THE PENNY MAGAZINE

OF THE

Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge.

[October 13, 1832

34.]

PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY.

TIVOLI.

[Temple of the Sibyl at Tivoli.]

Of all the hilly spots in the neighbourhood to which foreign residents or the natives repair to avoid the great heat and malaria of Rome during the summer, none is so beautiful and otherwise remarkable as Tivoli. It is situated at the distance of about twenty English miles from Rome, on the ridge of a high romantic hill, whose sides are covered with olive groves, dotted here and there with convents and villas, and masses of ancient Roman ruins. The still loftier summits of Monte Catily, and a semicircular range of the Sabine mountains shelter it on one side, whilst the other side commands an open and extensive view of the Campagna, or great plain in which Rome is situated; and beyond the Campagna the eye reposes on the blue waves of the Mediterranean Sea. Tivoli is a considerable town, having a population of nearly ten thousand souls. It contains some fine stately mansions, but the mass of the habitations being mean and dirty, it cannot be called a handsome town. The transition, however, to it from the magnificence of Rome during the sultry weather is most delightful; and the visitor’s enjoyment is increased by seeing around him, in spite of their idleness, poverty, and rags, a rosy-cheeked, healthy-looking population, altogether different from the inhabitants of the city and the plain he has left. The journey from Rome is performed in good part, and can be performed in its whole length, over an ancient road, whose pavement is in many places in as perfect preservation as when, two thousand years ago, the poet Horace loitered along it on his way to his pleasant Sabine farm. Objects of antiquity and historical interest are crowded on this route; and when the traveller reaches Tivoli, where traditional names identify the sites of the villas of Piso, Varus, Lepidus, Cassius, the poet Catullus, and other great men of old Rome, he is conducted to an inn called “Of the Sibyl,” from the windows of which his eye embraces a magnificent cascade, and the elegant antique temples of the Sibyl and of Vesta. The two temples and the cascade just mentioned are the principal ornaments of Tivoli. The cascade is produced by the river Anio, now called the Teverone, which after winding through the Sabine vales, glides smooth and silently through Tivoli till it reaches the brink of a precipice, where it throws itself in one mighty mass of waters down a deep and dark chasm in the rocks:—there it roars and foams in a narrow channel, till finding an opening in the rocks it rushes headlong through it, and descends into caverns and abysses “deeper and deeper still.” The view of the double fall which is obtained by descending into the narrow dale through which the river flows after the cascade is one of the finest that can be conceived. The whole height of the cataract is about two hundred feet. The rocks that resist this tremendous and never-ceasing lashing of the waters are disposed in a narrow semicircular form; they are in part clothed with shrubs and foliage, and indented with romantic caverns; and in one place the river has worked its way through a rock and formed a natural bridge, which, whether seen from below, or in passing over it, is a most peculiar and striking object in the scene.

On the summit of the lofty and precipitous rock that flanks this gulf on the right, stands the temple traditionally, and most probably correctly, called of the Sibyl, though some antiquaries have chosen to dedicate it to the goddess Vesta. This truly beautiful pile is circular. It was formed of eighteen pillars in the finest style of the graceful Corinthian order, but of these pillars ten only remain with their entablature. Nothing can be more striking and felicitous than its situation, which even surpasses the intrinsic beauty of its structure. The contrast of its placid gracefulness with the turbulence and fury of the water immediately beneath it, also adds to the exquisite effect it produces. “This singular ruin, the most beautiful of them all,” says the acute Forsyth, “has been too often engraved to need any details: yet, though prints may combine it with the immediate landscape, what pencil can reach into the black gulf below?”

The other temple of Tivoli stands very near to that of the Sibyl, whose name it frequently usurps; but time and man have been less merciful to its beauty. Only four pillars are left, and they are embedded in the walls of a parish church, which is itself abandoned and now becoming a ruin.

THE FLEMISH LANGUAGE.

We happen to have met with a little book printed at Malines (Mechlin), in the province of Antwerp, which contains some dialogues in Flemish with a French translation opposite. As the Flemish may be considered a fair specimen of the spoken language of that province, the reader may be curious to compare it with his mother tongue, to which it is so near akin. If he has paid a visit into Somersetshire, and has learnt a bit of the Zomerzetshire dialect, he will easily recognise many of the words beginning with z. Those who have any acquaintance with our country dialects, or the common language of the Scotch lower classes, will easily give the right pronunciation to most of the words which we shall present, and will as readily understand their meanings.

Flemish. | English.
Van waer komt gy? | From where come ye?

The word gy is both the singular and plural pronoun thou or you: if the g is pronounced like y, the resemblance to our own ye is apparent, which word in some parts of England is used for the singular pronoun thou. In some parts of this country also, g at the beginning of a word is pronounced like y: thus gate is called yate.

Ik ken u nu. | I ken (know) you now.

This second example will cause no difficulty to a Scotchman.

Waer wilt gy gaen? | Where will you go?
Wat nieuws? | What news?
Hoe gaet het met u? | How goes it with you?

The dealer in cloth recommends his wares by saying to his customer,

Ik heb van alle soórten. | I have of all sorts.
Van wat kouleur wilt gy? | Of what colour will ye (have)? what colour do you choose?

