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Editor: George R. Graham

GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE. Vol. XL. April, 1852. No. 4.

Contents

Fiction, Literature and Articles

Optical Phenomena The First Age Impressions of England in the Autumn of 1851 Oliver Goldsmith--His Character and Genius A Life of Vicissitudes The Bower of Castle Mount A Reply to Dwight's Article on Mozart's Don Giovanni A True Irish Story The Condor Hunt What Glory Costs the Nation Eminent Young Men.--No. I The Game of the Season Was the World Made Out of Nothing? A Literary Gossip with Miss Mitford The Two Isabels; Or Coquettish Seventeen Review of New Books Graham's Small-Talk

Poetry and Music

The Forest Fountain Love Memory The Last Song April Away Song Mona Lisa To a Canary Bird Faded and Gone Song of the Spirit of the North Sonnet.--Art The Autograph of God If I Were a Smile To Miss Light Underwood Beautie Lines on Some Violets The Destruction of Sodom Sorrento A Thought of the Future The Black Huntsman Sweet Sunny Isle

GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE.

Vol. XL. PHILADELPHIA, APRIL, 1852. No. 4.

THE FOREST FOUNTAIN.

BY IGNATIUS L. DONNELLY.

Here the sinking sun hath broken through a forest close as night; Plashing all the deepened darkness with its thick and wine-like light. Shivered lies the broad, red sunbeam slant athwart the withered leaf, Laughing back the startled shadows from their high and holy grief; Down yon dusk-pool, slant, obliquely, shoots a line like sparry splinter, As the waking flush of spring-time lightens up the eyes in winter: Dimming as it straineth downward melts the red light of the sun, Darkling pool and piercing beamlet mingling whitely into one. Fallen rays, like broken crystals, spangle thick the shadowy ground, Ragged fragments, glorious gushes scattered richly, redly round. Where the lazy lilies languish, one intruding sunbeam creeps; In the arms of slumberous shadow, like a child it sinks and sleeps; And the quiet leaves around it seem to think it all their own, 'Mid the grass and lightened lilies sleeping silent and alone. Here the dew-damp lingers longest 'mid the plushy fountain moss; Here the bergamot's red blossom leans the stilly stream across; Here the shade is darkly silent; here the breeze is liquid cool, And the very air seems married to the freshness of that pool. See, where down its depths pellucid, Nature's purest waters well, Breaking up in curving current, wimpled line and bubbly swell; While in swift and noiseless beauty, through the deep and dewy grass, O'er the rock and down the valley, see the hurrying waters pass. Oh, how dreamy grow my senses, as I couch me 'mid the flowers, Oh, how still the blue sky looketh, oh, how noteless creep the hours; Oh, how wide the silence seemeth, not a sound disturbing comes, Save a drowsy, sleepy buzzing, that around continuous hums; And I seem to float out loosely on weak slumber's languid breast, With a kind of half reluctance that sinks gradually to rest. Distant faces group around me, kindly eyes look in my own, And I hear, though indistinctly, voices of the lost and gone: His whose bark went down in tempest; his whose life and death were gloom; His whose hopes and young ambitions fell and faded on the tomb; Oh, again his earnest language breaks upon my dreaming ear, And I catch the tones that waking I shall never, never hear.

LOVE.

BY A. J. REQUIER.

Oh, with more than the pilgrim of Mecca's devotion, When he looks on the shrine which his worship endears, Is the glance which we cast at the young heart's devotion, Its first rose of summer--the last which it bears; Bright as a halo of sunshine reposing At break of the morn on a billowless stream, Where the wavering shadows are fitfully moving, Or blush of a Peri that smiles in a dream.

Thus, thus must thou dwell on each glance of affection, Each token of love I have strewed at thy shrine, When thy bosom first heaved at the fear of detection, And its secret alone was imparted to mine; It is linked with each thought that is born in thy waking, It embosoms each fancy that softens thy sleep, And, if e'er it be wild as the waves in their breaking, 'Tis the image of Heaven that breaks on the deep!

