Manual The beating from the beloved is like eating raisins. 300 Tunisian proverbs

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In the closing period of his life, Hood could hardly bear her being out of his sight, or even write when she was away. The face of Hood is best known by two busts and an oil-portrait which have both been engraved from. It is a sort of face to which apparently a bust does more than justice, yet less than right.

The features, being mostly by no means bad ones, look better, when thus reduced to the mere simple and abstract contour, than they probably showed in reality, for no one supposed Hood to be a fine-looking man; on the other hand, the value of the face must have been in its shifting expression — keen, playful, or subtle — and this can be but barely suggested by the sculptor.

He was remarkably deficient in ear for music — not certainly for the true chime and varied resources of verse. His aptitude for the art of design was probably greater than might be inferred from the many comic woodcut-drawings which he has left. One may occasionally see some water-color landscape-bit or the like from his hands pleasantly done; and during his final residence in England he acted upon an idea he had long entertained, and produced some little in the way of oil-painting.

His religious faith was, according to the writers of the Memorials , deep and sincere, though his opposition to sectarian narrowness and spite of all sorts was vigorous, and caused him sometimes to be regarded as anti-religious. A letter of his to a tract-giving and piously censorious lady who had troubled him published in the same book is absolutely fierce, and indeed hardly to be reconciled with the courtesy due to a woman, as a mere question of sex.

They are not explained, for instance, by adding that Hood honored the Bible too much to make it a task-book for his children. His private generosity, not the less true or hearty for the limits which a precarious and very moderate income necessarily imposed on it, was in accordance with the general sentiments of kindness which he was wont to express both in public and private: if he preached, he did not forget to practise.

Hood appears, by natural bent and permanent habit of mind, to have seen and sought for ludicrousness under all conditions — it was the first thing that struck him as a matter of intellectual perception or choice. And so again with those of his works — including rude designs along with finished or off-hand writing — which are professedly comical: the funny twist of thought is the essential thing, and the most gloomy or horrible subject-matter is often selected as the occasion for the horse-laugh. In some of his works indeed we might cite the poems named The Dead Robbery , The Forge , and The Supper Superstition the horse-laugh almost passes into a nightmare laugh.

A ghoul might seem to have set it going, and laughing hyenas to be chorusing it. A man of such a faculty and such a habit of work could scarcely, in all instances, keep himself within the bounds of good taste — a term which people are far too ready to introduce into serious discussions, for the purpose of casting disparagement upon some work which transcends the ordinary standards of appreciation, but a term nevertheless which has its important meaning and its true place.

Hood is too often like a man grinning awry, or interlarding serious and beautiful discourse with a nod, a wink, or a leer, neither requisite nor convenient as auxiliaries to his speech: and to do either of these things is to fail in perfect taste. Sometimes, not very often, we are allowed to reach the close of a poem of his without having our attention jogged and called off by a single interpolation of this kind; and then we feel unalloyed — what we constantly feel also even under the contrary conditions — how exquisite a poetic sense and how choice a cunning of hand were his.

On the whole, we can pronounce Hood the finest English poet between the generation of Shelley and the generation of Tennyson. Any point which is not clearly brought out in that affectionate and interesting record will naturally be equally or more indefinite in my brief summary, founded as it is on the Memorials. Hood completed the fifteenth year of his age in May, If so, he was in Scotland about five years; and, from the fact that he had written in a Dundee newspaper in , one might even surmise that the term of six years was nearer the mark.

At any rate, as he had reached Scotland by September, , he was there soon after completing his sixteenth year: yet Mr. Hessey Memorials , p. Sands to Mr. Le Keux.


These dates, as the reader will readily perceive, are sometimes vague, and sometimes contradictory. In the text of my notice, I have endeavored to pick my way through their discrepancies. It is curious to learn what was the kind of joke which could assume so powerful an ascendant over the mind and associations of this great humorist.

Lycus, detained by Circe in her magical dominion, is beloved by a Water Nymph, who, desiring to render him immortal, has recourse to the Sorceress. Circe gives her an incantation to pronounce, which should turn Lycus into a horse; but the horrible effect of the charm causing her to break off in the midst, he becomes a Centaur.