The host says to his friend at table,

Zet u daer, | Set ’o there.
   or Zit gy daer. |    or Sit ye there.
Vergeeft my, ik zal my daer niet zetten. | Forgive (excuse) me, I shall me there not sit.

The guest asks for some meat and salad; the host says,

Houd, daer ist ’t enn en ’t’ ander. | Hold (take), there is tone and tother.

The expression tone and tother, the one and the other, is familiar enough in some parts of this island, and was once used as we have written it, in printed books.

The host and his guests have a friendly altercation about eating and talking:—

Mynheer gy eét niet. | Sir, ye eat not.
Ik heb wel gëeéten en wel gedronken, God zy geloófd. | I have well eaten and well drunken, God be beloved.
En gy, Mynheer, gy zegt niet een woórd. | And ye, sir, ye say not a word.
Gy spreékt niet meer als of gy geene tong had. | Ye speak no more than if ye no tongue had.

Again,

De zon is zoo warm dat zy brand. | The sun is so warm that she burns.

It should be observed that the Flemings and Germans call the sun she, and the moon is made a he; which is just the reverse of our practice.

Is het niet tyd van te bed te gaen? | Is it not time (tide) to bed to go?

Our word tide, which signifies time, is now hardly ever used, except in compounds, such as noon-tide, Whitsuntide, and in the word tidings.

Gy kunt niet beter doen. | Ye can’t (can not) better do.

Do-en and ga-en only differ from our do and go in having the en at the end, which, as we have remarked in a former number, still exists among us in such words as quick-en, sharp-en.

The mother is waking her daughter in the morning:

Myne dogter staet op. | My daughter stand (get) up.
et is tyd om naer de school te gaen. | It is time near to school to go.
Hoe, myne moeder, is het zoo laet? | How, my mother, is it so late?

We recommend those who wish to compare the various dialects of that extensively-spread language, of which ours is one, to see some specimens of the Frisian language in the Westminster Review, No. 23.

“In a large part of ancient Friesland,” says the article alluded to, “the language has left no traces behind it in the present day. In East Friesland it has been superseded by the Low German, and in Groningen by the common Dutch, modified by a few provincial idioms of Frisian character.”

The following specimen of the present state of the Frisian language is from the Westminster Review:—

Lijk az Gods sinne swiet uus wrâd oerschijnt, |
Like as God’s sun sweetly our world o’ershines, |
Her warmte in ljeacht in groed in libben schinkt. |
Her warmth and light and growth and life gives. |
Lijk az de mijlde rein elk eker fijnt, |
Like as the mild rain ilk (each) acre finds, |
So dogt eak dat, wat in uus, minsken, tinkt. |
So does eke (also) that what in us, men, thinks. |

The Rev. John Hartley, who has travelled as a missionary in Greece, records in his Journal the following interesting scriptural illustration:—“Having had my attention directed last night to the words, (John x. 3.)—The sheep hear His voice, and He calleth His own sheep by name, &c., I asked my man if it was usual in Greece to give names to sheep. He informed me that it was, and that the sheep obeyed the shepherd when he called them by their names. This morning I had an opportunity of verifying the truth of this remark. Passing by a flock of sheep, I asked the shepherd the same question which I put to my servant, and he gave me the same answer. I then bade him to call one of his sheep. He did so, and it instantly left its pasturage and its companions, and ran up to the hand of the shepherd, with signs of pleasure, and with a prompt obedience which I had never before observed in any other animal. It is also true of the sheep in this country, that a stranger will they not follow, but will flee from him; for they know not the voice of the strangers. The shepherd told me that many of his sheep are still WILD; that they had not yet learned their names; but that by teaching they would all learn them. The others which knew their names, he called TAME.”

Effect of Music in the Conversion of Savages.—Nolrega (a Jesuit) had a school, where he instructed the native children, the orphans from Portugal, and the mestizos, or mixed breed. Reading, writing, and arithmetic were taught them; they were trained to assist at mass, and to sing the church service, and frequently led in procession through the town. This had a great effect, for the natives were passionately fond of music, so passionately, that Nolrega began to hope the fable of Orpheus was a type of his mission, and that by songs he was to convert the pagans of Brazil. This Jesuit usually took with him four or five of these little choristers on his preaching expeditions; when they approached an inhabited place, one carried the crucifix before them, and they began singing the Litany. The savages, like snakes, were won by the voice of the charmer; they received him joyfully, and when he departed with the same ceremony, the children followed the music. He set the catechism, creed, and ordinary prayers to sol fa; and the pleasure of learning to sing was such a temptation, that the little Tupis sometimes ran away from their parents to put themselves under the care of the Jesuit.—Southey’s History of Brazil.

