catalytic action, meaning thereby an action so slightly chemical as, in the present state of the science, to be scarcely appreciable.* The attraction of glass and oxidable metallic plates for dust, &c., is very great; and is perhaps dependent on the same cause as their attraction for oxygen. Whether or not, I feel pretty well convinced, after a laborious investigation of the discovery in question, that it is not of that wonderful character that Moser and others have supposed; nor calculated to alter our ideas of vision or of the nature of light. On the contrary, I think with Fizeau (a short notice only of whose memoir I have seen) that no effect of any consequence is produced where organic matpolishing; for such is perhaps the philosopher's opinion just named, and in as far as our opinions agree, he has the priority. Begun by a purely catalytic action, it is only continued and developed in any marvellous degree when those circumstances are present that permit it to assume a more strictly chemical character. with dust be prevented-taking all these and minor considerations into account, we come to the conclusion that the effect in question is dependent on a chemico-mechanical action, or what Berzelius has called, catalytic action. No doubt it may be urged against this view, that the action takes place when the coins and plate are both heated, and hence quite dry. But this is no solid objection, for the adage, "Corpora non agunt nisi sint saluta," is not true, as hundreds of examples in chemistry show. The very fact of heat itself increasing the effect is all in favor of a chemico-mechanical view; for heat increases the tendency of copper to oxygenation, and tends also to volatilize any feeble acid matter on the coins. But again, if it be said the spec-ters are carefully removed by boiling water and trum rubs off, even when permanent and clearly defined (as we have shown), and leaves polished surfaces under it,-this we admit; but still this surface has suffered an almost imperceptible degree of oxygenation; for so slowly does this effect take place, that it is only visible when much advanced, as will be evident to any person who watches the gradual tarnishing of copper plates. Möser's discovery shows that very slight chemmical action is often going on, which has been previously overlooked. The chief difficulty that occurs to the above view is, that the effect takes place, to a slight extent, on glass; but in all my numerous experiments I have found that the effect is much less on glass than on well polished copper; for in no case has a permanent spectrum been made on glass, even by the longest contact.* It will also be remembered, that I found no effect whatever produced on talc. Now the tale scratches easily, glass of course does not; but talc is probably less soluble in acids than glass; at least in my trials it did not seem at all acted on either by nitric, muriatic, or sulphuric. To be sure, you perceive no effect of these on glass, but it does not seem impossible but that some very slight effect takes place, and that the alkali is very feebly acted on, as glass is a compound body. Contact, at all events, may be presumed to have an influence on the affinities of one of its elements, whether there be even the slightest degree of decomposition or not. Now this influence is the catalytic influence; for it has been shown above, that without actual contact, and when all dust is kept off, neither silver nor copper, even at the one-twentieth of an inch from the glass plate, produce any effect, though kept there ninety-six hours. (See section 4, of heat generally, end). In consequence of this slight alteration in affinity, the parts of glass which have been in contact some time with coins or other substances, condense the breath differently from those parts which have not: hence the spectrum. The effect of glass, supposing it not susceptible of a gradual change by the action of air similar to oxidation, is rather in favor of the spectrum depending on a mechanical than a chemical action. I have in consequence ascribed the effect to a mechanico-chemical action, or a PUNCH'S OSSIAN. DUAN I. MORNING rose on St. Giles's. The sun, struggling through mist, tinged the summits of the Seven Dials with the yellow hue of autumn. Sleepless was the wife of M'Finn. Gloom hung on her brow. Gone was M'Finn, of the light heart. To join his countrymen was he gone. Sacred was the day to Patrick. Why did gloom darken the brow of the wife of his bosom? Supreme in her heart he reigned. Great was her love. Why burst the sigh from her lips ? Hearken. By her not unseen was his danger.