Newspaper Page Text
(T’lir Itorq (t'rllrr.
SILVER-VOICE AND HER 818-
TER ZOE.
Many years ago. a Greek merchant
was walking through the slave-market,
when he beheld for sale a little girl, so
beautiful, and yet so sad, that though
he was on the way to conclude a bar
gain for fifty thousand ardebs of beans,
he could not prevail on himself to pass
indifferently on.
“Os what country ?” he inquired.
“A Candiote,” replied the slave
dealer. She was from his own beloved
island.
“How much 1”
“Five thousand piastres.”
“1 will pay the price.” The bargain
was concluded on the spot. Another
merchant got the beans; but Kariades
took home the Silver-Voice to his
house.
The girl followed him, silently hang
ing down her head, and refusing to an
swer the questions he put in a kind, blulf
way. Some great sorrow evidently
weighed upon her, and she refused to
be comforted. When, however, Kari
ades presented her to his wife, and said,
“This shall be our daughter,” the
child opened her mouth and cried.
“Wherefore, oh, lather, didst thou
not come to the slave-market one short
hour before ?”
fie asked her meaning, and she ex
plained that her sister had been sepa
rated from her. and sold to a Turk :
“and,’ cried she, “1 will not live un
less Zoe be brought back to my side.”
Kariades smiled as he replied,
“1 went forth this day to buy beans,
and I have eonte back with a daughter.
Must 1 needs go and fetch another?”
“You must!” said the girl, resolute-
From that hour forth, she was the
queeu in the house. Kariades returned
to the slave-market, but, strange to
say, could find no clue to the fate of
Zoe, although he olfered double her
price to the dealer. It was believed
that she had been bought by a stranger
merely passing through Cairo, and
making no stay ; for the public crier
was employed to go about the streets
and proclaim that whoever would pro
duee the girl, should receive whatever
he demanded. All was in vain. Time
passed on ; and the active grief of the
Silver-Voice sobered down into stead
fast melancholy. She continued living
as the daughter, or rattier as the mis
tress of the house, knowing no want
but that of her sister, and enchanting
every one with the magnificence of her
singing, until she reached the age of
sixteen years.
One day Kariades said to her,
“My child, I must seek a husband
for thee among the merchants of un
people.”
But she firmly refused, declaring that
there could be no joy for her unless
she knew that her sister was not living
in wretched thraldom in the house of
some cruel Turk.
“But,” said he, “what if death Cave
overtaken her ?”
“We promised, as we lay folded in
each other’s arms the night bafore we
were parted, to be happy or sorrowful
together—to laugh at the same time,
to weep at the same time—and if one
died, the other was never to cease
grieving. I remember that, as they
were dragging Zoe away, she turned
her pale lace, all sparkling with tears,
towards me, and cried, ‘■forever!’”
“Meaning that you were parted for
ever?”
“No; but that were to be faithful to
our vow for ever. 1 never shall forget
the agonizing expression of that face.
How can 1 ? I see it every night in
my dreams; and painful though it be,
I rush into sleep as eagerly to behold
it as if I were going into Paradise. No:
1 will never marry whilst that face
threatens to interpose between my hus
band and me.”
“Then this vision torments thee ?”
“Ah, father!” and she shuddered,
and bent her head.
Jt was evident .that her mind was
weakened by too much contemplation
of one idea.
Kariades yielded before a will strong
er than his own, and nothing more was
said either about marriage or the lost
Zoe for nearly a year. At the end of
this time, Silver-Voice appeared before
the good old man, and said,
“Father, give me money; I have
thought of a means by which I may
find my sister Zoe.”
He looked sadly at her, but gave
her what she required. Next day she
disppeared, and was not heard of for
several weeks. Then she returned,
consoled her adopted parents by her
presence for a while, and again depart
ed without giving the least indication
of how she employed her time. Nor
did they ask her, confident that all she
did was prompted by that most power
ful of all loves—the love of a sister
supplying a mother’s place.
The truth was, that she had hired a
number of houses in various parts of
Cairo, and visited them alternately, in
order to pass the evenings singing on
the terrace. Despite the failure of the
researches made by Kariades, she re
mained persuaded that Zoo was in Cai
ro, and hoped that the echoes of her
magnificent voice might at length go
as messengers into the depths ofevery
harem, and make known her presence.
The whole city was by turns rendered
happy by the Silver-Voice; but as it
was heard now in the Citadel, now near
the Bisket-el-Fif, anon at the Bab Zu
weileh, men began to think strange
things. It was curious, indeed, to hear
thespeculationsof thegossipping Turks
about this übiquitous voice. < >ne of
them, who had heard the table of Mera
non’s statue, demonstrated that the
sound catne from no human organ at
all, but was produced by the rays of
the setting sun striking in some pecu
liar way upon the minarets.
A whole year passed in this manner
without bring anything new : but the
beautiful patience of the Silver-\ oice
was at length after a fashion rewarded.
Better had it been, perhaps,for her, had
her soul been wafted aw ay in some sad
song. She was standing one evening,
long after the sun had set, filling the
air with her plaintive notes,and calling,
as usual, u|>on her sister; suddenly
there rose a cry—a piercing, terrible
cry, such as no mortal ever utters, but
when the sanctuary of life is invaded.
At that awful sound the Silver-Voice
was struck dumb. She stood listening
like a gazelle when it hears the howl of
a wolf afar off upon the desert. The
wild accents seemed to hang for a mo
ment over her, and then to tall into her
ear. mouldering, as they fell, into the
words, “My sister! How it came to
pass she could not tell: over the para
pet, along a crumbling wall, across a
ruined house, she passed as if by magic,
until she fell like a moonbeam through
an open window, and saw upon a rich
couch the form of an expiring woman
ly ing* It was her sister Zoe. The blow
had been too well aimed : it had gone
to her heart; and the life-blood bub
bled rapidly forth between her white
lingers, which she pressed to her side.