Fossil Remains of the Elephant in New Holland.—In a pamphlet published last year at Sydney, New South Wales, by the Rev. J. D. Lang, detailing the steps which had been taken for the establishment of an Academical Institution, or College, in that Colony, we find the following curious statement: “A collection of fossil bones which had been discovered in a lime-stone cave at Wellington Valley, by George Rankin, Esq. of Bathurst, and to the discovery of which the writer had the honour of calling the attention of the Colonial public, in an anonymous letter published in the Sydney Gazette, about eighteen months ago, was entrusted to the writer by Mr. Rankin, for Professor Jamieson, of the University of Edinburgh. One of the bones had evidently belonged to some large animal; and Professor Jamieson and an eminent naturalist of the College of Surgeons in London, to whom it had afterwards been forwarded, coincided in regarding it as a bone of the hippopotamus. Not satisfied, however, with their own opinion concerning it, it was subsequently sent to M. Le Baron Cuvier of Paris; and that distinguished naturalist (Professor Jamieson informed the writer just before leaving Scotland) had ascertained that it was the thigh-bone of a young elephant; thereby establishing the interesting and important fact, that the wilds of Australia were once traversed by that enormous quadruped.”

THE DIVING BELL.

The Diving-bell is an apparatus extensively employed by the engineer in many difficult operations connected with his arduous pursuits. Not only are rocks blasted by the force of gunpowder above the water, but below; and the spirit-level of the plumb-line, and the nicely fitted joints of the stone-mason, are quite as much attended to at any reasonable depth below the surface of the sea, as in the mightiest works on the land. Low water-mark is no longer a limit to the operations of the engineer; and he now lays his foundations on the edge of a sub-marine precipice, with the same security and precision as characterise his noblest operations on the ground.

The diving-bell commonly in use resembles nearly a large box deprived of its bottom. Its ordinary length is about six feet, its breadth five and a half, and its height four feet and a half. To avoid the necessity of fastening weights to make it descend, it is formed of cast-iron; and being made in one piece, and very thick, there is no danger of the water forcing itself through the sides or top. It is also air-tight. The thickness of the sides of the bell prevents also its being fractured, should it by any accident receive a heavy blow.

In the top of the diving-bell is a round aperture, communicating by a number of small circular holes with the interior, where the holes are all covered and closed by a piece of thick leather, which acts as a valve, and admits air. A strong leather hose is screwed on to the external aperture, and from two holes near its sides rise two strong chains, uniting in a ring, by which the whole machine is to be suspended. In the top also are cemented twelve very thick lenses, for the purpose of admitting light. At the ends of the bell are two seats, placed at such a height, that the top of the head is but a few inches below the upper part of the bell; and in the middle, about six inches above the lower edge, is placed a narrow board, on which the feet of the divers rest. On one side, nearly on a level with the shoulders, is a small shelf, with a ledge, to contain a few tools, chalk for writing messages, and a ring, to which a small rope is tied. A board is connected with this rope; and after writing any orders on the board with a piece of chalk, on giving it a pull, the superintendent above, round whose arm the other end is fastened, will draw it up to the surface, and, if necessary, return an answer by the same conveyance. “Our compliments to our friends above water,” was the little memorandum written by the author of this brief notice, when he formed one of a happy party at the bottom of the sea. “Health and prosperity to the ladies and gentlemen inhabiting the region of fishes,” was the answer which was received to it in less than three minutes.

On the top of the bell, on the inner side, it is usual to have some contrivance, by which stone or other bodies may, if necessary, be suspended from the bell. The weight of the whole apparatus is about four tons. The leather hose is connected with a double condensing pump, usually worked by four men. In order to give motion to the bell, it is suspended by a windlass purchase-tackle, which is fixed on a moveable platform, having four wheels; these wheels move along an iron railway, which is itself fixed on another platform, having by the same means a motion in a direction transverse to the former, at right angles to each other. Thus by two iron railways, established on beams and supported by piles the lower being fixed in the direction of the length of the wall, and the upper being on the lower moveable plane, it is possible to give the bell any position that may be required.

There are many prejudices against diving-bells, just as there were once against stage-coaches, steam-boats, and travelling by the power of vapour on rail-roads Some of our readers, who have possibly misgivings respecting the safety of a descent in a diving-bell may be induced to enter one, after they have read the following account by Mr. Babbage of his descent with Mr. Harvey in a diving-bell at Plymouth:—“To enter the bell, it is raised about three or four feet above the surface of the water; and the boat, in which the persons who propose descending are seated, is brought immediately under it. The bell is then lowered, so as to enable them to step upon the footboard within it; and having taken their seats, the boat is removed, and the bell gradually descends to the water.

“On touching the surface, and thus cutting off the communication with the external air, a peculiar sensation is perceived in the ears; it is not, however, painful. The attention is soon directed to another object. The air rushing in through the valves at the top of the bell overflows, and escapes with a considerable bubbling noise, under the sides. The motion of the bell proceeds slowly, and almost imperceptibly; and on looking at the glass lenses close to the head, when the top of the machine just reaches the surface of the water, it may be perceived, by means of the little impurities which float about in it, flowing into the recesses containing the glasses. A pain now begins to be felt in the ears, arising from the increased external pressure; this may sometimes be removed by the act of yawning, or by closing the nostrils and mouth, and attempting to force air through the ears. As soon as the equilibrium is established the pain ceases, but recommences almost immediately by the continuance of the descent. On returning, the same sensation of pain is felt in the ears; but it now arises from the dense air which had filled them endeavouring, as the pressure is removed, to force its way out.