-Bereft was the wall of his blackthorn. His tongue was swift, careless his heart, and his arm strong. Neither was his soul patient of wrong. -A vision wraps her. On her spirit gathers darkness. She foresees evil.-Is it M'Finn they bear lifeless to his habitation ?-Her breast heaves sighs. Her hair streams loose on the winds She shrieks! She swoons! * * * * * Pledged was M'Finn to Matthias to drink the purling stream.-Loud was the laughter of his friends. Broken was his pledge.-Thrice was the cup filled to the brim. Thrice raised to his lips. Thrice was it returned empty. His spirits rose. Loudly rang his laughter through the Hall. *In coming to this conclusion I have not forgotten another difficulty, viz., why a well polished and boiled copper coin produces a spectrum on cop per plate. The effect, even when continued an hour or two at a heat of 160°, is very slight, and I found it to disappear entirely by twice breathing on the plate. Contact, then, of the same metal * A permanent spectrum has been proved (see SLIGHTLY modifies chemical properties; such on the experiments) to be but a higher degree of an eva-present view is the inference to be drawn from this nescent one. fact. 1843.] ANNUAL RHENISH MUSICAL FESTIVAL-THE WORDS OF FAITH, ETC. His lips were opened: "Sons of Erin," listen to the words of M'Finn. His soul is great within him. It swells. Unable is his body to contain it.—Where are his friends?-Hath he not one among all his brothers to repress his swelling spirit? Is he alone, that they heed him not? And despised, that they do not regard him? M'Finn throws down his hat on the earth, cold as marble; is there no one to kick it? His coat, and will no one tread on it? Is glory departed from Erin? Are her sons cowards ?. -Speaking, his rolling orbs flashed fire. Sore was his spirit moved. --Arose O'Flaherty of the auburn locks. "Ye sons of Erin !-Sons of the sea-girt emerald-Are we cowards ?-Shall the cur snarl, and we not spurn it?-The wasp sting, and be not crushed ?-Shame to M'Finn! and wooden shoes to his children !". He spoke. And the gathering storm broke forth in thunder. Lightning flashed from opposing eyes.-Grasped was the shillelah, and the threatening arm extended.-In equal bands the sons of Erin form around their chiefs. Their souls are kindled.-The hall resounds with fearful crash of arms.-Like the hillstreams, roaring down,-the fierce blows of M'Finn descends.-Frequent as hail-stones are the blows he wards.-Stout is his heart; despising danger. The walls, re-echoing groans, are sprinkled with the blood of the brave.-Hot is the fury of the battle! Fast fall the mighty. One by one they fall. Overpowered, the friends of M'Finn retreat, heedless of the voice of their leader.-Turning to rally them, a treacherous blow brings him to the earth. THE WORDS OF FAITH. FROM SCHILLER. "Drei Worte nenn' ich euch inbaltschwer." 411 ANNUAL RHENISH MUSICAL FESTIVAL.-The great annual Rhenish Musical Festival is to be held this year at Aix-la-Chapelle, on the 4th and 5th of next month. Upwards of fifteen hundred performers will be assembled on the occasion. The program- CARICATURES.-There is a new artist and hume will include, First day, a Magnificat by Du-morist in the field, or we are mistaken. Here we rant; Mozart's symphony in G minor, and Handel's oratorio of "Samson." Second day-the "Sinfonia Eroica" of Beethoven; an unpublished psalm, by M. Reisseger (under whose direction the performances will take place); a hymn by Cherubini; another by Volger; and the overture to "Les Francs Juges," by M. Berlioz. This eccentric composer, by the way, is exciting a sensation in the Prussian capital. A second concert at which some of his works have been performed, seeming to have been more successful than his first. Our next news from Berlin will probably tell us of the first performance of the "Medea" of Euripides, with Mendelssohn Bartholdy's choruses. -Athenæum. have an etching, by "Pam," of Sir Robert as an Income Tax collector presenting his demand to the keeper of a china shop, who significantly, but with savage resolution not to be shaken, bids him "Take it out in China." The very crockery seems to threaten, and a brace of brandy-flasks in the form of pistols are ominous of the issue. The state of trade and circumstances are cleverly intimated by the accessories-the spiders have woven their webs in places which good ale should have moistened-the ugly "mugs" grin at the collector-a little Staffordshire poodle has turned his back on a Staffordshire Wellington, and looks unutterable things-even a China jar has a history on the face of it.