originality in poetical ideas; and on the manner in which the same
thought is repeated by one author after another; each altering it, as my
uncle said, in the same way that an object is seen through glasses of
different colours. Or, said my aunt, with its original strength weakened
by each repetition, like the successive reflections of the same object
from a number of mirrors. And, though I did not venture it below stairs,
you shall have my simile: like the Fata Morgana, where the objects
reflected from the surface of the sea are again reflected from the
clouds, but less distinct and generally inverted.
The conversation began by my uncle and aunt, and Mrs. P., and by degrees
my cousins joined. A great distinction was made between gross
plagiarism, and the borrowing a part only of an idea which the author
weaves up with something new, and then places in a new light.
My aunt brought, as an example, these lines in the Lady of the Lake.
The sun, awakening, through the smoky air
Of the dark city, casts a sullen glance,
Rousing each caitiff to his task of care,
Of sinful man the sad inheritance;
Summoning revellers from the lagging dance,
Scaring the prowling robber in his den;
Gilding on battled tower the warder’s lance;
And warning student pale to leave his pen,
And yield his drowsy eyes to the kind nurse of men.
She said, these lines seemed to have been produced, perhaps
unconsciously, by a speech of Shakspeare’s Richard II.
---- Know’st thou not,
That when the searching eye of heaven is hid
Behind the globe, and lights the lower world,
Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen,
In murders, and in outrage bloody, here;
But when from under this terrestrial ball,
He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines,
And darts his light through every guilty hole;
Then murders, treasons, and detested sins,
The cloak of night being pluck’d from off their backs,
Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves.
In this case they all agreed that an author might insensibly dwell on an
idea, alter, dress, and add to it, till he was no longer aware whence
the original thought had come--as in a large company, a single word
which happens to come to our ears from a group in another part of the
room produces sometimes an interesting conversation, though none of the
party engaged in it know well how it began.
Mrs. P. said that similar turns of thought and expression may be traced
back through the whole chain of poets; and that if Homer appears to be
an original genius, it is because we cannot now compare him with his
predecessors. Few of our old writers were less exposed to the charge of
borrowing than Spenser, and yet she could not help imagining that the
Persian tale of Fadlallah was the origin of those pretty stanzas in the
Faërie Queene, where the dove who watches over Belphœbe and her
despairing swain, contrives that they shall once more be reconciled.
Mary said she thought it had more resemblance to the story of
Camaralzaman, in the Arabian Nights, who was enticed from hill to hill
in pursuit of the bird who had carried off the princess’s talisman.
“That cruel bird,” said she, “leads Camaralzaman away only to separate
him from his beloved princess; but the same idea in Spenser’s hands
becomes a hundred times more beautiful. The dove is represented as the
constant and tender companion of the youth who had long languished in
grief for the loss of his Belphœbe; his ‘dole’ is soothed by the
caresses and sympathy of the bird; and at last, in order to gaze at a
ruby heart, which she had given him in happier times, he fastens it
round its neck. Away flies the kind-hearted dove, who gains the notice
of Belphœbe, and gently winning her forward in pursuit of the well-known
ruby, succeeds in restoring the long-parted lovers to each other.”
Mrs. P. acknowledged that Mary’s opinion was more just than her own; and
my aunt, looking at me, said, “I think I see in Bertha’s countenance
that she has not read the Faërie Queene: suppose, Caroline, you were to
refresh our recollections, and read those pretty stanzas for your
cousin.”
Caroline did so; and as I know you have not Spenser among your books,
and as his old-fashioned style will amuse Marianne, I will transcribe
the two last stanzas, where Belphœbe, attracted by her jewel, follows
the benevolent bird.
She, her beholding with attentive eye,
At length did marke about her purple brest
That precious iuell, which she formerly
Had knowne right well, with colourd ribbands drest:
Therewith she rose in hast, and her addrest
With ready hand it to have reft away;
But the swift bird obayd not her behest,
But swarv’d aside, and there againe did stay;
She followed her, and thought againe it to assay.