For vainly the bosom whose pulses have throbbed To the beat of a heart it had warmed with its fire, Seeks to freeze the remembrance of tears it has sobbed, And to smother the anguish of pining desire; The remembrance will live, the remembrance will cling. As the ever-green ivy encircles the oak, And the tempest may strike with its withering wing, But together they bend and together are broke!

Bright star of my soul! thus united we stand, Intermingled in being and blended in breath, Come fate with her darkest, her gloomiest band, We will bend, we will break undivided in death; 'Twas Heaven decreed it, 'twas Heaven that wove The tie which has bound us in home and in heart, And this only we know, we live on but to love, And thus loving we never, oh, never can part!

MEMORY.

BY LYDIA L. A. VERY.

"'Tis in the morning that the church-yard of Memory gives up its dead."

Let them rise from the heart's tomb; Spirits, not of sadness or gloom-- White-robed thoughts of Childhood's truth, Cherished hopes that filled our youth. Let them rise a shining band Coming from the Spirit-Land.

Let them rise! each well-known face, Where so oft we loved to trace Smiles that beamed for us alone, Eyes o'er which Death's veil is thrown-- Let them gather round our bed All unheard their noiseless tread!

Let their eyes of love still speak, Let their breath be on our cheek, And their voice in our ear Murmur words we loved to hear: Let their spirits fair and bright Visit us at morning light.

Death, who cometh thief-like, still Taking Life's bright gems at will; With us early, with us late, Making hearth-stones desolate-- Death, who visits all Life's bowers. Cannot gather Memory's flowers!

THE LAST SONG.

FROM THE GERMAN.

"When will your bards be weary Of rhyming on? How long Ere it is sung and ended, The old, eternal song?

"Is it not, long since, empty, The horn of full supply; And all the posies gathered, And all the fountains dry?"

As long as the sun's chariot Yet keeps its azure track, And but one human visage Gives answering glances back;

As long as skies shall nourish The thunderbolt and gale, And, frightened at their fury, One throbbing heart shall quail;

As long as after tempests Shall spring one showery bow, One breast with peaceful promise And reconcilement glow;

As long as night the concave Sows with its starry seed, And but one man those letters Of golden writ can read;

Long as a moonbeam glimmers, Or bosom sighs a vow; Long as the wood-leaves rustle To cool a weary brow;

As long as roses blossom, And earth is green in May; As long as eyes shall sparkle, And smile in pleasure's ray;

As long as cypress shadows The graves more mournful make, Or one cheek's wet with weeping, Or one poor heart can break;--

So long on earth shall wander The goddess Poesy, And with her, one exulting Her votarist to be.

And singing on, triumphing, The old earth-mansion through, Out marches the last minstrel;-- He is the last man too.

The Lord holds the creation Forth in his hand meanwhile, Like a fresh flower just opened, And views it with a smile.

When once this Flower Giant Begins to show decay, And earths and suns are flying Like blossom-dust away.

Then ask,--if of the question Not weary yet,--"How long, Ere it is sung and ended, The old, eternal song?"

OPTICAL PHENOMENA.

BY THOMAS MILNER, M. A.