Hood, with a view to the poem being set to music. The Poem was prefaced by the following letter to Charles Lamb:—. An intimacy and dearness, worthy of a much earlier date than our acquaintance can refer to, direct me at once to your name; and with this acknowledgment of your ever kind feeling towards me, I desire to record a respect and admiration for you as a writer, which no one acquainted with our literature, save Elia himself, will think disproportionate or misplaced. If I had not these better reasons to govern me, I should be guided to the same selection by your intense yet critical relish for the works of the great Dramatist, and for that favorite play in particular which has furnished the subject of my verses.

It would have been a pity for such a race to go extinct, even though they were but as the butterflies that hover about the leaves and blossoms of the visible world. I am, my dear friend, yours most truly,. The volume is memorable for having contained his fine poem. In the year , being then an usher and deeply engaged in the study of Chaldee, Hebrew, Arabic, and the Celtic dialects, for the formation of a lexicon, he abruptly turned over a still darker page in human knowledge, and the brow that learning might have made illustrious was stamped ignominious forever with the brand of Cain.

To obtain a trifling property he concerted with an accomplice, and with his own hand effected the violent death of one Daniel Clarke, a shoe-maker, of Knaresborough, in Yorkshire. For fourteen years nearly the secret slept with the victim in the earth of St. The learned homicide was seized and arraigned, and a trial of uncommon interest was wound up by a defence as memorable as the tragedy itself for eloquence and ingenuity — too ingenious for innocence, and eloquent enough to do credit even to that long premeditation which the interval between the deed and its discovery had afforded.

That this dreary period had not passed without paroxysms of remorse may be inferred from a fact of affecting interest. The late Admiral Burney was a scholar at the school at Lynn in Norfolk when Aram was an usher, subsequent to his crime. The Admiral stated that Aram was beloved by the boys, and that he used to discourse to them of murder, not occasionally, as I have written elsewhere, but constantly, and in somewhat of the spirit ascribed to him in the poem.

A lifeless body, in love and relationship the nearest and dearest, was imposed upon my back, with an overwhelming sense of obligation — not of filial piety merely, but some awful responsibility, equally vague and intense, and involving, as it seemed, inexpiable sin, horrors unutterable, torments intolerable — to bury my dead, like Abraham, out of my sight. In vain I attempted, again and again, to obey the mysterious mandate — by some dreadful process the burthen was replaced with a more stupendous weight of injunction, and an apalling conviction of the impossibility of its fulfilment.

My mental anguish was indescribable; — the mighty agonies of souls tortured on the supernatural racks of sleep are not to be penned — and if in sketching those that belong to blood-guiltiness I have been at all successful, I owe it mainly to the uninvoked inspiration of that terrible dream. The circumstance that the book over which the gentle boy was poring when questioned by the usher was called the Death of Abel , is by no means forced or unnatural. This magazine was a venture of Edward Moxon, the publisher, but had a career of only seven months. The date of their composition remains unfixed.

If the printed works of my Censor had not prepared me for any misapplication of types , I should have been surprised by this misapprehension of one of the commonest emblems. In some cases the dove unquestionably stands for the Divine Spirit; but the same bird is also a lay representative of the peace of this world, and, as such, has figured time out of mind in allegorical pictures.

The sense in which it was used by me is plain from the context; at least, it would be plain to any one but a fisher for faults, predisposed to carp at some things, to dab at others, and to flounder in all. But I am possibly in error. It is the female swine, perhaps, that is profaned in the eyes of the Oriental tourist. Men find strange ways of marking their intolerance; and the spirit is certainly strong enough, in Mr. It would only be going the whole sow. Written to accompany an engraving from a painting by Thomas Creswick, bearing the same title.

They appeared in his Magazine in February , and were thus probably composed during the previous month. Hood died on the third of May. Graham was one of a group of distinguished aeronauts which included Monck Mason, Hollond, Green, and others. Graham had made a memorable ascent in his Balloon in He died in But we must all go and be Bankers — like Mr.

Marshes and Mr. He was an M. When Hood reprinted them, under his own name, in the first series of Whims and Oddities , he prefaced them with the following words:—. The lamented Emery, dressed as Tom Tug, sang it at his last mortal benefit at Covent Garden; and ever since it has been a great favorite with the watermen of Thames, who time their oars to it, as the wherrymen of Venice time theirs to the lines of Tasso. The Guards — not the mail coach, but the Lifeguards — picked it out from a fluttering hundred of others, all going to one air, against the dead wall at Knightsbridge.