And ever when she nigh approcht, the dove
Would flit a little forward, and then stay
Till she drew neare, and then againe remove;
So tempting still her to pursue the prey,
And still from her escaping soft away;
Till that at length into that forrest wide
She drew her far, and led with slow delay;
In th’ end she her unto that place did guide
Whereat that woful man in languor did abide.
_7th._--My curiosity about frost has been gratified. Each of the last
three nights the thermometer has been below the freezing point--last
night it was 28°. The ground is hard, and grass, trees, and shrubs, are
quite white. Nothing can be more beautiful--each blade of grass
sparkling with gems, every branch and spray covered with delicate
crystals, and the leaves of the fir-trees hanging like little miniature
icicles.
I asked my uncle where the frost comes from. “It is in fact,” said he,
“frozen dew; when the ground is cooled down to 32°, the dew deposited on
it is congealed, and becomes hoar frost. This often happens when the
temperature of the atmosphere is much higher; and I have seen a copious
hoar frost in a clear calm night, though the air was not colder than
40°.”
When I begged my uncle to explain that, he told me that, from the
satisfactory observations of Dr. Wells, it appears that the heat which
the earth receives from the sun in the day is returned or _radiated_
back again from the earth during the night, and is dispersed in the sky;
the surface of the earth thus becomes cold from its sudden loss of heat,
and congeals the dew. The cold produced by this radiation of heat from
the earth, is always less if any substance be interposed between it and
the sky; not only a solid body, but even a fog, or clouds, have this
effect, because they intercept the heat, and perhaps again send back a
portion of it to the earth; and this, he added, is the reason why a
bright clear night is generally colder than a cloudy night.
I asked my uncle if that was also the reason that such slight
substances, as straw or mats, are found to protect tender plants from
cold?
“Yes,” said he; “I used to wonder how such thin, open things as Russia
mats could prevent plants from becoming of the same temperature as the
atmosphere; but when I learned that all bodies at night give out their
heat by radiating it, unless some covering be interposed, which acts,
not by keeping out the cold, but by preventing their heat from flying
off, then I perceived the reason of what before had appeared to me to be
almost useless.”
He described several experiments he had tried to satisfy himself on this
subject. He found that even a cambric handkerchief was sufficient; and
that when raised a few inches in the air, the warmth of the grass
beneath was 3° greater than that of a neighbouring piece of grass which
was sheltered by a similar handkerchief actually in contact with it. All
his experiments confirmed those of Dr. Wells, and shewed that by placing
substances for the shelter of plants, not directly touching them, the
effect was increased. Snow acts in the same manner as a preservative of
plants when the ground is not already frozen.
Some other experiments my uncle then described, and he endeavoured to
make me understand Dr. Wells’s general opinions on the formation of dew.
He also mentioned the curious method they have in India of forming
artificial ice in earthen-ware pans, where the temperature of the air is
even 12 or 14 degrees above the freezing point. He concluded by saying,
“I do not tell you all these particulars, Bertha, merely to stuff your
memory with philosophical shreds and patches, but to excite your mind to
observation and inquiry, which is a hundred times more useful.”
_8th, Sunday._--The _Ephod_ being mentioned in a part of the Scripture I
was reading this morning, I asked my uncle to describe it, for I had but
a confused idea of the dress of the high priest. He says the name is
derived from a Hebrew word, signifying _to tie_. It was made of linen,
and brought from behind the back, over each shoulder; and then crossing
the breast, it was passed round the waist so as to form a girdle; the
two ends hanging down before. The _Breast-plate of Judgement_, which was
so called because the high priest wore it only when he went to consult
the Divine Majesty, was made of the same materials as the ephod; and
being two spans in length by one in breadth, it formed a square when
doubled. The span, he says, was half a cubit, or about ten inches.
