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 the Dublin University Magazine.

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.

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!
A dewy freshness fills the silent air;
No mist obscures, nor cloud, nor speck, nor stain,

Breaks the serene of heaven;
Rolls through the dark blue depths.
In full-orb'd glory, yonder moon divine
Beneath her steady ray,
The desert-circle spreads

How beautiful is night!"

tional and reflective beings. For next to the
study of divine things, whereby the mind is in-
formed by direct beams of light from the great
source of all intelligence and goodness, what so
excellent as to be taught, and not only taught,
but led on and assisted, as it were, by the pleas-
ing images and soothing cadences of poetry, to
gather a theory of moral sentiments from nature
herself, and all her forms of loveliness and shows
of beauty? I allow that you may gather a very
agreeable and not altogether unphilosophical
theory of moral sentiments from the book of
Adam Smith on that very subject; but I own,
that for myself I can read no book of his without
some associations of disgust, arising from the use
which has been made by the dull, the heartless,
and the covetous, of his treatise on the wealth of
nations. Moreover, I do believe that, to confess
the truth, the man was little less an infidel than
his friend Hume, and therefore shut out from
such knowledge and such sympathy as most as-
suredly are necessary fully to develop the theo-
ry of moral sentiments. But to return from this
digression, and to apply our minds more directly
to the instruction which the verses I have repeat-
ed are so well calculated to convey, only ima-
gine, my dear aunt, how very many impressions Like the round ocean girdled with the sky!
of beauty and of truth (or both in one, for truth
is beautiful, and beauty rejoices in the open sun-
shine and undisguisedness of truth)—only ima-
gine how abundantly such impressions might
be conveyed to the soul, if we only went forth
properly prepared: that is to say, with awaken-
ed hearts, or, as in the words of the poet, with a
heart that watches and receives. True it is that
the great mass of mankind-and womankind, my
dear aunt, must, I fear, be included-true it is,
that they pass through the world, and all the
things of utility, and beauty, and instructiveness
which nature provides, as if they were deaf and
blind. They may see and hear with their cor-
poreal senses; but with respect to natural truth,
as well as to divine, it may be affirmed of them,
that seeing, they see not, and hearing, they do
not understand. They pass on without taking
notice. Their eyes may be very good, but they
are afflicted (though they do not know it) with
blindness of the heart. They have not "a heart
that watches and receives;" and without that,
they walk in vain through the sunshine and the
shade: the dews of the morning bring no refresh-
ment to their souls, and the solemnities of night
bring no elevation to their thoughts. This is the
truth with regard to them; but as I have said,
they know it not, neither do they conceive for a
moment the depth of their loss. This is the
common condition of ignorance; for, as Plato
says (you have heard of Plato, my dear aunt,
though you cannot imagine how beautifully he
wrote, unless you learn Greek, which you may
do, for Cato learned Greek after he was sixty,
and Mrs. Carter, though an Englishwoman, was
a very good Grecian)-for, as Plato says, "Nor
do the ignorant philosophize, for they desire not
to become wise; for this is the evil of ignorance,
that he who has neither intelligence nor virtue,
nor delicacy of sentiment, imagines that he pos-
sesses all those things sufficiently." Here I
looked up to my respectable relative for some
applause-applause which I trust I should not

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,
Yet never a breeze up blew ;
The mariners all 'gan work the ropes,
Where they were wont to do;
They raised their limbs like lifeless tools,
We were a ghastly crew.

"The body of my brother's son
Stood by me knee to knee;
The body and I pulled at one rope,
But he said naught to me.

"I fear thee, ancient mariner,'
Be calm thou wedding guest,
'Twas not those souls that fled in pain,
Which to their corses came again,

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,
Then darted to the sun;

Slowly the sounds came back again,
Now mixed, now one by one.

"And now 'twas like all instruments,
Now like a lonely flute,

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,
That to the sleeping woods all night,
Singeth a quiet tune."

The sleeping woods! I never heard them snore,
but I'll be sworn I have seen them in their dusky
slumbers, and felt as it were the heavy breath-
ings of their sleep. And who that has ever
lived beyond the region of gas lamps and gran-
ite pavements, but must have paused now and
then on a June night, in pensive admiration, to
listen to the voice of the brook, down hidden
among over-hanging trees, murmuring away for
ever and ever its quiet tune as summer's quiet
influence prevails? Maiden of the downcast
eyes (for which thou art forgiven in considera-
tion of the rich fringes of thy silken eye-lashes
thus more fully revealed), blush not that I call to
thy remembrance such a scene, or that thy heart
was softened by it to the confession of a trem-
bling emotion, that no pleading would have
wrung from thee in the broad light of day. And
dost thou remember how the low rich trembling
tones of thy voice harmonized with the scene,
the hour, the distant murmur of the brook, even
more than that of the nightingale itself, whose
notes at intervals rang through the woods with
flute-like sound?

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
I bounded o'er the mountains, by the sides
Of the deep rivers and the lonely streams,
Wherever nature led: more like a man
Flying from something that he dreads, than one
who sought the thing he loved. For nature then
The coarser pleasure of my boyish days
And their glad animal movements all gone by)
To me was all in all. I cannot paint
What I then was. The sounding cataract
Haunted me like a passion; the tall rock,
The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood,
An appetite; a feeling and a love,
Their colors and their forms were then to me
That had no need of a remoter charm,
By thought supplied, or any interest
Unborrowed from the eye. That time is past,
And all its aching joys are now no more,
And all its dizzy raptures. Not for this
Faint I, nor mourn, nor murmur; other gifts
Have followed, for such loss, I would believe.
Abundant recompense. For I have learned
To look on nature, not as in the hour
The still sad music of humanity,
Of thoughtless youth; but hearing oftentimes
Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power
To chasten and subdue. And I have felt
A presence that disturbs me with the joy
Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime
of something far more deeply interfused,
Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,
And the blue sky, and in the mind of man;
And the round ocean and the living air,
A motion and a spirit that impels
All thinking things, all objects of all thought,
And rolls through all things. Therefore I am still
A lover of the meadows and the woods