Cheap printers of Shoe Lane and Cow Cross all pirates! Such is the lot of Literature! It is ablaze with wit and real imagination. Striding in the Steps of Strutt — The historian of the old English ports — the author of the following pages has endeavored to record a yearly revel, already fast hastening to decay. The Easter phase will soon be numbered with the pastimes of past times: its dogs will have had their day, and its Deer will be Fallow.

A few more seasons, and this City Common Hunt will become uncommon. In proof of this melancholy decadance, the ensuing epistle is inserted. It was penned by an underling at the Kells, a person more accustomed to riding than writing:—. In anser to your Innqueries, their as been a great falling off laterally, so muches this year that there was nobody allmost.

We did smear nothing provisionally, hardly a Bottle extra, wich is a proof in Pint. In short our Hunt may be said to be in the last Stag of a decline. It was while Hood was living at Winchmore Hill that he had the opportunity of noting the chief features of this once famous Civic Revel — the Easter Monday Hunt — even then in its decadence. Horace Smith, of the Rejected Addresses. Scott died in September, , in the interval between the writing and the publishing of the verses, for which Hood makes regretful apology in the Preface to the Comic Annual for , in which they appeared.

And contains twenty ducks, six drakes, three ganders, two dead dogs, four drowned kittens, and twelve geese. Only some horse, or pig, or cow, or great jackass, is sure to come and stand right before the wicket. After three defeats, the Bill was actually carried in , but was afterwards allowed to drop. The judge indicated was Mr. Cotton was Chaplain of Newgate. They might well be printed and circulated still in the service of the great cause of Early Closing.

This web edition published by eBooks Adelaide. Last updated Wednesday, December 17, at Biographical Introduction. Had he a sister, Had he a brother? Are there not some, though weak and low, To play a lullaby to woe? How pleasures pass, And leave thee now no subject, save The peace and bliss beyond the grave! Then be thy flight among the skies: Take, then, oh! The Departure of Summer. Shuddering Autumn stops to list, And breathes his fear in sudden sighs, With clouded face, and hazel eyes That quench themselves, and hide in mist.

Old Time hath laid them in the mould; Sure he is blind as well as old, Whose hand relentless never spares Young cheeks so beauty-bright as theirs! All the light of love is fled:— Alas! Delightful Summer! Spring at thy approach will sprout Her new Corinthian beauties out, Leaf-woven homes, where twitter-words Will grow to songs, and eggs to birds; Ambitious buds shall swell to flowers, And April smiles to sunny hours, Bright days shall be, and gentle nights Full of soft breath and echo-lights, As if the god of sun-time kept His eyes half-open while he slept.

But say, hath Winter then no charms? Is there no joy, no gladness warms His aged heart? What heeds he then the boisterous shout Of angry winds that scowl without, Like shrewish wives at tavern door? What heeds he then the wild uproar Of billows bursting on the shore? In dashing waves, in howling breeze, There is a music that can charm him; When safe, and sheltered, and at ease, He hears the storm that cannot harm him. But hark! They come! And Love, young Love, among the rest, A welcome — nor unbidden guest. But still for Summer dost thou grieve? Then read our Poets — they shall weave A garden of green fancies still, Where thy wish may rove at will.

The Sea of Death. A Fragment. And there were spring-faced cherubs that did sleep Like water-lilies on that motionless deep, How beautiful! To an Absentee. For now we sever each from each, I learned what I have lost in thee; Alas, that nothing else could teach How great indeed my love should be! Lycus the Centaur. From an Unrolled Manuscript of Apollonius Curius. The Argument. Then they ceased — I had heard as the voice of my star That told me the truth of my fortunes — thus far I had read of my sorrow, and lay in the hush Of deep meditation — when lo!

In what stream do her eyes Shed invisible tears? Who listens her grief Like a far fall of waters, or hears where her feet Grow emphatic among the loose pebbles, and beat Them together? So she fled with her voice, and I patiently nested My limbs in the reeds, in still quiet, and rested Till my thoughts grew extinct, and I sank in a sleep Of dreams — but their meaning was hidden too deep To be read what their woe was; — but still it was woe That was writ on all faces that swam to and fro In that river of night; — and the gaze of their eyes Was sad — and the bend of their brows — and their cries Were seen, but I heard not.