I then begged of my uncle to explain the nature of the _Urim_ and
_Thummim_. He told me that the words signify _light_ and _perfection_;
but as Moses does not appear to have received directions for making
them, it is impossible now to form any distinct idea of the materials of
which those sacred ornaments were composed, or of the manner in which
they were employed, in order to obtain answers from the mercy-seat in
the Tabernacle. The opinions of the learned have therefore been very
various on those points: the Jews think they consisted of precious
stones, which were so arranged that the partial brilliancy of certain
characters engraved on them pointed out the required reply. Others
suppose that they were merely parts of the grand dress, which qualified
the high priest to present himself in the holy place on great occasions.
But the question is of little importance to us; like many other
mysteries attending the Divine ordinances, we vainly endeavour to
penetrate their meaning: we may, however, feel assured, Bertha, that if
these things were necessary to be understood by us, they would have been
fully explained. Many ceremonies in the ritual given to the Israelites,
were adapted to them as a people who had lived amongst the heathens, and
who had imbibed those prejudices and depravities of heathen worship,
which were so totally removed from every thing spiritual. To us they may
be objects of rational curiosity; but a knowledge of their use or
precise fabric could add no essential testimony to the well-established
truths of Scripture History.
“There is, however, one mode of viewing the subject, from which we may
derive a useful hint: the high priest could not address the Almighty
when divested of this emblem of light and perfection; in like manner our
addresses to God will be of no use, unless we also are adorned, not
indeed with the _emblem_ of light, but with the true light of the
Gospel; with that clear and bright faith which makes us feel the power
and goodness of Him to whom we pray.”
_9th._--The beautiful hoar-frost at first gave to every twig and blade
of grass the modest, quiet appearance of a wreath of pearls; but last
night there was a slight shower of rain, and now every thing is
glittering like diamonds. We observed, also, another peculiarly pretty
circumstance: the wet being immediately frozen, every thing was
enveloped with thin transparent ice, through which the leaves, and
berries, and branches, were distinctly seen. Mary immediately repeated
these lines:
Every shrub, and every blade of grass,
And every pointed thorn seem’d wrought in glass;
In pearls and rubies rich the hawthorns show,
While through the ice the crimson berries glow.
Already the birds are become tame, and many venture courageously to take
crumbs off the window-stones. Poor little birds, this bright clear air,
and sunshine, make every body else look gay, while they sit shivering or
sadly chirping on the trees; even the hens and ducks look swelled and
melancholy.
We walked to-day to Franklin’s farm, and found him taking advantage of
the hardened ground, to put out manure; he had two carts employed, and
all the people seemed trying to keep themselves warm by hard work.
The field which had been left to remain _fallow_, will be much improved
by this frost, he says. It was a coarse, wet soil, full of lumps of
heavy clay; and he shewed us how much these lumps were already broken.
My uncle said that the soil being thus divided, and pulverised, would be
greatly meliorated; so, as we walked home, I asked him why the lumps of
wet clay were broken by frost, which I thought would only have hardened
them the more, like the road on which we were walking.
“The reason why the clods of wet earth are burst by the frost, is, that
the water which they contain becomes ice; and, in doing so, it swells,
and therefore requires greater space than while it was water. In the
process of freezing, water crystallizes, and every crystal drives away
the adjacent particles which interfere with its exact formation. This
does not happen to hard roads, such as we are now walking upon, because
they are closely _bound_, and do not admit the previous entrance of the
moisture; but if the road was soft and spongy, you would then probably
see, in its rough and uneven face, the effect of the frozen water. When
we return home, if you look at the piece of gravel walk which was lately
made, and is not, therefore, yet bound, you will observe what a curious
appearance the frost gives it; the larger stones, which by their weight
prevented the water from spreading under them, will appear sunk; while
the sandy, spongy part which imbibed the rain, is swelled by the frost,
and raises the surface of the walk. All crystals have a regular form,
and in assuming it, they are obliged to recede a little from each other;
each crystal, it is true, has but little power, but as their number is
almost infinite, their combined power is so great, that what is called
in military language a _shell_, that is, a hollow ball of strong cast
iron, if filled with water and the aperture well secured, will burst
when the water freezes. When such is the expansive power excited by
water as it passes into the state of ice, we cannot be surprised that
jugs and bottles of water are frequently broken in a frosty night--and
that water pipes constantly burst when the frost penetrates to them.”