“If the water is clear, and not much disturbed, the light in the bell is very considerable; and, even at the depth of twenty feet, was more than is usual in many sitting-rooms. Within the distance of eight or ten feet, the stones at the bottom began to be visible. The pain in the ears still continued at intervals, until the descent of the bell terminated by its resting on the ground.

“Signals are communicated by the workmen in the bell to those above, by striking against the side of the bell with a hammer. Those most frequently wanted are indicated by the fewest number of blows; thus a single stroke is to require more air. The sound is heard very distinctly by those above.”

Considering the extensive employment of the diving-bell, few serious accidents have occurred. Some years since, the bell at Sheerness rested on the top of an old pile. The men within repeatedly gave the signal to lower instead of to raise the bell. This being obeyed, it fell over, and two out of three who were in it, were drowned; the third came to the surface, and was saved. On another occasion at Blackwall, a bell, of which trial was being made on ship-board, was mismanaged. There were three persons below when the water began to fill it. One of them, with great presence of mind, dived underneath the edge, came to the surface, gave the alarm, and saved his companions.

Several diving-bells have been constantly employed during the last five or six years at Plymouth, at every variety of depth, and no accident whatever has happened with them. The truth is, the whole apparatus is now so admirably constructed, and the mode of applying it so perfectly understood, that nothing but the grossest ignorance and mismanagement could produce inconvenience. The workmen constantly enter it without fear, and remain several hours at the bottom of the sea, adjusting stones of enormous weight, with the same accuracy and precision as they would do above. There is even a rivalry among the men who shall descend on account of the very small extra pay allowed for working in it. In South America, a large proportion of the treasure sunk in the Thetis has been recovered by means of the diving-bell.

The following is a description, abridged from Brewster’s Cyclopædia, of Spalding’s Diving Bell, which is represented in the following cut:—

A, B, C, D, represents the body of the bell, which is suspended by four ropes, a, a, uniting together at their junction with the great rope E. b, b, ballast weights; these keep the mouth of the bell, C, D, always parallel to the surface of the water. By these weights alone, however, the bell would not sink; another is therefore added, F, which by means of a pully can be raised or lowered at pleasure. In descending, this balance weight hangs considerably below the bell. In case the edge of the bell is caught by any obstacle, the balance weight is immediately lowered down, so that it may rest upon the bottom. By this means the bell is lightened, and all danger of oversetting is removed; for being lighter without the balance weight than an equal bulk of water, it is evident that the bell will rise as far as the length of rope affixed to the balance weight will permit. This weight, therefore, will serve as a kind of anchor, to keep the bell at any desired depth. Instead of wooden seats, ropes are used suspended by hooks across the bottom of the bell; and on these the diver stands. Two windows, made of strong thick glass, are fixed near the top of the bell, G, H, two air-casks with their tackle, and c, c, the flexible pipe, through which air is admitted to the bell; each cask contains forty gallons. I, is a cock by which hot air is discharged as often as it becomes troublesome, and a fresh supply is obtained from the air-casks.

By another ingenious contrivance, Mr. Spalding rendered it possible for the divers to raise the bell with all its weights to the surface, or to stop at any particular depth, as they think proper; and thus they could be safe, even though the rope for pulling up the bell was broken. This was accomplished by affixing a second bell of smaller dimensions over the large one as shown at K, K; it contains twenty-five gallons. In the top of it is a cock, d, which can be opened by the diver to permit the air to escape from the upper bell. Its handle comes down into the great bell through the top at d. There is also another cock, e, in the top, which permits the air to pass out of the great bell, and rise into the small one. There is so much space left between the two bells, that the water has free entrance into the upper as well as into the lower bell. When the bell is first let down, the cock, d, in the top of the upper one is opened, and therefore the air escapes from it, and the water fills it. In this state the bell is lighter than an equal bulk of water without the balance weight, though, with the addition of it, it is heavier. Now if the divers wish to raise themselves, they turn the small cock, e, by which a communication is made between the bells. The consequence of this is, that a quantity of air from the lower immediately rushes into the upper bell, and forces out a quantity of the water contained there. The air which is thus let out from the lower bell must be immediately replaced from the air-barrel, and thus renders the bell lighter by the whole weight of water which is displaced. The air is to be let out slowly, otherwise the bell will rise to the top with so great violence, that the divers will be in danger of being shaken out of their seats. The quantity let into the upper bell will determine the rate of its ascent. Thus, if a certain quantity of air is admitted into the upper cavity, the bell with the balance weight will descend very slowly; if a greater quantity, it will neither ascend nor descend; and if a larger quantity of air is still admitted, it will rise to the top.

[Spalding’s improved Diving-Bell, with the Air-Barrels.]

FASCINATION OF SERPENTS.

[Baltimore Oriel defending her nest from the Black Snake.]

There is a very general opinion, which has been adopted even by some eminent naturalists, that several species of serpents possess the power of fascinating birds and small quadrupeds, by fixing their eyes upon the animal, so that the poor victim is unable to escape from his formidable enemy. Dr. Barton, of Philadelphia, published, in 1796, a ‘Memoir concerning the fascinating faculty which has been ascribed to the Rattle-snake, and other American Serpents,’ in which he maintains that this supposed power of fascination does not exist, and offers some ingenious explanations of the origin of what he considers a popular mistake. Our readers will, we think, be interested by an extract or two from this work:—

“In conducting my inquiries into this curious subject I endeavoured to ascertain the two following points, viz. first, what species of birds are most frequently observed to be enchanted by the serpents? and, secondly, at what season of the year has any particular species been the most commonly under this wonderful influence? I supposed this would furnish me with a clue to a right explanation of the whole mystery.