It is convenient to place an indefinite title at the head of this article, in order to notice various classes of independent phenomena which immediately address themselves to the eye; and which are either plain developments of electrical action, or simply atmospheric meteors, or appearances resulting from its reflecting and refractive properties, or of obscure origin, but manifested in the atmosphere. To the former class the lightning belongs, beautifully playing among the distant clouds, or flashing with blinding glare and tremendous effect near the surface of the earth, warning man and beast of the presence of an agency able to extinguish animal and vegetable life in a moment, and utterly inappreciable in its swiftness, subtility and power. At the close of a hot, sultry day, over a level country, the igneous meteor often exhibits itself, in rapidly succeeding, broad, noiseless, and imposing sheets of flame, lighting up the whole range of the horizon, revealing for the moment the contour of the distant landscape upon which the shadows of the night have gathered, and discovering the outline of the clouds in the dusky sky. These displays, however startling to "the poor Indian, whose untutored mind" is alarmed at the slightest deviation from the ordinary aspect of things, are always harmless, and invite by their innocuousness and fascination the cultivated races to watch the bounding coruscations of the elastic element, besides contributing to render the fields of corn ripe unto the harvest. But it is otherwise when heat has overcharged the atmosphere with vapors, becoming piled into clouds of gigantic dimensions and massive architecture, which are often propelled by antagonist currents, and in different electrical conditions. After an unusual calm of nature, oppressive to the animal system, during which not a movement of the air is perceptible, and the leaves hang motionless upon the trees, while the brute creation indicate some intelligence of an impending change by their restlessness, an explosion commences. The flash is seen, the thunder heard, and the clouds open their watery store-house, a few distant and heavy drops increasing into a cataract of rain. Flash rapidly follows flash, and the interval between each appearance and the accompanying thunder peal becomes less. The pale hue of the lightning is exchanged for a vivid glare, in which a deep yellow, red, or blue is the predominant color, a variety of aberrations marking its course, the zigzag form showing that the fearful agent is near terrestrial objects. In this manner, "the detraction that wasteth at noonday" is frequently exhibited, now striking man and beast to the earth, or rending asunder the mighty oak of the forest, or firing the vessel of the hapless seaman, or shivering "the cloud-capt towers and gorgeous palaces," the fanes of religion and the fortresses of war. Man has then a solemn sense of his helplessness and danger; and almost every creature sympathizes with him. The eel is restless in his muddy bed--the horse trembles beneath his rider--the cattle gather lowing to a covert--the eagle nestles in the cleft of the rock with folded wings--the hart looks wild and anxious: only the poor seal seems to experience agreeable sensations, for he will come out of his hiding-place in the deep, at the call of the thunder, and repose upon some overhanging ledge, as if calmly enjoying the convulsion of the elements.

Similar striking indications of the prevalence of electric action have frequently been observed by travelers when near the summits of high mountains, as by Sir W. J. Hooker on Ben Nevis, Saussure on Mont Blanc, and Tupper on Mount Etna. The latter, descending a field of snow, a good conductor, felt a slight shock upon entering a cloud which seemed electric, with a sensation of pain in the back. The hair of his head stood erect, and upon moving the hand near the head, a humming sound proceeded from it, which arose from a succession of sparks. Though a situation of great danger, yet we have several instances of such clouds having been traversed with impunity, when in the act of electrical explosion. The Abb? Richard, in August 1778, passed through a thunder-cloud on the small mountain called Boyer, between Chalons and Tournus. Before he entered the cloud, the thunder sounded, as it is wont to do, with a prolonged reverberation; but when enveloped in it, only single peals were heard, with intervals of silence, without any roll; and after he had passed above the cloud, it reverberated as before, and the lightning flashed. The sister of M. Arago was a party to a similar occurrence between Estagel and Limoux, and some officers of engineers likewise, during a trigonometrical survey on the Pyrenees.