One eloquent glance, in which eyes
mingled with eyes, whilst lips hung up
on lips, was exchanged. There was
not time, neither was there need, to
tell their stories in any other way. The
dying woman made one effort, pointed
to a cradle that stood under a cloud of
gauze curtains in a corner, then smiled
a long impassioned smile of recogni
tion, of gratitude, and of love, seemed
to wander a little back in memory,
murmured some pleasant sounds, and
was still.
1 he Silver-Voice rose solemnly, and
casting her eyes about, beheld a man
crouching in a corner weeping.
“it is all over !” she said.
“All over!’- he replied, looking up.
But 1 will not weary you with the
scene in which the wretched man, a
Greek renegade, related how he had
bought Zoe—how he had loved her,
and made her his wife —how they had
travelled in far countries —how he was
jealous, ever as he acknowledged, with
ont cause—and how, in a fit of mad
ness, he had slain the mother of his
child. When he had finished, he led
the bewildered Silver-Voice to the cra
dle, and, thrusting aside the curtains,
disclosed the miniature counterpart of
Zoe, sleeping as if it had been lulled
into deeper slumber by its mother’s
death cries. Then stealing towards the
corpse, with the step of one about to
commit anew crime, he snatched a
hasty kiss, and rushed away. What
became of him was never known.—
Silver-Voice performed the last duties
for poor Zoe, and took the’ child under
her care. Since that time she has al
most always continued to iive in the
house from the roof of which she heard
her sister’s cry; and, though apparent
ly rational in every thing else, never
fails to go tip every evening, and sing
the song she used to sing of old, t hough
in a more plaintive and despairing tone.
If asked wherefore she acts in this
wise, her reply is, that she is seeking
tor her sister Zoe, and nobody attempts
to contradict the harmless delusion.—
Several years have now passed away
since this event, and the child has be
come a handsome hoy.
ftlisrriliituj.
From the Chambers’ Edinbugh Journal.
ELECTRO-BIOLOGY.
I arn going to make an ingenuous
confession, which I fear will cause many
to turn away with disdain from this
paper; so be it—l might have so ac
ted myself three weeks ago. The con
tempt of the reader will give me less
pain, than the reflection tiiat 1 might
have so often expressed myself w ith an
unreasoning skepticism regarding what
I now believe. But to my recital.
1 was lately invited to the house of
a friend, in order to witness some pri
vate experiments in what is called
“electro-biology.” The experimental
ist was an American gentleman named
Darling, who for some months had
been giving lectures on the subject in
various towns throughout Scotland. 1
had heard of some extraordinary feats,
as they may be called, which he had
performed at the mansion of the Earl
of Eglintoun in Ayrshire—such as
the arresting of a gentleman’s hand as
he was raising a glass of wine to his
lips, and the fixing of a gentleman to
his seat, or the causing him to start up
from it under the sense of its being on
fire. A Glasgow newspaper assured us
that he had on several occasions thrown
a number of persons into a peculiar con
dition, in which he fixed them in a
hand in-hand circle, so fast, that they
could not separate —convinced them
that they were at a least, that they
were under a heavy shower of rain,
that they were drowning, that the au
dience w T ere laughing at them, w ith the
effect of drawing from them all the
demonstrations of feeling suitable to
the various situations or conditions in
which they believed themselves to be.
These were results so entirely beyond
the range of ordinary experience, that
anything seemed preferable to belief.
There was deception somewhere—col
lusion—false reporting. The behold
ers were a set of ninnies, who had not
looked sharply enough into the proce
dure of the experimentalist, or they
would have detected the trick; and so
forth. A friend whom 1 accompanied
had precisely the same opinions, and
he was under less restraint in expres
sing them. lie openly professed his
resolution to let the experiment be
made upon himself, in the hope of de
monstrating the fallacy of the whole
matter.
The company assembled was com
posed of persons of both sexes, gener
ally of the upper ranks of society.—
Most of them had been present at pub
lic demonstrations by Dr. Darling, but
these had not been very satisfactory.
It was thought that a company of per
sons well known to each other, and
whose recognized respectability placed
them above suspicion, would supply
patients qualified better to test the ver
ity of the lecturer’s professions. We
sat down, about thirty in number, in a
! large drawing-room, and eight or nine
persons including two ladies came for
ward as subjects. The lecturer dis
posed them in a row on chairs, and
gave each a small disk, composed of
zinc, with a spot of copper in the cen
tre, on w hich he directed them to keep
their eyes fixed for a quarter of an
hour or so, in which time it would be
ascertained whether any of them were
to prove susceptible or not. My friend,
who had seated himself amongst the
rest, with the disk in the palm of his
hand, cast me a waggish look before
fixing himself in the proper attitude,
as much as to say, Now you shall see
this humbug exposed. I resolved, for
my own part, to watch everything that
was done with the greatest care, in the
hope of detecting the trick on which
I theoretically presumed the whole af
fair rested. It was soon to appear that
trick on the part of the lecturer was
entirely out of the question, and that
SOU T H ER N LITE RA R Y GAZE TT E
all depended on the fidelity of his pa
tients.
