First-Chemical illusions, or those phenomena which may be traced to the operations of chemistry as their source; such, for instance, as the spontaneous combustion of bodies, both animate and inanimate, the art of breathing flames, walking on red-hot iron, the methods of forming sympathetic landscapes, magic prints, &c.

Secondly-Optical illusions. Under this head we shall treat of the Fata Mogana-of supposed apparitions, &c.

Thirdly-Acoustics and aural illusion, embracing the subject

of echoes.

And, lastly-Mechanical feats and contrivances.

Thus, the principal phenomena of nature, and the leading combinations of art, which bear the impress of a supernatural character will pass under our review; and our attention will be called particularly to those singular illusions of sense by which the most perfect organs either cease to perform their functions, or perform them faithlessly; and where the efforts and the creations of the mind predominate over the direct perceptions of external nature. In pursuance of the course thus marked out, we shall proceed in our next to consider the subject of chemical illusions, or those phenomena which may be traced to the operations of chemistry as their source.

G. T. F.

In the days of Nero, glass perfectly transparent was reckoned so valuable, that Nero gave a sum equal to £50,000 for two glass drinking-cups with handles. And that porcelain was so esteemed by the Romans, that after the taking of Alexandria a porcelain vessel was the only part of the spoil retained by Augustus.

J. H.

There is a boiling fountain in Iceland from which the water is thrown to the height of 90 feet, and is still boiling hot when it falls to the ground. It is to be supposed therefore, that the water in this reservoir must be much hotter than the boiling point of

water.

J. H.

It is not generally known, that the red-hot balls employed by the garrison of Gibralter to destroy the Spanish floating batteries were carried from the furnaces to the bastions in wooden barrows with only a layer of sand interposed; and this was found sufficient to prevent the balls, though in a high state of incandescence, from setting fire to the wood, sand being a very slow conductor of heat.

J. H.

161

HUGO STEILFORT.

A Poetic Brama.

IN THREE ACTS.

BY HARGRAVE JENNINGS.

"I am angling now,

Though you perceive me not how I give line.
Go to; go to.

POLIXENES.-What means Sicilia ?

HERMIONE. He something seems unsettled.
POLIXENES.-How my lord?

What cheer?-how is't with you, best brother?

HERMIONE. You look

As if you held a brow of much distraction.
Are you moved my lord?

LEONTES.-No! in good earnest.

How sometimes nature will betray its folly,
Its tenderness, and make itself a pastime
To harder bosoms !"

SHAKSPEARE.

PREFATORY ADVERTISEMENT.

This Drama was written for the purpose of illustrating a particular conception. The eccentricity of its plot is accompanied, in some instances, as applicable to the character, by a peculiarity of language, and a morbidness of opinion. The reader, when he peruses the opinions and expressions of Hugo Steilfort, will be pleased to remember what he is-a being removed from, though understanding, human impulse and feeling. In shadowing forth a Fiend, the writer has attempted to give his view of how the character should be represented. The sentiments which are put into his mouth are, of course, put there only so far as they may be supposed to be characteristic. The writer, in colouring his portrait, has been obliged to make use of an exclusive selection of dark tints, some deepening into blackness→→→ others brightening into lurid and Stygian illumination; but all of the one order, and, if presenting variety, changing their hues like the scales of a snake-now jet, now sulphuric azure, now ghastly and glittering green, and now the glow of brightening embers-an iris of infernal radiations. The reader will be kind enough to look at the moral of the composition, and attribute the jaundiced principles of Hugo to the blackness of his designs and character. The Drama is in no way adapted, or intended, for represen

tation.

DRAMATIS PERSONE.

LYNDERT DE LOEL, Count of Ffalzberg.

BERTRAM

bearing the name of Hugo Steilfort, his friend.

DE SALIS Officers of a Prison.

HUBERT, Steward of Lyndert,

GUARDS, SPIRITS, &c.

IOLE, Countess of Ffalzberg.
BERTHA, her Sister.

ATTENDANTS of Iole.

SCENE.—During the first two acts, in the Castle of Ffalzberg; afterwards in a city of Southern Germany.

TIME.-A lapse of one month is supposed to intervene between the first and second acts, and one of nine between the second and last.

ACT I.

SCENE 1.-A romantic Forest-Castle of Ffalzberg in the distance. TimeNight. Thunder and Lightning.

Enter HUGO STEILFORT.

Hugo.-One would suppose the elements themselves,
Conspired against my purpose: rain, and thunder,
The jetted flash of momentary lightnings,

Shrill tides of whistling hail, and clouds on clouds
Mass'd to the zenith, all unite for once-
A hoarse alliance certainly- -to render
Directionless the little path I follow.

I've tried to pierce the thickets that around me
Twist into net-work; but they flung their cursed

Twigs in my visage, till I gave it over.