“Birds have an almost uniform and determinate method of binding their nests, whether we consider the form of the nest, its materials, or the place in which it is fixed. Those birds which build their nests upon the ground, on the lower branches of trees, and on low bushes (especially on the sides of rivers, creeks, &c. that are frequented by different kinds of serpents,) have most frequently been observed to be under the enchanting faculty of the rattle-snake, &c. Indeed, the bewitching spirit of these serpents seems to be almost entirely limited to these kinds of birds. Hence we so frequently hear tales of the fascination of our cat-bird, which builds its nest in the low bushes, on the sides of creeks, and other waters, the most usual haunts of the black snake and other serpents. Hence, too, upon opening the stomachs of some of our serpents, if we often find that they contain birds, it is almost entirely those birds which build in the manner I have just mentioned.

“The rattle-snake seldom, if ever, climbs up a tree. He is frequently, however, found about their roots, especially in wet situations. It is said that it is often seen, curled round a tree, darting terrible glances at a squirrel, which after some time is so much influenced by these glances, or by some subtile emanation from the body of the serpent, that the poor animal falls into the jaws of its enemy. Is the animal’s fear and distress a matter of any wonder? Nature has taught different animals what animals are their enemies; and as the rattle-snake occasionally devours birds and squirrels, to these animals he must necessarily be an object of fear. Sometimes the squirrel drives away the serpent, but occasionally approaching too near his enemy, he is bitten or immediately devoured. These hostilities, however, are not common.

“In almost every instance I have found that the supposed fascinating faculty of the serpent was exerted upon the birds at the particular season of their laying their eggs, or of their hatching, or of their rearing their young, still tender and defenceless. I now began to suspect, that the cries and fears of birds supposed to be fascinated originated in an endeavour to protect their nest or young. My inquiries have convinced me that this is the case.

“I have already observed, that the rattle-snake does not climb up trees; but the black snake and some other species of the coluber do. When impelled by hunger and incapable of satisfying it by the capture of animals on the ground, they begin to glide up trees or bushes upon which a bird has its nest. The bird is not ignorant of the serpent’s object. She leaves her nest, whether it contains eggs or young ones, and endeavours to oppose the reptile’s progress. In doing this, she is actuated by the strength of her instinctive attachment to her eggs, or of affection to her young. Her cry is melancholy, her motions are tremulous. She exposes herself to the most imminent danger. Sometimes she approaches so near the reptile that he seizes her as his prey. But this is far from being universally the case. Often she compels the serpent to leave the tree, and then returns to her nest.

“It is a well-known fact, that among some species of birds, the female, at a certain period, is accustomed to compel the young ones to leave the nest; that is, when the young have acquired so much strength that they are no longer entitled to all her care. But they still claim some of her care. Their flights are awkward, and soon broken by fatigue: they fall to the ground, when they are frequently exposed to the attacks of the serpent, which attempts to devour them. In this situation of affairs, the mother will place herself upon a branch of a tree, or bush, in the vicinity of the serpent. She will dart upon the serpent, in order to prevent the destruction of her young; but fear, the instinct of self-preservation, will compel her to retire. She leaves the serpent, however, but for a short time, and then returns again. Oftentimes she prevents the destruction of her young, attacking the snake with her wing, her beak, or her claws. Should the reptile succeed in capturing the young, the mother is exposed to less danger. For, whilst engaged in swallowing them, he has neither inclination nor power to seize upon the old one. But the appetite of the serpent tribe is great: the capacity of their stomachs is not less so. The danger of the mother is at hand when the young are devoured: the snake seizes upon her; and this is the catastrophe which crowns the tale of fascination!

“Some years since, Mr. Rittenhouse, an accurate observer, was induced to suppose, from the peculiar melancholy cry of a red-winged maize-thief, that a snake was at no great distance from it, and that the bird was in distress. He threw a stone at the place from which the cry proceeded, which had the effect of driving the bird away. The poor animal, however, immediately returned to the same spot. Mr. Rittenhouse now went to the place where the bird alighted, and, to his great astonishment, he found it perched upon the back of a large black snake, which it was pecking with its beak. At this very time the serpent was in the act of swallowing a young bird, and from the enlarged size of the reptile’s belly it was evident that it had already swallowed two or three other young birds. After the snake was killed the old bird flew away. Mr. R. says, that the cry and actions of this bird had been precisely similar to those of a bird which is said to be under the influence of a serpent. The maize-thief builds its nest in low bushes, the bottoms of which are the usual haunts of the black snake. The reptile found no difficulty in gliding up to the nest, from which most probably, in the absence of the mother, it had taken the young ones; or it had seized the young ones after they had been forced from the nest by the mother. In either case the mother had come to prevent them from being devoured.”

NATURAL MAGIC.