At the end of a quarter of an hour
Dr. Darling went softly up to the row
of subjects, and said a few words to
each in succession, apparently in order
to ascertain the condition in which
they were. It soon appeared that both
ladies were in a favourable state, but
that all the gentlemen but one were
unaffected. These accordingly retired,
and took their seats amongst the rest
of the company. What was my sur
prise to find that the one gentleman
who appeared susceptible was my
friend ! The experimentalist was aware
of his previous skepticism, and ot
course felt the greater pleasure in hav
ing succeeded with him. He gently
laid his hands over the eyes of my
friend, and said to him, “Now you can
not open them.” A heavy effort seem
ed to be made, but in vain. The lec
turer then said, “Now you can open
them and he did so accordingly. 1
question if he ever had occasion to
open them wider. We communicated
looks, testifying our common sense of
surprise. We were in tact thrown out
—he on finding himself become all at
once the subject of suspicion to me and
others—and I at finding myself called
upon to watch one who had hitherto
been my associate in the effort of de
tection. My’friend was now requested
to hold out his hands, laid palm to
palm. Hr. Barling, after a few passes,
ami pitching the fingers sharply togeth
er, said briskly, “Now you can’t sepa
rate them.” My friend tried in vain t<>
take them asunder, till, on a nod and a
word from tiie experimentalist, he did
at length draw them apart. After a
few passes along the limbs, my friend
was told that he was fixed to his chair.
He strained himself to rise, using the
most violent muscular efforts; but ail
in vain, till he received permission. He
afterwards acknowledged to me that
he had felt as if bound down to his seat
by ropes’ A touch on the lips impo
sed an involuntary dumbness on my
friend. Not till told that he might now
speak, could he utter a word. He was
then told that he had forgotten his
name. He nevertheless pronounced it.
The experimentalist performed a few
further manipulations, and said emphat- j
ically, “ Now you can’t tell your name!” i
Sure enough the word had vanished!
Our patient looked up with a blank
expression, and then a stare of puzzle
ment, which I should vainly endeavour
to describe. He finally cast a bewil
dered and pleading gaze upon his fas
cinator, who calmly smiled and nodded,
as if to undo the spell when out came
the missing vocable apparently to the
no small relief of the patient. He
11 e was after this fixed to the ground i
standing. Sway as he might in all di
rections, not a foot could he move.—
Dr. Darling also held up his fore-finger,
and causing my friend to touch it, told
him that he could not draw it away.
He accordingly could not. Then, j
this spell being undone, the lecturer
held up his fore-finger, and told my
friend he could not touch it. He tried,
darting his finger first on one side, then
on another—above, below-, in all direc
tions but in the right one. in short,
my friend had become, from a proud
sceptic and deridcr, a perfect victim.
He withdrew from the field utterly- dis
comfited. It appeared that he had
never been asleep, but continued
throughout to possess his usual con
sciousness. He had really doue all he
could to resist the commands of the
operator; but power had gone from
him. lie had been absolutely com
pelled in each case to submit.
The experimentalist now turned to
one of the ladies ; and here a very in
teresting series of phenomena w as pre
sented. The lady, 1 may say by way
of preface, is an intimate friend of my
own. She is a tall, elegant person,
about two years married, and the moth
er of one infant. Her figure is that
rounded kind which indicates an infu
sion of the lymphatic temperament.
When found to be in the suitable state,
1 observed that her face was slightly
flushed, and her eyes had an embarras
ed expression ; but she bore no other
signs of being in an extradordinary con
dition. Her, too, the lecturer fixed to
her seat, and to the floor, and to his
own finger. He caused her voice to
desert her; he made her forget her
name; passed, in short, through a rep
etition of the principal experiments
which had been already practised with
my friend. Then he proceeded with
some of apparently a higher kind. He
told the lady that she was sad : and
sad to all appearance she was. He
told her she must laugh; and she laugh
ed accordingly—heartily and long, not
stopping till she was bid. Bhe was
now seated in the middle of the floor,
so that every gesture and proceeding
could be accuteiy seen. The lecturer
said to her, “Here is aminature of your
husband,” and seemed to place some
thing in her hand. She took the ideal
article, and looked at it with an inter
ested expression, then proceeded to sus
pend it to a chain containing similar
trifles w hich hung round her neck, con
cluding the affair with the gratified
look which a young woman might be
expected to exhibit on having a pretty
minatureof one she loved presented to
her. The innocent grace grace shown
in the whole of this fictitious proceed
ing drew- forth exactly that kind of ad
miration from the company which
would be bestowed on a piece of ex
quisitely natural acting in a theatre. 1
suspect, however, it was “a grace be
yond the reach of art.” Dr. Darling
now ventured on a trying experiment.
He bade the lady look at her husband,
who, to our apprehension, sat smiling
at her. He told her that her lord and
master had taken a great dislike to her.
She seemed arrested w ith a sudden sor
row, gazed painfully at her husband,
and then we saw her eyes slowly fill
slowly with tears. This deception was
quickly undone, but only to be follow
ed by one much less distressing to the
patient. She was told that the com
pany were enjoying themselves at her
expense , they were all laughing at her.
She assumed a proud expression, rose
up majestically, and looked round and
round the room with an air of con
temptuous defiance. On this feeling
being banished from her mind, she sat
down again. The lecturer, pointing
along the floor, said, “You are fond of
flowers —here is a fine flower-garden
before you—you see beautiful beds of
roses;” and he added the names of oth
er favourites of the English garden.
The lady looked, and gradually began
to assume a pleased expression, such
as she might have manitested if led
into the precincts of u Chatswo th or a
Kew. She became fully convinced that
she saw a flower garden, althi ugh as
she afterwards told us, ceased
to be aware of the tiiet tli tt^-ne was
sitting in a room, i hen 1 >r. Darling
affected to pluck flowers and'hard them
to her. She took them, smell fthem,
and arranged them in her boson with
the graceful simplicity which ha been
manifested in stringing the min lure.
