and his characters, except when they are reminiscences of particular persons, are to me thoroughly mechanical.

Mallett. Let us get back to Shakespeare, where we can agree.

Belton. Shakespeare's plays grow. All others, more or less, are constructed, built up mechanically part by part; while Shakespeare's

man if you can. Hitch together three or four monosyllables, and pretend they are one word, and see if they will give you the effect of that one great Latinish multitudinous. Try muchfolding, or many-folding, or manifold (" vielfältig" or "mannigfaltig"), which are the nearest approximations in German to the sense and sound. Do they satisfy you? Or, instead

of incarnadine, take that poetic and noble German correlative "fleischfarben," to flesh-color; or substitute the German phrase, for it is not a word, "purpurroth färben;" or say in English, empurple, or make purple. It will not do-we cannot translate it even into English, much less into German.

FROM Mrs. Burton's "Inner Life of Syria, Palestine, and the Holy Land," just published in London, we glean two passages. The first is descriptive of Arab dancing and singing:

You must understand that Arab dancing is more curious than pretty, but it is strange to you and wild. You would be sorry to miss seeing it, but I must explain to you that there are some things we may see, and some that we may not see. However, my friends are very discreet and respectful, and they will arrange with these almahs exactly what they are to dance and what they are to sing; that they are to be fully clad, and are not to exceed in raki. They have brought five, all dressed in various colored gauzes, and spangles, and gold-coin ornaments, trousers frilled and gathered round the ankle with a ring, and hair plaited in two long tresses to the knees. You see, in point of dress, that they are far more decent than our own ballet-girls, and that even the lord-chamberlain could not object to them. Their instruments are the tom-tom, the tam-' bourine, and a sort of zittern. They crack their fingers by putting their hands together, by pulling back the second and third finger of the left hand with the index-finger of the right, and by letting them rebound, with a noise louder than any castanets. Their voices are melancholy, nasal, and boyish, and all their songs are in a minor key. They used to set my teeth on edge at first, but I have grown to love them now. I am very fond of music, but I have never been able to pick up an Arab air. It takes a year before one can perceive the difference between one air and another, or whether it is intended to be joyous or sorrowful; but after this initiation the music becomes most expressive. Even their military bands, like all their music, sound half a note below concert-pitch.

You must watch them singing. They put on a miserable look, hang their heads sideways, turning up their eyes like dying ducks, and then out comes a wail, reminding us of an Eolian harp hung in a tree. All sit crosslegged in a row upon the divan, and they will sing and sway from side to side. That almah, who was once the best dancer, and is now the size of six ordinary mortals, can no longer dance. We are going to have a pas seul. This girl will move about the room, with little wriggling steps, in time to the music, nearly double herself backward, and throw herself in all sorts of contortions and attitudes, till I am convinced that all her bones are made of gristle. One thing which perhaps you will not understand is, that her dancing means something, whereas ours is only intended for exercise, or to give people a chance of talking. She has told you by pantomime whole histories of how she was at home with her mother, and how she went to market and to the bazaar; how she did the washing and cooking; how her father (the sheik) wanted her to marry, and how she didn't want to marry, for that Ali was fighting far away in the desert. She wonders if he thinks of her, and she looks at the moon, and knows that he can see it, too, and asks when he will come back. Now the music and the steps change. He is coming

back, and they are dressing her to be his bride; she is walking in the bridal procession, veiling her face for shame. And so

forth.

The performers are clamoring for raki. I think they deserve a little, but we must not let them have too much. Now, I will ask for my favorite sword dance. That thin and graceful girl will take her turn, and describe to you a fight by pantomime. You will be surprised at the way she can handle a cimeter, as if she had learned broadsword all her life. She whirls it round her head and throat, under her arms, over her back, like lightning, and within an inch of our faces, as if she were slashing at sixty unseen enemies, dancing all the time.

Our second extract gives a brief description of the Turkish bath:

Firstly, we enter a large hall, lit by a domed skylight, with a huge marble tank in the centre, and four little fountains 'spurting in the corners. All around are raised divans, covered with cushions. Here we wrap ourselves in silk and woolen sheets, and towels round the head. We shall now pass through six marble rooms, all with domed sky-lights, marble floors, and a gutter cut in them to let the water off, and surrounded by large stone basins and troughs, each with its tap of hot and cold water. The first is the cold room, the next warm, the third warmer, and so on until you come to the sudarium, of about 120° Fahr.

Here the operation commences. Firstly, they lather your head and hair thoroughly. Then you are washed over, first with flannel and soap, if you like; secondly with a brush and soap; thirdly with lif and soap. Lif is the fibre of the palm-frond soaked in water, sun-dried, and pulled out. It looks like a large sponge of white horse-hair, and it rubs as hard as a clothes-brush. You are douched from head to foot, between each of these operations, with tubs of hot water thrown at you and over you. You are then shampooed with

fresh layers of soap, and douched again. By this time you are beginning to feel rather exhausted. They then cover your face, and neck, and arms, with a sort of powder which looks like meal, and move you through the other rooms, each warmer than the last, till you are turned into the hottest. If it is steam, 150° will content you; if in dry heat, you can with practice bear 300°. Your stay in the calidarium lasts about twenty minutes. They give you iced sherbet, and tie towels dipped in cold water round your head, which prevents your fainting, and makes you perspire more freely. The white powder passes away of itself. They scrub your feet with a hard, rough stone; indeed, it appears to me that one's first skin is wholly peeled off.

Now you move back again through all the rooms, but gradually, staying ten minutes in each. You are again douched with water, and shampooed with towels as you pass from heat to cold. The most rigorous of all is when you arrive at the latter, when pails of cold water are thrown at your back and poured down the spine. In the last room the final shampooing is done with towels.

We now return to the hall where we first undressed, enveloped in silk and woolen cloths, and we recline on divans. It is all strewed with flowers, incense is burned about us, cups of very hot and rather bitter coffee are handed to us, and nargiles are placed in our mouths. A woman advances and kneads you like bread; you fall asleep during the process, which has almost the effect of mesmerism.

When you awake you will find music and dancing, the girls chasing one another, eating sweetmeats, cracking nuts, and enjoying all sorts of fun. Moslem women go through much more than the above performances, especially in the matter of being henna'd, and having their eyebrows plucked. The best time for the bath is with a wedding party preparing a bride. One feels very light after these baths, and the skin is wonderfully white. Easterns are not content with less than peeling the outer skin off.

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