_10th._--The frost was so great last night, that it caused sad mischief.
The thermometer sunk to 24°. Mary had two nice hyacinths in bottles;
unfortunately, she placed them yesterday in a window where there was a
bright sunshine; Frederick having promised to put them back safely in
the latter part of the day. He forgot them; but, as soon as he woke this
morning, he went to repair his error--when, to his great dismay, he
found the glasses burst, and the water lumps of ice.
He went to Mary, but he was so sorry for his negligence, that she could
not reproach him. The only thing to be done, she said, is now to
consider how to relieve the bulbs from the ice that surrounds them.
Frederick proposed placing them near the fire, that the heat might thaw
the ice; but Mary told him that she was afraid the sudden change from
cold to heat would make the bulbs decay--and that the best plan, she
thought, was to put them into cold water. Mary had called me to look at
the glasses on the first discovery of the misfortune; and we carried
them and the bulbs inclosed in ice, to my uncle, who had just come down
to the library, to consult him on what was best to be done. He approved
of Mary’s proposal, and said, “That is a practical instance of the
advantage of acquiring different kinds of knowledge.” Mary had
concluded, that the sudden change of temperature would produce immediate
decay in the roots--on the same principle that heat applied to people
who have been frost bitten, causes mortification in the frozen part. My
uncle afterwards told me, that the same thing happens to the frozen buds
of tender plants, which are exposed to the rays of a hot sun before the
frost has been dispersed; while those which are gradually thawed receive
no injury.
I reminded him of his having spoken of _crystals_ of ice, and asked how
that term could be applied to any thing but mineral bodies.
“The term crystal,” he replied, “came from the Greek word for ice--it
was afterwards applied to rock crystal, which the ancients imagined to
be water converted into stone; but it now signifies the regular figure
in which the particles of any substance arrange themselves in passing
from the liquid to the solid state.--Each of those substances has a
figure for its crystal peculiar to itself, and from which it never
varies. Common salt, for instance, dissolved in water, and slowly
evaporated, always forms regular _cubic_ crystals of about an eighth of
an inch in diameter, and quite transparent; sugar candy is nothing but
sugar crystallized into _six_-sided prisms; and alum forms itself into
beautiful crystals of _eight_ sides. All this you may easily ascertain
for yourself by experiment; and when I have an opportunity of taking you
to a smelting house, you will see that in the cooling of melted metals,
each metal assumes a crystalline shape belonging to itself.”
I asked how, and when, all the crystals and precious stones and salts in
the world could ever have been in a fluid state.
“One thing at a time,” said my uncle: “that question would lead us quite
away from ice. I was going to tell you, that water, in the same manner
as salt or metals, when it ceases to be fluid, which happens at the
temperature of 32° of Fahrenheit’s thermometer, assumes a constant
regular form. Now, Bertha,” he said, “examine this lump of ice, which
was in the broken glass, both with and without your magnifying
glass--and tell me how it appears.”
I told him, that to my naked eye it seemed as if there were lines
crossing and recrossing one another in an uneven manner; but that, with
the glass, it appeared like a collection of little spears with pointed
ends, laid very closely together and mostly darting from the places
where the ice had touched either the bulb or the side of the glass
vessel.
“Yes,” said my uncle, “that is what I wished you to observe;--when ice
begins to form on the surface of water, several of those spear-shaped
_spicula_ shoot from the edge of whatever contains the water, or from
any solid body which happens to be in the water,--a bit of wood or even
a straw.”
I interrupted my uncle to beg he would explain the word spicula--I know
he is never displeased at being interrupted by a question of that sort.
He told me that _spiculum_ is a Latin word, and means a dart or an
arrow, or sometimes the sting of a bee,--_spicula_ is the plural, and is
commonly used in English to express any small pointed bodies.