“This is a water-lily,” he said-niell
it.” She said, “The water-lily has no
smell;” but nevertheless went through
the gesture of putting it to her nose,
when we remarked that the expression
of countenance was suitable to the fact
of tiie inodorousness. The lecturer
then told her to look at the fine sunset,
(we were looking through eastern win
dows at a heavy gray sky ;) sh> beheld
a fine sunset accordingly. Then he
convinced her that she saw a fine wark,
and three gentlemen walking in it. —
“And here,” he said, “is a nice Jiorse :
come and have a ride upon it.” She
moved to the. middle ot’ the flo >r, with
the look of one approachi lg i horse.
She stroked the ideal palfrey, and took
the bridle reins from Hr. I'arling’s
hand. He slightly raised her by the
w aist, and told her she was now mount
ed. She then went through the ges
tures appropriate to riding—got
a rapid movement —leant for**
suddenly clasped her cap (at tl
of/her head, which she felt fa ling : ,L
—and finally stopped, a lit Ie exhaust
ed with the exercise, and allowed her
self to be, in imagination, lifted off’up
on tiie ground. Finally, alter she had
been reseated, Dr. Darling pm a tum
bler of water into her hand, and desir
ed her to taste that tine beer. She
tasted, and admitted that it was beer.
Next he convinced her that it was milk;
that it was water, with animai tiles dri
ving pell-mell through it. The air of
implicit belief in all these cases was
perfectly accordant witli tiie presuma
ble feeling. No intentional acting by
the highest adept could have been truer
to our conception of what was proper
on each occasion.
‘Hie other lady, who was younger,
and unmairied, was next placed on a
sofa/ ‘J’he lecturer held her hands for
a few minutes, looking into her face;
he then touched her eyebrows, and
made a few other manipulator)* It
quick! v appeared that she had become
as obedient to the volition of the lec
turer as the first lady had been. On
being told that she was sad, she as
sumed the aspect of a Niobe', forming
the finest possible study for that char
acter. She was then told 1 hat her j
father, who was in the room, was in
great affliction. She gazed fearfully at
him for a minute, and clasping her j
hands wildly, threw herself back in a j
passion of tears. The experimentalist \
hastened in pity to relieve her from her {
distress. She smiled with wonder at
the ft range delusion under which she
had been. She was then told that the
company were laughing at her. She
looked round fiercely, panted with sup
pressed rage, uttered some exclama
tions, and twisted her handkerchief like
a rope between her hands, plucked the
two ends, as if she would have torn.it
asunder, in her the passion of wound
ed selfesteem was more violent than
in the other lady, which afforded the ;
lecturer occasion to remark that the j
demonstrations are more or iess pc •
liar in every case, accord rig to the
tural character of the individual. On
the whole, there was a somew hat alarm
ing degree of susceptibility on the part
of this subject, and at .he request of
her father, the experiments were dis
continued. 1 was assured, nevertheless,
that no one had ever been known to be
injured, even in the slightest degree, by
undergoing these processes.
While the party was subsequently
at lunch, I had a conference with my
friend, as well as with the tw T o female
patients, in order, not, need I say, to
test the reality of all these demonstra
tions, for their reality was beyond a I
question, but to learn what the patients
had felt while subjected to the lectu
rer’s will. It appears that there never
had, in any ease, been a failure of con
sciousness. They knew where they
were, and by whom they were sur
rounded. They were fully apprehen
sive of the wish of Dr. Darling to sub
jeet them to his will, and anxious to
defeat him in his design, my friend par
ticularly so. But their pin sical pow
ers proved treacherous to their desire,
and they were compelled to obey
another will than their o wn. Asa last
experiment, I requested he operator to
try if he could arrest the hand of the
married lady in lifting u glass of wine
to her lips. He fairly stopped it in
mid air. This was twenty minutes
after leaving the room in which the ex- j
periments had taken place. 1 after
wards learned that she felt drowsy for 1
a day or two after our seance; and per- ;
haps during ail that time, the lecturer
might have re-established his power
over her will, without going through
any such preliminary process as the
gazing upon the disk.
Being no longer a skeptic on this
subject, 1 am disposed to show, if pos
sible, that others may safely abandon
the same position. What, after all, is
the phenomenon professedly effected?
No more than a play upon the human
w ill. Have we not heard, all our lives,
of people being set a-yaning by a wag
who merely began yauing in their view?
Have we not heard of men who were
forced to imitate every gesture of some
one in their company-? Have we not
all heard of the English officer in the
Seven Years’ War, whom his compan
ions could converse with it his sleep,
and convince ot any thing? They even
conducted him through the whole pro
cess of a duel, till the ideal firing of
a pistol awoke him, by its fancied
noise. We are also familiar with ma
nias for dancing, which took possession
of large circles of people during the
middle ages, and which clearly presup
pose some position in w hich the human
will loses its usual force and tension.