The howling surges of a swollen river

Stream on my right hand, and, sooth, on the left,

I hear the wail of wounded wolves, struck in

The flanks by falling branches. Is it spite?
When I set out, the summer moon shone brightly,

And stars, like jewels, glitter'd; but I had

Scarce master'd two leagues of my 'nighted journey,
Ere the wind rose, and up the still horizon
Climbed thunder couriers-the harbingers
Of a most mighty tempest. Well! well! well!
Nought now can serve me except patience, and
I happily boast much: this puny storm

I well could laugh at, for I've ere this heard

That which would shame these grumbling voices unto
Appalled silence; but to be so thwarted,

E'en in the sequel of my expedition,

In sight too of my object, is provoking.

No guidance can be seen. The way was told me,
Plain as a sun glance through a murky cloud;
Yet I have lost all trace on't. "Twere excuse
To say the thunder dinn'd it from my brain,
Or that the sable midnight, wreathed as dense

HUGO STEILFORT.

As mourning garments round a widow young,
Who wears an outside sorrow, had come down
So thick about me, that an eagle eye

Had failed to pierce it out-'twould current pass,
And e'en with precedent so might I use it.
Black, black-all's black around me : goodly night
For gaunt-eyed Murder to steal safely out,
And steep his fingers in fresh blood unqualm'd,
Conscience is daylight; we could do foul deeds,
Deeds such as day would make us shudder at,
Were the thick mantle of the brooding night
Spread always o'er our heads. 'Tis night that steels
The faint heart in his purpose, sucking out
The sickly humours of the meek-eyed day.
Under thy canopy, oh, civil night!

Steals out friend Theft, with eager eye and step,
Grown bold in darkness. Modesty slips off
Her staided vesture, and with chain tost off,
Perks up in impudence, till sober day
Calls in her shafted glances, and cramps up,
In 'haviour decorous, each giddy thought.
How many now are busy ?-good men snore,
Secure in honesty, and the just eye
That keeps a vigil, when their wits are walked
Out of their daily citadel, while 'neath
The clear eyed robber hands their guardless pelf
Into his prayerless pockets. Now the husband
Dreams of his partner's honesty, and thinks
The holy lesson last night read her, fresh
Yet in her ductile mind, while she-good Lord!
Leaps from the window to a soldier's arms,
And leaves the good behind her, choosing rather,
Hell and her hero, than his drowsy connings.
Now reels the drivel drunkard home to bed,
While pale-eyed Hunger whineth at his door.
Now peery traitors rise to let in foes,
And madden'd gambler's gibber at the moon

That with chaste beam reproves them. Now the owl,

Sheath'd in her ivy scarf, out screecheth, while

The distant bay of the grim wolf comes down
On a long sweep of the unwholesome air.
Now glares the suicide with uncased knife,

And bares his throat unto the ready edge.

Now ghosts skulk churchward through the gloom. Now

163

[Thunder.

Eve's offspring's eyes,-fair woman's eyes to please.
No! smooth as beauty's cheek. Ha ha ha! ha!
The sulph'rous flash has spared me, that I might
Lack no advantage, e'en unto the least,

In the good purposes which bring me here.
Race on ye pall-hued clouds above me! frown
On my fair mission, and the humble shape
Which dwarf-like creeps beneath ye if ye will!
Ye envy me a moonbeam, or I might,

By this, not need your kindness.-Well! 'tis vain.
How yonder cross the arrow flashings blue,
Tearing the black profundity sky down.
By hell! a flash of beauty-grand! O grand!
(Had I but time I could apostrophize.)
It opened half the sky, and in the-zounds!
A pile of crags high castled. Bravo! ho!
There is my loadstar, and I follow. Soft!
All dark again- -'twas eastward, eastward-

good!

I now shall grope with something more like purpose.
Another flash perchance will show't once more.

Patience and caution, and I surely win it.

The trees begin to open ;――yond'

so-so.

[Exit cautiously.

SCENE 2.-An apartment in the Castle of Ffalzberg.-Storm without.—IOLE discovered reclining on a couch, and LYNDERT DE LOEL at an open casemcnt.

Lyndert. The night wears on, and, with the night, the storm
Seems fast to gather strength. I never saw

So fell a conflict of the elements,

Or the rack'd sky so tortured. Hark! how loud
Rolls out the booming thunder; in the east
A thousand lights glance o'er the rended clouds,
As quick they chase each other now all's dark!
A breathless intermission-lull of war.
Look! look! a blaze of brilliancy tears down
The jagg'd and inky firmament. Oh! would
Dear dear Iole, that you'd glance out here.
The skies are beautiful!

Iole.-I shudder. Hark!

Oh! what a night is this! Who that beheld

The silver moon sail softly up last eve→

Alas!

Lyndert (advances abruptly towards her).—Why did'st thou sigh, Iole ?
Iole. I knew not that I sighed; but if some thought

Stole o'er me, at the instant, of the past.

Lyndert. I am quick eyed; a tear steals down your cheek;
And now from me you turn away your face,

Why, what should this be? hast thou anything

That troubles thee, Iole? tell me what.

Thy spirit is too weak: I know thou wert,