“To return to the ice,” said he: “that first set of spicula serve as
bases for a new set, and these again for others; each single spiculum
diverges or spreads from its own base at an angle of nearly 60°, and
therefore they all cross each other in an infinite variety of
directions, and this process continues till one even sheet of ice is
formed.” I asked my uncle, if the reason why the ice occupies more space
than the water was, that those spicula or crystals, from their shape,
and from shooting in various directions, cannot lie so closely together
as the minute particles of water.--
“Yes,” said he, “you are perfectly right--a proof of this is, that it
requires great power to compress water in the smallest degree; while the
hardest ice, if pounded, may be easily forced into a smaller space.”
We all again examined the formation of the ice in the broken glasses,
and I saw the pretty little spicula quite distinctly--we then went to
breakfast, leaving the bulbs to thaw quietly in their cold bath.
_11th._--After the hyacinth roots were thawed yesterday, they were
placed in a warm room; and we had a great deal of conversation about the
different effects of heat and cold, according to the different bodies
that are exposed to them. I learned that extreme heat is necessary to
liquefy steel, platina, or porcelain; some metals require far less, and
Mrs. P. says she once bought in a toy shop, some spoons made of bismuth,
tin and lead, which melted in a cup of hot tea. The warmth of the skin
is sufficient to thaw frozen water. On the other hand, the degree of
cold requisite to render mercury solid is very great, while that which
forms ice is moderate.
Among vegetables, there are many which resist the strongest frost, and
the native trees here have their stems very seldom injured. Most of the
herbaceous plants lose their stalks, though their roots remain alive;
and some revive at the return of spring even after their roots have been
frozen.
Ants and flies, and many other insects, fall asleep in a very slight
degree of cold.--Dormice, also, and other animals of the same class,
appear as if life was suspended for several months during cold weather,
so much so that their heart ceases to beat. The snail and the toad
undergo the same stupefying effect, and serpents can be frozen so as to
become brittle; if they are broken in that state, they die, but if left
in their holes, into which the warmth of spring penetrates slowly, they
recover.--It is in the season when their food begins to fail, and the
fruits which fattened them disappear, that these creatures conceal
themselves in order to submit to this wise law of nature. Those that are
deprived of food by the snow covering the ground, sleep till it melts.
The white bear lives on the sea shore in summer, and on islands of ice
in autumn, and he does not fall asleep till the ice, being thickened and
raised too high above the water, is no longer the resort of his chief
prey, the seal. His means of obtaining food continuing longer, a much
severer cold is requisite to deaden in him the call of seeking it, than
in the black bear who devours vegetables; or than in the brown bear who
lives on animals who retire earlier than he does.--That hunger should
thus give way to sleep, when the cold which benumbs them would starve
them by famine, appears ordered by that benevolent Providence, who
regulates every part of the universe.
My uncle says that something like this is the case in man; when the cold
is very violent he becomes insensible; if one of his limbs should freeze
he does not perceive it, but on the contrary fancies himself growing
warmer, and feels such a propensity to sleep, that he is angry at being
roused. There are continual instances of this in the northern parts of
Europe; and the poor frozen person, if indulged by his companions in
closing his eyes for a few minutes, seldom opens them again. He does
not, however, die immediately, my uncle says: it is even thought by
some, that as long as the same temperature continued, he would sleep
like the dormouse, deprived of all vital action.
My aunt said, she wondered whether human creatures could be revived,
after having been many days frozen, provided similar means were used for
their recovery that are employed to restore a frozen limb. Warmth, she
said, is applied with the utmost caution, the frozen parts are rubbed
with snow and then immersed in water very little warmer than melted ice.
The attempt would be worth making, instead of abandoning frozen people
to their fate, she thought; but that as to having the power of sleeping
like a dormouse or a bear, to whom Providence gives that habit, because
they have no means of procuring food, she could not believe that
possible. “Man has so many resources, that it was evidently unnecessary
to endow him with the capability for sleeping away hunger; but I really
believe,” she added, “that there are people of such inveterate
indolence, that they would sleep for several months to relieve
themselves from all care, if they had the power of voluntary torpidity.”