Then I said, in the fear of my dream, I will fly From this magic, but could not, because that my eye Grew love-idle among the rich blooms; and the earth Held me down with its coolness of touch, and the mirth Of some bird was above me — who, even in fear, Would startle the thrush? O mother of spite! Speak the last of that curse! Oh, how Could I walk with the youth once my fellows, but now Like Gods to my humbled estate? The Two Peacocks of Bedfont. That breathing Vanity should go Where Pride is buried — like its very ghost, Uprisen from the naked bones below, In novel flesh, clad in the silent boast Of gaudy silk that flutters to and fro, Shedding its chilling superstition most On young and ignorant natures — as it wont To haunt the peaceful churchyard of Bedfont!

She veils her tears under the deep, deep shade, While the poor kindly-hearted, as they pass, Bend to unclouded childhood, and caress Her boy — so rosy! And she, the lonely widow,. And she, the lonely widow, Thus, as good Christians ought, they all draw near The fair white temple, to the timely call Of pleasant bells that tremble in the ear.

And she, the lonely widow, Ah me! And she, the lonely widow, But swept their dwellings with unquiet light, Shocking the awful presence of the dead; Where gracious natures would their eyes benight, Nor wear their being with a lip too red, Nor move too rudely in the summer bright Of sun, but put staid sorrow in their tread, Meting it into steps, with inward breath, In very pity to bereaved death. Oh go, and drown your eyes against the sun, The visible ruler of the starry quire, Till boiling gold in giddy eddies run, Dazzling the brain with orbs of living fire; And the faint soul down-darkens into night, And dies a burning martyrdom to light.

And she, the lonely widow, The lowly grass! Fast-ebbing holiness! And she, the lonely widow, And lo! To feast on feathers, and on vain array. Age, with sapient nod Marking the spot, still tarries to declare How they once lived, and wherefore they are there. Hymn to the Sun. Giver of glowing light! Though but a god of other days, The kings and sages Of wiser ages Still live and gladden in thy genial rays!

God of the Delphic fame, No more thou listenest to hymns sublime; But they will leave On winds at eve, A solemn echo to the end of time. Unfathomable Night! His dusky wings, whence the cold waters sweep! How peacefully the living millions lie! To a Sleeping Child. As if its silent dream, serene and deep, Had lined its slumber with a still blue sky So that the passive cheeks unconscious lie With no more life than roses — just to keep The blushes warm, and the mild, odorous breath.

O blossom boy! How thou dost waken into smiles, and prove, If not more lovely thou art more like Love! Most delicate Ariel! O Saw ye not fair Ines? Were there no bonny dames at home, Or no true lovers here, That he should cross the seas to win The dearest of the dear? I saw thee, lovely Ines, Descend along the shore, With bands of noble gentlemen, And banners waved before; And gentle youth and maidens gay, And snowy plumes they wore; It would have been a beauteous dream, — If it had been no more!

To a False Friend. Our hands have met, but not our hearts; Our hands will never meet again. Friends, if we have ever been, Friends we cannot now remain: I only know I loved you once, I only know I loved in vain; Our hands have met, but not our hearts; Our hands will never meet again! Then farewell to heart and hand! I saw old Autumn in the misty morn Stand shadowless like Silence, listening To silence, for no lonely bird would sing Into his hollow ear from woods forlorn, Nor lowly hedge nor solitary thorn; Shaking his languid locks all dewy bright With tangled gossamer that fell by night, Pearling his coronet of golden corn.

Where are the songs of Summer? Where are the merry birds? Where are the blooms of Summer? To an Enthusiast. To a Cold Beauty. Lady, wouldst thou heiress be To Winters cold and cruel part? When the little buds unclose. Ah, sweet, thou little knowest how I wake and passionate watches keep; And yet while I address thee now, Methinks thou smilest in thy sleep. Sleep on, sleep on, sweet bride of sleep! Verses in an Album. So when I behold me In an orb as bright, How thy soul doth fold me In its throne of light!

Sorrow never paineth, Nor a care attaineth To that blessed height. The dead are in their silent graves, And the dew is cold above, And the living weep and sigh, Over dust that once was love. Once I only wept the dead, But now the living cause my pain: How couldst thou steal me from my tears, To leave me to my tears again? Last night unbound my raven locks, The morning saw them turned to gray, Once they were black and well beloved, But thou art changed — and so are they!