-Athenæum. WHAT a glorious day it is! Talk not to me of Italian skies "Shining on, shining on, by no shadow made tender, Till love falls asleep in such sameness of splendor:" But give me the broken clouds of a June day, sailing about in the blue depths of the sublime, yet lovely sky. How deliciously clear and fresh the air is, as one sits somewhat in the shade, looking forth upon those tall elms, whose tops are swayed backward and forward as the summer breeze rises and falls. What strange, wild, pleasing fancies come into the mind as one gazes upon these graceful undulations, not unaccompanied with a gentle murmur of the leaves! But is not this shocking idleness? "Have you nothing better to do than loll like an idiot upon that garden chair in the portico, looking apparently at nothing, and sometimes closing your eyes as if you invited sleep? Is this a way in which a rational being should spend his time in this enlightened age-an age of unexampled activity-an age of steam-an age of railroads an age to make idleness ashamed of itself-an age-consider the ant, thou sluggard, consider her My dear aunt, I do consider you very much, and I do think you have the most comfortable chairs, and such a charming view from your portico." "Come, come, my good friend, no playing upon words; really it is a shame to see how some young people do dream their time away; and yet you are not so young neither. Did you not tell me you had never had time to read Wilberforce's Call to the Unconverted? I can tell you where you will find the book." "Thank you, my dear aunt; but may I ask, did you ever read Wordsworth?" "Wordsworth? No: but I have heard read something of his; he wrote poetry, did he not?" "Why, yes, my dear aunt, he certainly did. There are some 'poets' by name and common report, of whom I should be cautious of saying that they had written poetry; but you may draw upon Wordsworth with certainty. He is as good as the bank." "Well, that may be; but what has that to do with the matter? I was speaking to you of activity and Wilberforce's book." "Now, my good aunt, sit you down beside me in that tranquil and placid mood which becomes you so well, though it pleases you to repeat the praises of activity; sit you there, and inhale the odors of the honeysuckle, which twines so delightfully about that pillar, while I chant for you a stave. Yes, that is a very good listening attitude, so now attend. "Why, William, on that old gray stone, 'Where are your books?-that light bequeath'd 'You look round on your mother earth, 'One morning thus, by Esthwaite lake, When life was sweet, I knew not why, 'The eye-it cannot choose but see; We cannot bid the ear be still; 'Nor less I deem that there are powers Which of themselves our minds impress} That we can feed this mind of ours In a wise passiveness. 'Think you, 'mid all this mighty sum 'Then ask not wherefore, here, alone, I sit upon this old gray stone, And dream my time away.'" "The verse goes very smoothly and musically," said my aunt; "but I am not sure that I understand it." "Tis as easy as possible," said I; "only you must consider it for a little. Wordsworth's poetry is intended for persons who have some powers of reflection, and who exercise those powers; and therefore, my dear aunt, it is especially fitted for you." "Well, then, if you will lend me the book--" "It is here: I have it in my pocket, and you shall read it at your leisure; but listen now to two or three stanzas more, which, I am sure, you will understand readily:" "Books! 'tis a dull and endless strife: “And hark! how bright the throstle sings! "She has a world of ready wealth, Our minds and hearts to bless- Than all the sages can. Close up the barren leaves: "This, my dear aunt, is excellent: it is not a mere diversion of the spirits with a picture of pleasing natural scenes; but it is instruction of the best kind, save one, that can be given to ra have thought of seeking for myself; but when Plato was in the case, it was, as you will admit, a very different matter. The good lady, however, applauded not, for by this time she was in a profound and tranquil slumber. I had almost forgotten my motto from Coleridge, which would have been unpardonable. Did ever four short lines bring the lovelinessthe tranquil, balmy, soothing loveliness of a summer's night--a night far away from the noise and artificial glare of the town-more distinctly before the mind? How