In the diseases of hysteria, epilepsy
and catalepsy, there are phenomena
quite as extraordinary and wonderful as
those of so-called electro biology, and
indeed, to ull appearance, much allied
to them, the only peculiarity here be
ing that, under a slight access of stu
por, artificially brought on, they can
be produced at will by a healthy per
son. It therefore appears to be not I
very reasonable to treat those experi- I
ments with a determined incredulity. |
I have been gratified to find a more ra
tional spirit in a philosopher of the
highest reputation —the prtsent Presi
dent of the British Association, Sir
David Brewster. In a letter written to
a newspaper after some experiments
which he had witnessed, he says: —
” I’he gentlemen present were the Duke
of Argyle, .Mr. Callander of Craigforth,
Col. Gore Brown of the 21st Fusiliers,
Professor Gregory, and myself; and 1
believe they were all convinced, as 1
was, that the phenomena which we w it
nesscd were real phenomena, and as
well established as any other tacts in
physical science. The process by which
the operator produces them—the mode
by which that process operates on the
mind o the patient—ami the reference
of the phenomena to some general law
in the constitution of man—may re
main long unknown ; but it is not dif
ficult to see in the recent discoveries of
M. Dubois Reymond and M. Matteuc
ci, and in the laws which regulate the
relative intensity of the external and
internal impressions of the nerves of
sensation, some not very indistinct in
dications of that remarkable process
by which minds of peculiar sensibility
are temporarily placed under the do
minion of physical influences developed
and directed by some living agent.”
(T'jjr ?nrrrit Slltar.
For the Southern Literary Gazette.
i GEMS OFjriLE HEART_
There are gems, richer Timh JruhAV,- 4
and more brilliant and endearing than
diamonds; and they may sometimes
he found, like the latter, lying hid un
der the disguise of a rough and un
seemly exterior, and in need of the
polishing hand of the human lapidary.
These are “ the gems of the heart.”—
We may know when w e have found
such an one, by the strong image of
humanity which it wears. It has a
warm and generous affinity for its kind.
Like the magnet, too, it draws us to it- |
self with an irresistible power. We ;
feel under its sweet influences, and |
would not shake them off if we eoiiid.
The affections of such an one are open,
liberal, free from prejudice, and full of
“the milk of human kindness.” The
distress and sufferings of its neighbour
are, in a great measure, made its own; j
and his virtues engrafted, by associ
ation and contact, on the head and
heart. The eye of the serpent is re
presented to be possessed of a charm,
it cannot be more potent than that
which dwells in a noble heart. There j
will he found the genuine magnet, the
true nobility of nature, that needs
neither ‘‘stars nor garters” to give it
distinction, that lifts its possessor above
the sordid elements of earth and erects
a throne in his bosom which “the world
can neither give nor take away.” In
association w ith such spirits, the charms
which urge on and sway mankind, loose
their attraction, w bile the love of our
Creator and of virtue, become daily
more sought after, and more practised,
more treasured, yet wider expanded:
Like the widow’s cruse of oil, it suffers
no exhaustion from use, for the bles
sing of heaven rests upon it—no dinun
jttorTfrom exposure, for the elements !
are in unison with it.
The heart by love suffused, how bright ?
Its treasures pure—how rich they glow ?
Theirs have a chaste and living light.
That spreads a halo here below.
Its generous impulse sheds around
The heart of sorrow, comfort,joy;
Where Famine entered, bread is found,
Where Labour yearned, it brings employ.
When sickness utters forth its moan.
And pain assails the aching head,
It kindly ministers its own,
To heal the fainting, iaise the dead !
Time casts its mildews ail in vain,
To moulder into dust its deeds ;
They live! while meaner spirits wane,
And leave behind no fruitful seeds.
And when with deeds of Love and Truth,
It gathers round it ample store,
It takes the wings of buoyant youth,
And seeks some purer, brighter shore.
There freed from mortal pains and ills,
It turns its harp to Truth and Love,
The measure of its joy fulfils,
And wings its flight to worlds above. P.
Lesson for Sunday. May 18.
FUTURE GLORY.
“ And afterwards receive me to glory.”—Psalm lxxiii.24.
The thoughts, contemplations and
desires of the generality of mankind
are bounded by time, and riveted to
earth; but uot so with the Christian—
he pursues a nobler course, breathes in
a purer atmosphere, and is allured to
brighter worlds; and, adopting the
sentiment of Asaph, he exclaims, —
“Thou shall guide me with thy coun
sel,and afterwards receive me to glory.”
God ensures to his people
Future Gloky. Let us remark
The prospect. “Glory.” Heaven
is often thus described by way of emi
nence. It is glory’s native seat, Every
object and association connected with it
is glorious. The condition to which
we shall be raised, the powers with
which we shall be endowed, the visions
we shall behold, the discoveries we
shall make, the occupations in which
we shall be engaged, and the company
with whom he shall mingle, all will be
glorious.
The introduction. “Thou shaft re
ceive me.” Believers are first received
into a state of grace, and then into a
state of glory. They are received as
an act of sovereign love and rnercy,
received with the approving smiles of
God, the shouts of angelic hosts, and
the welcome of redeemed spirits.
The period. “Afterward,” Why
does not God take his people to glory
immediately on their conversion ? To
answer his own wise ends and pur
poses. They are instrumental in car
rying on his cause on earth. He works
in them at conversion, and by them
afterward. Remember, then, it is in
God’s time you are to he taken home;
heaven will be delightful when you are
best prepared for it: the child would
pluck the apple while it is green, but its
taste would be more agreeable if he
would wait till it is ripe. Glory will
be yours, after your work is done, your
graces tried, and your patience per
fected.
“ These glories shine and pleasures roll,
That ehartn, delight, transport—the soul;
And every panting wish shall be
Posaest of boundless bliss in Thee.”
d?rnrral (Brinlir.
From Harper’* Magazine.
THE CRYSTAL PALACE.