Wherever he may be, the stars Must daily lose their light; The moon will veil her in the shade; The sun will set at night. Birthday Verses. I love thee — I love thee! Is all that I can say. Is ever on my tongue; In all my proudest poesy That chorus still is sung; It is the verdict of my eyes, Amidst the gay and young: I love thee — I love thee! A thousand maids among. Thy bright hazel glance, The mellow lute upon those lips, Whose tender tones entrance; But most, dear heart of hearts, thy proofs That still these words enhance, I love thee — I love thee!

Whatever be thy chance. Dearest, let us reckon so, And love for all that long ago; Each absence count a year complete, And keep a birthday when we meet. False Poets and True. To Wordsworth. Look how the lark soars upward and is gone, Turning a spirit as he nears the sky! His voice is heard, but body there is none To fix the vague excursions of the eye. The Two Swans. A Fairy Tale.

No gallant knight, adventurous, in his bark, Will seek the fruitful perils of the place, To rouse with dipping oar the waters dark That bear that serpent image on their face. And Love, brave Love! And bright and silvery the willows sleep Over the shady verge — no mad winds tease Their hoary heads; but quietly they weep Their sprinkling leaves — half fountains and half trees: Their lilies be — and fairer than all these, A solitary Swan her breast of snow Launches against the wave that seems to freeze Into a chaste reflection, still below Twin shadow of herself wherever she may go.

And now she clasps her wings around her heart, And near that lonely isle begins to glide, Pale as her fears, and oft-times with a start Turns her impatient head from side to side In universal terrors — all too wide To watch; and often to that marble keep Upturns her pearly eyes, as if she spied Some foe, and crouches in the shadows steep That in the gloomy wave go diving fathoms deep. And well she may, to spy that fearful thing All down the dusky walls in circlets wound; Alas! And, lo! Oh, tuneful Swan! And while he listens, the mysterious song, Woven with timid particles of speech. Twines into passionate words that grieve along The melancholy notes, and softly teach The secrets of true love — that trembling reach His earnest ear, and through the shadows dun He missions like replies, and each to each Their silver voices mingle into one, Like blended streams that make one music as they run.

But nine times nine the serpent folds embrace The marble walls about — which he must tread Before his anxious foot may touch the base: Long in the dreary path, and must be sped! But Love, that holds the mastery of dread, Braces his spirit, and with constant toil He wins his way, and now, with arms outspread, Impatient plunges from the last long coil; So may all gentle Love ungentle Malice foil! His jaws, wide yawning like the gates of Death, Hiss horrible pursuit — his red eyes glare The waters into blood — his eager breath Grows hot upon their plumes:— now, minstrel fair!

She drops her ring into the waves, and there It widens all around, a fairy ring Wrought of the silver light — the fearful pair Swim in the very midst, and pant and cling The closer for their fears, and tremble wing to wing. Then came the Morn, and with her pearly showers Wept on them, like a mother, in whose eyes Tears are no grief; and from his rosy bowers The Oriental sun began to rise, Chasing the darksome shadows from the skies; Wherewith that sable Serpent far away Fled, like a part of night — delicious sighs From waking blossoms purified the day, And little birds were singing sweetly from each spray.

Ode on a Distant Prospect of Clapham Academy. Ah me! That classic house, those classic grounds My pensive thought recalls! What tender urchins now confine, What little captives now repine, Within yon irksome walls? I know Its ugly windows, ten a-row! Its chimneys in the rear! The weary tasks I used to con!

How many ushers now employs, How many maids to see the boys Have nothing in their heads! And Mrs. Who struts the Randall of the walk? Who models tiny heads in chalk? Who scoops the light canoe? What early genius buds apace? Hal Baylis? A foolish wish! O little fool! While thou canst be a horse at school, To wish to be a man!

And sleep on regal down! And dost thou think that years acquire New added joys? Dost think thy sire More happy than his son? Thy taws are brave! Our hearts are dough, our heels are lead, Our topmost joys fall dull and dead Like balls with no rebound! And often with a faded eye We look behind, and send a sigh Towards that merry ground!