In a former number we noticed a work on Natural Magic, in which the word Magic is applied to those phenomena which appear remarkable at first, but which can be satisfactorily explained. The first meaning of the word supposed a commerce with evil spirits; when this ceased to be believed by philosophers, some of them applied the term to everything wonderful in nature, or which they were not able to explain. In this sense is the word used in the ‘Natural Magic’ of Baptista Porta, from which we shall make a few extracts, that our readers may know how much the world has gained in the last two centuries. Let any man reflect for a moment on the fact, that the generation which swallowed the absurdities here quoted, considered itself so wise, that it made an erroneous opinion a capital offence.

John Baptista Porta was a Neapolitan philosopher of the sixteenth century, and died in 1615. He was a diligent inquirer into all the works of nature, and wrote treatises on various subjects. In his day it must not be supposed that natural philosophy was altogether such as it is in ours, in the manner of cultivating it. Hard words, with an extract from a Greek author, were considered as sufficient for the explanation of any fact. Baptista Porta’s celebrated work, Natural Magic, was written in Latin; but for the convenience of our readers, we take our extracts from an English translation, published in the year 1658. We give the spelling just as we find it, in order that many who have never read an old book may see how little their language has changed its orthography in nearly two centuries. By magic the author does not mean dealing with evil spirits; in his own words, “There are two sorts of magick; the one is infamous and unhappie, because it hath to do with foul spirits and consists of inchantments and wicked curiosity; and this is called Sorcery; an art which all learned and good men detest; neither is it able to yield any truth of reason or nature, but stands merely upon fancies and imaginations, such as vanish presently away, and leave nothing behinde them—the other magic is natural, which all excellent wise men do admit and embrace, and worship with great applause.” A magician must be “an exact and a very perfect philosopher”—a physician, a botanist, a mineralogist, a distiller, (we should now say a chemist,) a mathematician, and an astrologer (or astronomer.) “Lastly, the professor of this science must also be rich: for if we lack money, we shall hardly work in these cases: for it is not philosophy that can make us rich; we must first be rich that we may play the philosophers.” We shall now see how our author plays the philosopher. Many of his notions are borrowed from Pliny, Aristotle, Pythagoras, and others of the ancients.

“There is a wonderful enmity between cane and fern, so that, one of them destroyes the other. Hence it is, that a fern root powned, doth loose and shake out the darts from a wounded body, that were shot or cast out of canes.” “The ape of all other things cannot abide a snail: now the ape is a drunken beast, for they are wont to take an ape by making him drunk; and a snail well washed is a remedy against drunkennesse.” “The wolf is afraid of the urchin” or hedge-hog; “thence, if we wash our mouth and throats with urchines blood, it will make our voice shrill, though before it were hoarse and dull like a wolves voice.” “The hart and the serpent are at continual enmity: the serpent, as soon as he seeth the hart, gets him into his hole, but the hart draws him out again with the breath of his nostrils, and devours him: hence it is that the fat and the blood of harts, and the stones that grow in their eyes, are ministred as fit remedies against the stinging and biting of serpents.” “There is an antipathy between sheep and wolves, and it remains in all their parts; so that an instrument strung with sheep strings, mingled with strings made of a wolf’s guts, will make no musick, but jar and make all discords.” “The pomegranite will bring forth fruit just so many years, as many daies as the moon is old when you plant it.” “If we cut our hair, or pair our nailes before the new moon, they will grow again but slowly; if at or about the new moon, they will grow again quickly.” “Bears’ eyes are oft times dimned; and for that cause they desire honeycombs above all things, that the bees stinging their mouths, may thereby draw forth together with the blood, that dull and grosse humour; whence physicians learned to use letting blood, to cure the dimnesse of the eyes.” “If you would have a man become bold or impudent, let him carry about him the skin or eyes of a lion or a cock, and he will be fearlesse of his enemies; nay, he will be very terrible unto them. If you would have a man talkative, give him tongues, and seek out for him water frogs, wilde-geese and ducks, and other such creatures, notorious for their continual noisemaking.”

It must not, however, be presumed that our author believed every thing which he found in a book; he sometimes exercises a judicious discretion. Thus of one good story he says, “this was a kind of moon-calf,” and of the well-known story of the basilisk killing all who look upon him, he says boldly, “this is a stark lie.” The following is his account of the loadstone: “I think the loadstone is a mixture of stone and iron, as an iron stone, or a stone of iron. Yet do not think the stone is so changed into iron as to lose its own nature, nor that the iron is so drowned in the stone, but it preserves it self; and whilst one labours to get the victory of the other, the attraction is made by the combat between them. In that body there is more of the stone, then of iron; and therefore the iron, that it may not be subdued by the stone, desires the force and company of iron; that not being able to resist alone, it may be able by more help to defend itself. For all creatures defend their being; wherefore that it may enjoy friendly help, and not lose its own perfection, it willingly draws iron to it, or iron comes willingly to that.”

With this most ingenious explanation, we take our leave of Baptista Porta.

THE ORNITHORHYNCHUS.