In the early months of last year the
Great Exhibition had become as nearly
a “fixed fact” as any thing in the fu
ture can be. lhe. place where and the
building in which it was to be held,
then became matters for grave consid
eration. The first point, fortunately,
presented little difficulty, the south
side of Ilvde park, between Kensing
ton-road and Rotten-row, having been
early selected as the locality.
The construction of the edifice, how
ever, presented difficulties not so easily
surmounted. The Building Committee,
comprising some ol the leading archi
tects and engineers ot the kingdom,
among whom are Mr. Barry, the archi
tect of the new Houses ot Parliament,
and Mr. Stephenson, the constructor tt
the Britannia Tubular Bridge, adver
tised ter plans to be presented for the
building. When the committee met,
they found no want ot designs ; their
table was loaded with them, to the
number of -40. 1 heir first task was
to select those which were positively
worthless, and throw them aside. By
this process the number for considera
tion was reduced to about sixty ; and
JiuuuJgFse th sommitteelproc “ “ and toj
‘WSBm: a design, which pleased nobody
themselves least of all. However, the
plan, such as it w as, was decided upon,
and advertisements were issued for ten
ders for its construction. This was the
signal for a fierce onslaught upon the
proceedings of the committee. For
the erection of a building which was
to he used for only a few months, more
materials w ere to be thrown into one
of the main lungs of the metropolis,
than were contained in the eternal py
ramids of Egypt. Moreover, could the
requisite number of miles of brick
work lie constructed within the few
weeks of time allotted ! and was it
not impossible that this should, in so
short a time, become sufficiently con
solidated to sustain the weight ot the
immense iron dome which, according
to the design of the committee, w as to
rest upon it ?
The committee, fortunately w ere not
compelled to answer these and a mul
titude of similar puzzling interrogato
ries which were poured in upon them.
Relief was coming to them from an j
unexpected quarter; whence, we must j
go back a little to explain.
On New Year’s Day, of the year ;
1839, Sir Robert Schomburgh, the bot
anist, was proceeding in a native boat
up the River Berbice, in Demerara.— j
In a sheltered reach of the stream, he
discovered resting upon the still wa
ters an aquatic plant, a species of lily,
but of a gigantic size, and of a shape
hitherto unknown. Seeds of this plant,
to w hich was given the name of “Vic
toria Regia,” were transmitted to Eng j
gland, and were ultimately committed 1
to the charge of Joseph Paxton, the
horticulturist at Chatsworib, the mag- j
nificeut seat of the Duke of Devon- j
shire. The plant produced from these
seeds became the occasion, and in cer- j
tain respects the model, for the Crys
tal Palace.
Every means was adopted to place
the plant in its accustomed circumstan
ces. A tropical soil was formed for it
of burned loam and peat; N -vcastle
coal was substituted for a meridian
sun, to produce an artificial South
America under an English heaven ; by
means of a wheel, a ripple like that of
its native river, was communicated to
the waters of the tatik upon which its
broad leaves reposed. Amid such en
ticements the lilly could not do other
wise than flourish; and in a month it
had outgrown its habitation. The pro
blem w as therefore set before its foster
lather to provide for it, within a few
weeks, a new’ home. This was not al
together anew task for Mr. Paxton,
who had already devoted much atten
tion to the erection of green-houses;
and within the required space of time,
lie had completed this house for the
‘A ictoria Regia,” and therein, in the
sense in which the acorn includes the
oak, that of the Crystal Palace.
\V hile Mr. Paxton was planning an
abode for this Brobdignagian lily, the
Building Committee of the Exhibition
were poring wearily over the 240 plans
lying upon their table. They had re
jected the 180 worthless ones, and from
the remainder had concocted, as we
have said, with much cogitation and
little satisfaction, their own design.—
Such as it was, however, it was deter
mined that it should be executed—if
possible.
This brings us down to the middle,
or to be precise, to the 18th of June,
on which day Mr. Paxton was sitting
as chairman on a railway committee.
He had previously made himself ac
quainted with the case laid before
them, and was not therefore under the
necessity of now devoting his atten
tion to it. He took advantage of this
leisure moment to work out a design
for the Exhibition Building, which he
had conceived some days previously.
In ten days thereafter elevations, sec
tions, working plans and specifications,
were completed lYom this draft, and
the whole was submitted to the inspec
tion of competent and influential per
sons, by whom it was unanimously an
nounced to he practicable, and the onlv
practicable scheme presented.
This design was then laid before the
contractors, Messrs. Fox and Hender
son, who at once determined to sub
mit it tender for the construction of a
building in accordance with it. in a
single week, they had calculated the
amount and cost of every pound of
iron, every pane of glass, every foot
of wood, and every hour of labour !
which would be required, and were !
prepared with a tender and specifica
tions for the construction of the edifice. j
But here arose a difficulty. The com
mittee had advertised only for propo
sals for carrying out their own design;
but, fortunately, they had invited the
suggestion on the pa'rt of the contrac
tors, of any improvements upon it;
and so Mr. Paxton s plan was present
ed siruply as an “improvement” upon
that of the committee, with which it
had not a single feature in common.
Ibis, with certain modifications, was
adopted, and the result is the Crystal
Palace—itself the greatest wonder
which the Exhibition will present—the
exterior of which is represented in our
accompanying Illustration.
1 he building consists of three series
ot elevations of the respective heights
of *34, 44, and 24 feet, intersected at
! the centre bv a transept of 72 feet in
I width, having a semi-circular roof rising
to the height of 108 feet in the centre.