The energy of atmospheric electricity appears to decrease as we recede from the equator to the poles, thus sympathizing with light and heat; for it is in tropical countries that the most terrific flashes of lightning and the loudest bursts of heaven's artillery occur. Awful as these manifestations are occasionally in our temperate climate, they are but as a skirmishing of outposts to the general engagement of armies, when compared with inter-tropical displays. In Hindustan, in the Indian Ocean, along the African coast off Cape St. Verde, and in Central America, there is often a scene exhibited, which seems a rehearsal of the day "when the heavens being on fire shall pass away with a great noise." Humboldt, during his residence at Cumana, witnessed a coincident development of electrical action, peculiar atmospheric phenomena, and terrestrial disturbance, during what is called the winter of that region. From the 10th of October to the 3d of November, a reddish vapor rose in the evening, and in a few minutes covered the sky. The hygrometer gave no indication of humidity; the diurnal heat was from 82?4? to 89?6?. The vapor disappeared occasionally in the middle of the night, when brilliantly white clouds formed in the zenith, extending toward the horizon. They were sometimes so transparent that they did not conceal stars even of the fourth magnitude, and the lunar spots were clearly distinguishable through the veil. The clouds were arranged in masses at equal distances, and seemed to be at a prodigious elevation. From the 28th of October to the 3d of November, the fog was thicker than it had been before; and the heat at night was stifling, though the thermometer indicated only 78?8?. There was no evening breeze. The sky appeared as if on fire, and the ground was every where cracked and dusty. About two o'clock in the afternoon of November 4th, large clouds of extraordinary blackness enveloped the mountains of the Brigantine and Tataraqual, extending gradually to the zenith. About four, thunder was heard overhead, but at an immense height, and with a dull and often interrupted sound. At the moment of the strongest electric explosion, two shocks of an earthquake, separated by an interval of fifteen seconds, were felt. The people in the streets filled the air with their cries. Boupland, who was examining plants, was nearly thrown upon the floor, and Humboldt, who was lying in his hammock, felt the concussion strongly. A few minutes before the first, there was a violent gust of wind followed by large drops of rain. The sky remained cloudy, and the blast was succeeded by a dead calm, which continued all night. The sunset was a scene of great magnificence. The dark atmospheric shroud was rent asunder close to the horizon, and the sun appeared at 12? of altitude on an indigo ground, his disc enormously enlarged and distorted. The clouds were gilded on the edges, and bundles of rays reflecting the most brilliant prismatic colors extended over the heavens. About nine in the evening there was a third shock, which, though much slighter, was evidently attended with a subterranean noise. In the night between the 3d and 4th of November, the red vapor before mentioned had been so thick, that the place of the moon could only be distinguished by a beautiful halo 20? in diameter. The vapor ceased to appear on the 7th; the atmosphere then assumed its former purity; and the night of the 11th was cool and extremely lovely. This account, with similar details from other observers, seems to indicate a more intimate relation than is generally admitted between the interior of the earth and its external atmosphere.

Among the regions peculiarly subject to electric phenomena is the country around the estuary of the Rio Plata. In the year 1793, one of the most destructive thunder-storms perhaps on record, happened at Buenos Ayres, when thirty-seven places in the city were struck by the lightning, and nineteen of the inhabitants killed. It is an observation of Mr. Darwin, founded on statements in books of travels, that thunder-storms are very common near the mouths of great rivers; and he conjectures that this may arise from the mixture of large bodies of fresh and salt water disturbing the electrical equilibrium. "Even," he remarks, "during our occasional visit to this part of South America, we heard of a ship, two churches and a house, having been struck. Both the church and the house I saw shortly afterward. Some of the effects were curious: the paper, for nearly a foot on each side of the line where the bell-wires had run, was blackened. The metal had been fused, and although the room was about fifteen feet high, the globules, dropping on the chairs and furniture, had drilled in them a chain of minute holes. A part of the wall was shattered as if by gunpowder, and the fragments had been blown off with force sufficient to indent the wall on the opposite side of the room. The frame of a looking-glass was blackened; the gilding must have been volatilized, for a smelling-bottle, which stood on the chimney-piece, was coated with bright metallic particles, which adhered as firmly as if they had been enameled." Near the shores of the Rio Plata, in a broad band of sand hillocks, he found those singular specimens of electric architecture, a group of vitrified siliceous tubes, formed by the lightning striking into loose sand. These tubes had a glossy surface, and were about two inches in circumference, the thickness of the wall of each tube varying from the twentieth to the thirtieth part of an inch. Four sets were noticed, probably not produced by successive distinct charges, but by the lightning dividing itself into separate branches before entering the ground. Similar cylindrical formations have been noticed in other places. Dr. Priestley has described, in the Philosophical Transactions, some siliceous tubes, which were found in digging into the ground, under a tree, where a man had been killed by lightning; and at Drigg, in Cumberland, three were observed within an area of fifteen yards, one of which was traced to a depth of not less than thirty feet. In the temperate climates electrical phenomena are most common, and usually most energetic in the summer season, and the displays are grander and more formidable in mountainous than in level countries. As we approach the poles, they become less striking; thunder is rarely heard in high northern latitudes, and only as a feeble detonation; and though lightning is more common, it is seldom destructive. In Iceland, in the winter, it often plays in the impressive but harmless manner which the natives call laptelltur. This is a fluctuating appearance of the whole sky, as if on fire, accompanied by a strong wind and drifting snow, but inflicting no further damage than that arising from the terrified cattle falling over the rocks in their efforts to escape from the phenomenon.