The following interesting fact in Natural History was communicated by Dr. Weatherhead to the Committee of Science of the Zoological Society at a recent meeting:—

For the last five and twenty years naturalists in Europe have been striving to obtain the carcass of the impregnated female Ornithorhynchus Paradoxus, for the purpose of ascertaining its mode of gestation, but without success; for it is by dissection alone that the hitherto doubtful and disputed point concerning the anomalous and paradoxical manner of bringing forth and rearing its young, can be satisfactorily demonstrated.

This long-sought-for desideratum is at length attained. Through the kindness of his friend, Lieutenant the Honourable Lauderdale Maule, of the 39th Regiment, Dr. Weatherhead, has had the bodies of several Ornithorhynchi transmitted to him from New Holland, in one of which the ova are preserved; establishing, along with other curious circumstances ascertained, the extraordinary fact that this animal, which combines the bird and quadruped together in its outward form, lays eggs and hatches them like the one, and rears and suckles them like the other.

THE WEEK.

October 14.—The anniversary of the birth of William Penn, one of the greatest names among the early English Quakers, and immortal as the founder of the Colony of Pennsylvania. He was born at London, in 1644. His father was the celebrated Admiral Sir William Penn, who greatly distinguished himself in the war against the Dutch in the reign of Charles II. At the age of sixteen Penn was sent to Christ Church, Oxford; and it was while at the University that he was converted to the tenets of the Friends by a discourse which he heard from one of their preachers. The course of conduct which he adopted in consequence of his new views, exposed him to a great deal of harsh treatment from the authorities of the University: and he at length returned home. His father then, in the hope of curing him of what he conceived to be his fanatical notions, sent him to travel in France and the Low Countries. On his return, he entered as a student of law at Lincoln’s Inn, but was soon after sent over by his father to Ireland to take charge of some landed property which the Admiral possessed in that country. He was at this time in his twenty-second year. His visit to Ireland completed his conversion to Quakerism. Having met there with the same preacher who had made the first impression upon him at Oxford, he was soon brought to join himself openly and without reserve to the sect whose opinions he shared, and to adopt all the peculiar habits by which they were distinguished. His father upon this sent for him home; but he was now too decidedly convinced of the necessity of persevering in the course to which he had committed himself to be disposed to make any concession or compromise, and accordingly it is said, on his first appearance before the old Admiral he confounded him by advancing with his hat on, and addressing him with the singular salutation, “I am very glad, friend, to see thee in good health.” Sir William thought his son had gone mad, and ordered him to the door. Such is the story, told originally, we believe, by Voltaire; but it may possibly be after all little more than a fiction of that accomplished jester. The grossest misrepresentations of the conduct and language of Penn and his brethren are to be found in graver works than the one in which this anecdote appears. Let one example suffice. On the accession of James II, the Quakers, among many other public bodies, presented an address to the new monarch, of which the principal object was to crave toleration for their inoffensive and peaceful tenets. It contained no singularity of expression whatever, beginning, “Whereas it hath pleased Almighty God (by whom kings reign) to take hence the late King Charles the Second, and to preserve thee peaceably to succeed; we thy subjects heartily desire that the Giver of all good and perfect gifts may please to endue thee with wisdom and mercy in the use of thy great power, to His glory, the King’s honour, and the kingdom’s good”—and proceeding throughout in the same dignified and perfectly respectful and unpresuming style. Yet this address, the historian Echard, professing to transcribe its exact words, has thought proper to give in the following ridiculous form; “We are come to testify our sorrow for the death of our good friend Charles, and our joy for thy being made our governor. We are told thou art not of the persuasion of the Church of England, no more are we; therefore we hope that thou wilt grant us the same liberty which thou allowest thyself.” This most dishonest and malignant travesty has been copied by subsequent historians. In 1668 Penn first appeared publicly as a preacher in favour of Quakerism and against the Established Church, for which he was committed to the Tower. He endured an imprisonment of seven months; and then, having obtained his liberty, proceeded a second time to Ireland, and recommenced preaching. In 1670 we find him again in London, where, having been brought before the lord-mayor on the charge of illegal preaching in the streets, he was afterwards tried at the Old Bailey, and, although acquitted by the jury, was by the scandalous tyranny of the time once more sent to prison, and detained in confinement till his father secretly purchased his release. He then proceeded in company with the celebrated George Fox to France and Germany, in both of which countries the two friends laboured unsparingly in the propagation of their opinions. The serious illness of his father, however, soon recalled him to England, where on his arrival he found the Admiral on his death-bed, but very anxious not to leave the world without being reconciled to his son. Penn indeed tells us in one of his works that he found his father now become almost a Quaker as well as himself. The death of Sir William left him in possession of landed property to the value of £1500 a year, besides a claim upon the Crown to the amount of £16,000 more. He now therefore married, and settled at Rickmansworth in Hertfordshire. Finding it difficult or impossible to obtain payment of his debt from the Crown in money, he at length petitioned for a grant of land in North America; and after some delay he obtained a large tract of country lying immediately to the west of New Jersey, by a charter dated the 1st of March, 1681. The same year he left England to take possession of his purchase, accompanied by numerous families of his own persuasion, to colonize the new territory. One of the first steps which the incipient legislator took was to enter into a treaty with the Indian chiefs of the neighbourhood, to whom, having assembled them around him under an old ash tree, he deliberately explained by an interpreter the several articles which he proposed, that each might be formally assented to after it was fully understood. The late Mr. West, himself a native of Pennsylvania, has painted this scene, which took place on the spot where the town of Philadelphia now stands, and which future events have invested both to Americans and to civilized man in every clime with so deep an interest. The remainder of Penn’s life was chiefly spent in superintending the growth and government of the colony which he had thus founded, and which he had the happiness of seeing every day become more populous and flourishing. He returned to England in 1683; and, on the accession of James II. about two years afterwards, became a great favourite at court. On the Revolution, indeed, his intimate connexion with the deposed monarch brought him into such suspicion, that his American colony was seized by the Crown, and he was obliged to conceal himself for some years. It was not till 1696 that his possessions and their government were restored to him. Soon after this, his wife having died, he married a second time, and in 1699 he returned to America, taking his family along with him. Here he was received with joy and blessings, both by the British colonists and by the Indians. After residing in Pennsylvania about two years, and taking an affecting farewell of its population, who regarded him almost as a father, he again set sail for England. The close of Penn’s life was clouded and distressed by pecuniary embarrassments in which he had become involved; and in 1712 he sustained a stroke of apoplexy, which greatly enfeebled both his body and his mind. He languished, however, under the consequences of this attack for six years longer, dying on the 30th of July, 1718, at his seat at Ruscomb in Berkshire.