beautiful is night! But hear Southey upon this point. The man is gone down into the grave, but the voice of the poet still rings through the earth with its rich and stately tone. "How beautiful is night! Breaks the serene of heaven; How beautiful is night!" tional and reflective beings. For next to the This is a majestic picture-" Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free!" How oft has one witnessed such upon the nights in June, vainly endeavoring however to give form of expression to the impressions of pure and lofty beauty which crowded upon one's heart, till even tears essayed to express what one's powers of language could not. This is the fate of those who, having at least some glimpses of" the vision and the faculty divine," are yet wanting in "the accomplishment of verse.' But it was not of this I meant to speak; it was of Coleridge's exquisite allusion to the June night amid the silence of the woods and the murmurings of the brook. You have read the "Ancient Mariner," I suppose, from which the lines are taken. If you have not, read it by all means at the first leisure opportunity. I do not mean any halfleisure snatch of time in the midst of disturbing avocations. You are not to read the Ancient Mariner as you would a smart article in a newspaper. You are not to put it in your bag with the hope of reading it at the Four Courts, between the cause of A. versus B., and that of E. versus F., neither C. nor D. being your client. No; this is truly a wild and wondrous tale, enough to set your brains on end, if not your hair, for a good hour or so at the least, and the more you are alone in reading it the better. It is a thing to think upon I promise you. All the men of the ship die around the ancient mariner, but for his sin and his suffering he lives on. At last the dead that lie around begin to work the ship like living men, though animated by other souls than had before belonged to those bodies: "The helmsman steered, the ship moved on, "The body of my brother's son "I fear thee, ancient mariner,' But a troop of spirits blest. "For when it dawn'd, they dropp'd their arms, And clustered round the mast; Sweet sounds rose slowly through their mouths, And from their bodies pass'd. "Around, around, flew each sweet sound, Slowly the sounds came back again, "And now 'twas like all instruments, And now it is an angel's song, That makes the heavens be mute. "It ceased; yet still the sails made on, A pleasant noise till noon; A noise like of a hidden brook, In the leafy month of June, The sleeping woods! I never heard them snore, But who is that that calls, and our names too? Listen! Thomas, to tell us that the strawberries and cream are mixed, and that we are waited for. Delightful repast--yet have a care, O man, that eatest! Think you that you have possessed yourself of the stomachs of one calf and of five thousand snails? for how else do you expect to digest a quart of cream, and the first fruits of a whole wilderness of strawberries? Milk undoubtedly does agree, for the most part, with calves, even though taken in large quantities, and I have never heard of an army of snails having to send for the surgeon of the forces on account of a surfeit of strawberries. But nor calves nor snails could take the mixture you are now taking without great danger, nor can you. In vain will you seek to make all sure with a glass of the undiluted "native" in these parts. There is nothing stronger than sherry or ten year old ale in the house, if you were to die for it. But stay, there is I know a large bottle of castor-oil kept for the occasional physicing of the village. It shall be ordered up to your bed-room, and you may take a hearty pull if you find things going wrong. You may smile, but there is a grim look at the end of your smile, which satis. fies me that you are aware of the wisdom of my precaution. As for me, I take the fruit after the powdered sugar to bring out the flavour, and manner of an epicure--just a slight sprinkle of then a glass of fair water. In this way you imbibe the true fragrant flavor of the strawberry, but then you must proceed leisurely, and ponder upon the taste. If you gobble up your strawberries, craunching them as a hungry donkey does thistle-tops, or as if you feared some one else might get a second helping before you, you never can have any correct notion either of the profound strength, or of the delicacy of sentiment, which are bound up with the true and properly-tasted flavor of the strawberry. first I came among these hills; when like a roe |