The rapidity of lightning, as measured by means of the camera lucida, M. Halvig estimates at probably eight or ten miles in a second, or about forty times greater velocity than that of sound; and according to M. Gay-Lussac, a flash sometimes darts more than three miles at once in a straight direction. M. Arago distinguishes three classes of lightning: First, luminous discharges characterized by a long streak of light, very thin, and well defined at the edges, of a white, violet, or purple hue, moving in a straight line, or deviating into a zigzag track, frequently dividing into two or more streams in striking terrestrial objects, but invariably proceeding from a single point. Secondly, he notices expanded flashes spreading over a vast surface without having any apparent depth, of a red, blue, or violet color, not so active as the former class, and generally confined to the edges of the clouds from which they appear to proceed. Thirdly, he mentions concentrated masses of light, which he terms globular lightning, which seem to occupy time, to endure for several seconds, and to have a progressive motion. Mr. Hearder of Plymouth describes a discharge of lightning of this kind on the Dartmouth hills, very near to him. Several vivid flashes had occurred before the mass of clouds approached the hill on which he was standing; and before he had time to retreat from his dangerous position, a tremendous crash and explosion burst close to him. The spark had the appearance of a nucleus of intensely ignited matter, followed by a flood of light. It struck the path near him, and dashed with fearful brilliancy down its whole length to a rivulet at the foot of the hill, where it terminated. Analogous to the discharges described as globular lightning are the fire-balls so often noticed, about which there has been no little scepticism; but the evidence cannot reasonably be doubted, that displays of electrical light have repeatedly occurred, conveying the impression of balls of fire to the observer. An instance is given by Mr. Chalmers while on board the Montague, of seventy-four guns, bearing the flag of Admiral Chambers. In the account read to the Royal Society, he states, that "on November 4th, 1749, while taking an observation on the quarter-deck, one of the quarter-masters requested him to look to windward, upon which he observed a large ball of blue fire rolling along on the surface of the water, as large as a mill-stone, at about three miles distance. Before they could raise the main-tack, the ball had reached within forty yards of the main-chains, when it rose perpendicularly with a fearful explosion, and shattered the main-topmast to pieces." In an account of the fatal effects of lightning in June 1826, on the Malvern Hills, when two ladies were struck dead, it is stated, that the electric discharge appeared as a mass of fire rolling along the hill toward the building in which the party had taken shelter.

It is a striking instance of the triumph of mind, that by the introduction of lightning conductors into different civilized states, the power of this most energetic agent of nature is controled, and comparative security provided for life and property, otherwise in imminent jeopardy, when a severe thunder-storm occurs. Experience has taught the prime importance of furnishing exposed or elevated structures with a conducting apparatus, and has sufficiently shown that the immunity from danger enjoyed by many an unprotected building has been merely accidental; for when the teeming thunder-cloud has been wafted within reach of the edifice hitherto unscathed, the delusion has vanished that man may carelessly and with impunity thrust up his handiwork into the region of storms, as if daring the fury of the tempest, and inviting down its vengeance. The fine tower of St. Mark's, at Venice, rising to the height of 360 feet, terminates in a pyramid which was severely injured in 1388. In 1417 the pyramid was again struck, and set on fire, having been constructed of wood. The same event happened in 1489, when it was entirely consumed. After being rebuilt of stone, the fell lightning renewed its destructive stroke in 1548, 1565, 1653 and 1745; and on the last occasion the whole tower was rent in thirty-seven places, and almost destroyed. It was again ravaged in 1761 and 1762, but in 1766 a lightning rod was put up, which has since protected it from damage. At Glogau, in Silesia, an interesting example of the value of conductors occurred in the year 1782. On the 8th of May, about eight o'clock in the evening, a thunder-storm from the west approached the powder magazine established in the Galgnuburg. An intensely vivid flash of lightning took place, accompanied instantly with such a tremendous peal of thunder, that the sentinel on duty was stupefied, and remained for awhile senseless, but no disaster occurred. Some laborers at a short distance from the magazine saw the lightning issue from the cloud and strike the point of the conductor, which conveyed it in safety by the combustible material. A different result took place with reference to a large quantity of unprotected ammunition, belonging to the republic of Venice, deposited in the vaults of the church of St. Nazaire, at Brescia. The church was struck with lightning in the month of August, 1767, and the electric fluid, descending to the vaults, exploded upward of 207,600 lbs. of powder, reducing nearly one-sixth of the fine city to ruins, and destroying about 3000 of the inhabitants. The Indians, whenever the sky wears a lowering aspect, so as to threaten a severe thunder-storm, are said to leave their pursuits and take refuge under the nearest beech-tree, considering it a complete protection, as it is affirmed that no instance has occurred of the beech having been struck by atmospheric electricity, when other trees of the American forests have been shivered into splinters in its neighborhood.