[Portrait of William Penn.]

October 20.—On this day in the year 1632, exactly two centuries ago, was born Sir Christopher Wren, the celebrated architect of St. Paul’s. His birth-place was East Knowle, in Wiltshire, of which parish his father was rector. He early gave proof of that ingenuity and aptitude for scientific pursuits by which he was afterwards so eminently distinguished, having in his thirteenth year invented a new astronomical instrument, and soon afterwards various other mathematical contrivances. At the age of fourteen he was sent to Wadham College, Oxford, and here his remarkable proficiency in various branches of learning, and especially in the mathematics, soon made him known to various persons of distinction and influence. Young as he was at this time, he was one of the original members of the club which was formed at Oxford in 1648 for philosophical discussion and experiments, and which eventually gave rise to the Royal Society. In 1657 he was chosen Professor of Astronomy at Gresham College; and on the Restoration was appointed to the Savilian professorship of Astronomy at Oxford. It was very soon after this that he was first called upon to exercise his genius in architecture (a study, however, which had previously engaged a good deal of his attention) by being appointed assistant to the Surveyor-General, Sir John Denham, who, in truth, neither knew, nor pretended to know, anything of the duties of the office which he held. This led to Wren’s employment on the work on which his popular fame principally rests, the re-building of the cathedral of St. Paul’s after the great fire. The erection of this noble edifice occupied him for thirty-five years; but neither prevented him from designing, during the same period, and superintending the completion of many other buildings, nor even interrupted his pursuit of the most abstract branches of science. We are accustomed to speak of Sir Christopher Wren only as a great architect; but he was also, in truth, one of the first mathematicians that England has ever produced. Among the host of eminent cultivators of mathematical physics by whom that age was distinguished, there is perhaps scarcely a name, with the exception of that of Newton, which deserves to be placed before his, His mechanical inventions were very numerous, and many of them of sterling ingenuity. Among other things there is every reason to suppose that to him we are really indebted for the invention of the art of mezzotinto engraving, of which Prince Rupert has generally had the credit. Wren was created LL.D. by the University of Oxford in 1661, and was knighted in 1674. In 1680 he was elected to the Presidency of the Royal Society, and in 1685 he entered Parliament as representative of the borough of Plympton. While superintending the erection of the cathedral of St. Paul’s all the salary that Wren received was only £200 a year. He was also used in other respects by the Commissioners with extreme illiberality and meanness; and at last the ingratitude of his country, or rather of his times, was consummated by his dismissal in 1718 from his place of Surveyor of Public Works. He was at this time in the eighty-sixth year of his age. This great and good man died at Hampton Court on the 25th of February, 1723, in the ninety-first year of his age. His remains were accompanied by a splendid attendance to their appropriate resting-place under the noble edifice which his genius had reared; and over the grave was fixed a tablet with the inscription in Latin (since placed in front of the organ,) “Beneath is laid the builder of this church and city, Christopher Wren, who lived above ninety years, not for himself but for the public good. Reader, if thou seekest for his monument, look around.” Amongst the London Churches which were built from the designs of Sir C. Wren, one of the most beautiful, as to its interior, is that of St. Stephen’s Walbrook, of which the following cut may give some notion.

[Interior of St. Stephen’s, Walbrook.]

⁂ The Office of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge is at 59, Lincoln’s Inn Fields.

LONDON:—CHARLES KNIGHT, PALL-MALL EAST.

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Transcriber’s Notes

New original cover art included with this eBook is granted to the public domain. Itemized changes from the original text:

p. 274: Replaced “excpt” with “except” in phrase “is now hardly ever used, except in compounds.”

p. 277: Replaced “sized” with “size” in phrase “from the enlarged size of the reptile’s belly.”

p. 279: Added space between “the” and “story” in phrase “Such is the story, told originally, we believe, by Voltaire.”