It extends in length 1.851 feet from
north to south, more than one-third of
a mile, w ith a breadth of 456 feet upon
the ground, covering 18 supeificial
acres, nearly double the extent of our
own Washington-square; and exceed
ing bv more than one half the dimen
sions of the Park or the Battery. The
whole rests upon east-iron pillars, uni
ted by holts and nuts, fixed to flanges
turned perfectly true, so that it the
socket tie placed level, the columns
and connecting-pieces must stand up
right ; <iiid, in point of tact, not a
crooked line is discoverable in the com
bination of such an immense number
of pieces. For the support of the col
umns, holes are dug in the ground, in
which is placed a lied of concrete, and
upon this rest iron sockets of from three
to four feet in length, according to tin
level of the ground, to which the col
umns are firmly attached hv holts and
nuts. At the top, each column is at
tached by a . irder to its opposite col
umn, both longitudinally and trans
versely, so that the whole eighteen
acres of pillars is securely framed to
gether.
The roots, of which there are five,
ot.e to each of the elevations, are con
structed on the ‘‘ridge aud furrow prin
cip.e, and glazed with sheets of glass
ot 4!) inches in length. The construc
tion will be at once Understood by im
agining a series of parallel rows of the
letter V (thus VW), extending in unin
terrupted lines the whole length of the
building. The apex of each ridge is |
formed bv a wooden sash-bar with
notches upon each side for holding tho j
laths in which are fitted the edges ot
the glass, lhe bottom bar, or rafter,
i* hollowed at the top so as to form a
gutter to carry off the water, which
passes through transverse gutters into
the, iron columns, which are hollow,
thus serving as w ater-pipes ; in the base
of the columns horizontal pipes are in
serted, which convey the accumulated
water into the sewers. The exhalations,
from so large an extent of surface,
from the plants, and from the breath
of the innumerable visitors, rising and
condensed against the glass, would de
scend from a flat roof in the form of a
perpetual mist, but it is found that
from glass pitched at a particular angle,
the moisture does not fit jl, but glides 1
down its surface. The bottom liars 1
are therefore grooved on the inside,
thus forming interior gutters, by w hich
the moisture also finds its way down
the interior of the columns, through
the drainage pipes, into the sewers.— j
The grooved rafters, of which the total
length is 205 miles, are formed by ma
chinery, at a single operation.
The lower tier of the building is
boarded, the walls of the upper portion
being composed, like the roof, of glass.
Ventilation is provided for by the base
ment portion being walled w ith iron j
plate-, placed at an angle of 45 degrees,
known as luffer-boardiny, which admits
the air freely, while it excludes the
rain. A similar provision is made at
the top of each tier of the building.—
These are so constructed that they can
bo closed at pleasure. In order to sub
due the intense light in a building hav
ieg such an extent of glass surface, the i
whole roof and the south side will be
covered with canvas, which will also 1
preclude thi possibility of injury from
hail, as well as render the edifice much
cooler.
In the construction of the building
care has been taken to give each part
the stiffest and strongest form possible j
in a given quantity of material. The I
columns arc hollow, and the girders
which unite them art- trellis-formed.— j
The utmost weight which any girder
will ever be likely to sustain is seven
and a half tons; and not one is used :
until after having been tested to the ;
extent of 15 tons; while the breaking
weight is calculated at 30 tons. At
first sight, there would seem to he dan
ger that a building presenting so great
a surface to the action of the wind,
would be liable to he blown down. —
But from the manner in which the col- |
urnns are framed together they can not
be overthrown except by breaking them.
Experiments show that in order to
break the 1060 columns on the ground
floor, a fore? of 6360 tons must be ex- \
erted, at a height of 24 feet. The j
greatest force ot the wind ever known
is computed at 22 pounds to the super
ficial foot; assuming a possible force
ot 28 pounds, and suppose a hurricane
of that momentum to strike at once
the whole side of the building, the to
tal force would be less than 1500 tons
—not one-fourth of the capacity of the j
building to sustain, independent of the I
bracings, which add materially to its
strength. So tnat, if any reliance at
all can be placed upon theoretical engi- i
neering, there can he no doubt as to
the safety of the building.
Entering at the main, cast or west
entrance we find ourselves in a nave
64 feet in height, 72 in breadth, and ex- j
tending without interruption the w hole :
length of the building, one-third of a
mile. Parallel with this, but interrup- i
ted by the transept in the centre, area
series of side aisles of 48 and 24 feet
in breadth, w ith a height of 44 and 24
feet. Over the centre of the nave
swells the semi-circular roof the tran
sept, overarching the stately trees be
neath—a Brobdignagian green-house
with ancient elms instead of geraniums
and rose-bushes. The whole area of
the ground floor is 772-784 square feet;
and that of the galleries 217,100;
making in all w ithin a fraction of one
million square feet; to which may he
added 500,000 feet of hanging-space,
available for the display of the products 1
of human heads and hands.
There are three refreshment rooms,
one in the transept, and one near each
end, around the trees which were left
standing, where ices and pastry for
the wealthy, and bread-and-butter and
cheese for the poorer are to be furnish
ed. No wine, spirits, or fermented li
quors are to be sold ; only tea, coffee,
and unfermented drinks ; pure water is
to be furnished gratis to all coiners bv
the lessees of the refreshment rooms.