For ages the inhabitants of the globe have seen the lightning flash and heard the thunder rattle; and some writers upon the occult sciences of the ancients, as Salverte, have supposed that, tutored by experience, without any understanding of the theory of the subject, they possessed the secret of warding off from their buildings the thunderbolt by a conducting apparatus. It is certain that extraordinary intimations to this effect may be culled from their writings. Pliny states that Tullus Hostilius, practicing Numa's art of bringing down fire from heaven, and performing it incorrectly, was struck with lightning--a fate which Professor Richman of St. Petersburg experienced, while performing incautiously the sublime experiment of Franklin, measuring the strength of the electricity brought down by a metallic rod in a thunder-storm, being instantly killed. Pliny likewise mentions the laurel as the only earthly production which lightning does not strike; hence, as a protection, these trees were planted around the temple of Apollo. Columella, however, mentions white vines surrounding the house of Tarchon, the Etruscan, for the same purpose. These expedients may provoke a smile without deserving one; for there can be no doubt that trees sufficiently high around a temple, or succulent plants covering a dwelling, will exercise to some extent a protective power, and act as a regular system of conductors. Salverte mentions several medals which appear to have reference to this subject, particularly one which represents the temple of Juno, the goddess of the air, the roof of which is armed with pointed rods. He quotes also Michaelis, upon the temple of Jerusalem, to show that the Jews were not unacquainted with the art of protecting their public buildings--a position grounded upon the following facts: "1. That there is nothing to indicate that the lightning ever struck the temple of Jerusalem during the lapse of a thousand years." This, of course, does not make the fact certain; but when, as M. Arago justly remarks, we consider how carefully the ancient authors recorded the cases in which their public buildings were injured by lightning, we may accept the silence observed respecting the temple of Jerusalem, as proof that it was never struck. For three centuries the cathedral of Geneva, the most elevated in the city, has enjoyed a similar immunity, although inferior buildings have been repeatedly damaged. Saussure discovered the reason of this, in the tower being entirely covered with tinned iron plates, connected with different masses of metal on the roof, and again communicating with the ground by means of metallic pipes. "2. That according to the account of Josephus, a forest of spikes with golden or gilt points, and very sharp, covered the roof of this temple; a remarkable feature of resemblance with the temple of Juno represented on the Roman medals. 3. That this roof communicated with the caverns in the hill of the temple, by means of metallic tubes, placed in connection with the thick gilding that covered the whole exterior of the building; the points of the spikes there necessarily producing the effect of lightning-rods. How are we to suppose that it was only by chance they discharged so important a function; that the advantage received from it had not been calculated; that the spikes were erected in such great numbers only to prevent the birds from lodging upon and defiling the roof of the temple? Yet this is the sole utility which the historian Josephus attributes to them." Upon a sober review of these facts, it is difficult to resist the conclusion that the ancient world had some proficiency in the art of guiding the electric fluid from the bosom of the clouds, conducting it in a prescribed course, and thus disarming it of its terrors.

The magnetic needle has frequently exhibited violent disturbance when the Aurora Borealis has appeared. This has led to the surmise that these brilliant lights are connected with the electric and magnetic properties of the earth, though in a manner which we cannot explain. It has been remarked that during the appearance of the aurora the electric fluid may often be readily collected from the air. If a current of electricity also be passed through an exhausted receiver, a very correct imitation of the auroral light will be produced, displaying the same variety of color and intensity, and the same undulating motions. It is highly probable, therefore, that the beautiful and fantastic meteoric display is connected with electricity; but great obscurity rests upon this department of meteorology.

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