In respect to the decoration of the
interior, a keen c.ontroversy has been
waged. The fact of iron being the ma
terial of constrection, renders it ncces.
sary that it should be painted to pre
serve it from the action of the atmos.
phere. On the one hand, it is said
that the fact that tho structure is me
tallic should he indicated by the deco
ration, otherwise the whole will have
no more appearance of stability than
an arbour of wicker-work. Those who
take this view recommend that the in
terior shonld be bronzed. On the oth
er hand, those to whom the decoration
is intrusted, affirm that the object of
using colour is to increase the effect of
light and shade. If the whole were of
one uniform dead colour, the effect of
the innumerable parts of which tin
building is composed, all falling j„
similar lines, one before the oth.
would be precisely that of a plain sui
f'ace; the extended lines of pillars pn
senting the aspect of a continuous wall
In order to bring out the distinctive
features of the building, various
ours must be used; and experiments
show that a combination ot life prince
ry colours, red, blue, and Acilow. j s
most pleasant to the eye. \lhe best
means for using these is to plaice 1,1n,,
which retreats, upon the con . avt- sm.
faces, yellow, which advance*. io .j J( ,
convex ones, reserving rgd tin p| a , ,
surfaces. But as when then
come in contact, each become* tinge.t
with the complementary colon, ~f
other —the blue with green, the red
with orange — a line of white i* inter
posed between them. Apply ing these
principles, the shafts of the” columns
are to be yellow, the concave portions
of their capitals blue, the undei4n<le
of tile girders red. a*id t(£eir vertical
surfaces white.
Among all
tal Palace, nothing is more Wonderful
than its cheapness, and the rapidity of
its construction Possession of‘the
site was obtained on the 30th of July ■
in a period of only 145 wniking-davl
the building was to all intents and pii,.
poses completed. As to cheapness, it
costs less per cubic foot than an ordi
nary barn. If used only for the Exhi
bition, and tit its close returned to the
contractors, the cost will he nine-six
teenths of a penny a foot; or, if per
manently purchased, it will he one
penny and one-twelfth. Thus; The
solid contents are 33,000,000 cubic
feel; the price if returned is 4.79.800,
if retained £150.000. This simple fact’
that a building of glass and iron, cover
ing eighteen acres, affording room for
nine miles of tables, should have been
completed in less than live months
front the day when the contract was
entered into, at a cost less than the
humblest hovel, opens anew era in the
science of building.
As to the final destination of the
Crystal Palace, it is the wish of the
designer that it should be converted
into a permanent winter garden with
drives and promenades. Leaving am
ple space for plants, there would be
two miles of walks in the galleries, and
the same amount for walks upon the
ground floor; in summer the removal
of (he upright glass would give the
whole the appearance of a continuous
walk or garden.
Personal Ind3ntity.—Southev, in
one ot his letters recently published in
his Lifeand Correspondence, by his son,
thus speaks of the theory of some
transcendental philosophers, that at the
termination of life, all human souls re
turn into one great spi.itual existence,
from which they have only- been segre
gated here, and in which their individ
uality is to be merged hereafter:
Have you seen that strange book
which Anastasius Hope left for publi
cation, and which his representatives,
in spite of all dissuasion, have publish
ed ? His and
heaven is, that at the consummation of
ail things, he, and you, and I. and John
Murray, and Nebuchadnezar, and Lam
bert, the fat man, and the living skele
ton, and Queen Elizabeth, and the Hot
tentot Venus, and Thurtell, and Pro
bert. and the twelve Apostles, and the
noble army of martyrs, and Genghis
Khan and all his armies, and Noah with
all his posterity—yea, all men and all
women, and all children that have ever
been or ever shall be, saints and sinners
alike, all shall he put together, made
into one greut celestial eternal being.
He does not seem to have known how
nearly this approaches to Swedenborg’s
laney. 1 do not like the scheme. I
don t like the notion of Vicing mixed
up with Hume, and Hunt, and Whittle
Harvey, and Phillpots, and Lord Al
thorpe, and the Huns,and the Hotten
tots and the Jews, and the Philistines,
and the Scotch, and the Irish. God
forbid. 1 hope to he I myself, I, in an
English heaven, with yourself-—you,
and some others, without whom heaven
would he no heaven to me.
Subtle Influences.—l met with a
curious instance lately of a fact well
known, hut always instructive, in regard
to the force of our absorbing or recep
tive power. A friend’s gardener, after
taking a few pinches of flour of sul
phur to sprinkle over a plant,and cleans
ing his hands immediately afterwards,
found how subtle was its influence
through the system,and out again from
his body, and through his clothes, so
that the money in his pocket, and oth
er metal about him became t rnished.
V\ hat is there now more subtle and
wonderful in mesmeric action than this ?
Here the system receives a general in
fluence which, though unfelt by the in
dividual, is fiotent in its effects. < )thcr
substances w ill produce similar effects.
1 know a ease of a lady w ho could not
touch the brass nobs of her doors for
some weeks, from their producing pain,
and partly paralyzing the arm; and of
another lady w ho was differently affec
ted by the approach of various metals
and other substances. Medicines rub
bed on her skin would produce precise
ly the same effect as if she had swal
lowed them. I know a whole family
who are disagreeably affected by the
near approach of iron. Some are aw are
of the presence of a eat, bv a sensa
tibu experienced without seeing the
animal.— Atkinson.
23p F " > We have all felt, when looking
above usinto the atmosphere,that there
was an infinity of space, w hit h we could
not explore. When I look into man’s
spirit, and see there the germs of an
immortal life. I feel more deeply that
an infinity lies hid beyond what I see.
In the idea of duty, which springs up
in every human heart, I discern a law
more sacred arid boundless than gravi
tation, which binds the soul to a more
glorious universe than that to which
attraction binds the body, and which
is to endure though the laws of phys
cal nature pass away. Every moral
sentiment, every intellectual action. i s
to me a hint, a prophetic sgn, of a
spiritual power to be expanded forever;
just as a faint ray from a distant star
is significant of unimaginable spier
dour,— Channing,