Then be contented. The Water Lady. Alas, the moon should ever beam To show what man should never see! I staid awhile, to see her throw Her tresses black, that all beset The fair horizon of her brow With clouds of jet. I staid a little while to view Her cheek, that wore in place of red The bloom of water, tender blue, Daintily spread.

I staid to watch, a little space, Her parted lips if she would sing; The waters closed above her face With many a ring. And still I staid a little more, Alas! I throw my flowers from the shore, And watch in vain. I Remember, I Remember. I remember, I remember, The house where I was born, The little window where the sun Came peeping in at morn; He never came a wink too soon, Nor brought too long a day, But now, I often wish the night Had borne my breath away! I remember, I remember, The roses, red and white, The violets, and the lily-cups, Those flowers made of light!

I remember, I remember, Where I was used to swing, And thought the air must rush as fresh To swallows on the wing; My spirit flew in feathers then, That is so heavy now, And summer pools could hardly cool The fever on my brow! When do his fruits delay, when doth his corn Linger for harvesting? Before the leaf Is commonly abroad, in his piled sheaf The flagging poppies lose their ancient flame. No sweet there is, no pleasure I can name, But he will sip it first — before the lees. Ode to the Moon. Mother of light! How many antique fancies have I read Of that mild presence!

Wondrous and bright, Upon the silver light, Chasing fair figures with the artist, Thought! What art thou like? Why sighs? That fairies since have broke their gifted wands? Why should I grieve for this? Still shine, the soul of rivers as they run, Still lend thy lonely lamp to lovers fond, And blend their plighted shadows into one:— Still smile at even on the bedded child, And close his eyelids with thy silver wand! Written in a Volume of Shakspeare. How bravely Autumn paints upon the sky The gorgeous fame of Summer which is fled! A Retrospective Review.

Oh, when I was a tiny boy, My days and nights were full of joy, My mates were blithe and kind! A hoop was an eternal round Of pleasure. My kite — how fast and far it flew! Whilst I, a sort of Franklin, drew My pleasure from the sky! No skies so blue or so serene As then; — no leaves look half so green As clothed the playground tree!

All things I loved are altered so, Nor does it ease my heart to know That change resides in me! Oh for the riband round the neck! The careless dogs-ears apt to deck My book and collar both! How can this formal man be styled Merely an Alexandrine child, A boy of larger growth? Oh for that small, small beer anew! Oh for the lessons learned by heart! The Arabian Nights rehearsed in bed! The omne bene — Christmas come!

But now I write for days and days, For fame — a deal of empty praise, Without the silver pen! When that I was a tiny boy My days and nights were full of joy, My mates were blithe and kind! No wonder that I sometimes sigh, And dash the tear-drop from my eye, To cast a look behind! What else could peer thy glowing cheek, That tears began to stud? And oped it to the dainty core, Still glowing to the last. Time, Hope, and Memory. The Plea of the Midsummer Fairies.

And for my sylvan company, in lieu Of Pampinea with her lively peers, Sate Queen Titania with her pretty crew, All in their liveries quaint, with elfin gears, For she was gracious to my childish years, And made me free of her enchanted round; Wherefore this dreamy scene she still endears, And plants her court upon a verdant mound, Fenced with umbrageous woods and groves profound. Go some one forth, and with a trump convene My lieges all! And lo! Ah wretched me! Then what a fear seized all the little rout! Think but what vaunting monuments there be Builded in spite and mockery of thee.

We rouse at morn The shrill sweet lark; and when the day is done, Hush silent pauses for the bird forlorn, That singeth with her breast against a thorn. No wardens now by sedgy fountains dwell, Nor pearly Naiads. All their days are done That strove with Time, untimely, to excel; Wherefore I razed their progenies, and none But my great shadow intercepts the sun! Herewith the Fairy ceased. But I had clothed My delicate limbs with plumes, and still pursued, Where only foxes and wild cats intrude, Till we were come beside an ancient tree Late blasted by a storm. O hoary chief! Unclasp thy crooked fingers from my nape, And I will show thee many a pleasant scrape.

Here he lets go the struggling imp, to clutch. He drops his fatal scythe without a blow! His be perpetual glory, for the shame Of hoary Saturn in that grand defeat! I pray thee blind him with his own vile sand, Which only times all ruins by its drift, Or prune his eagle wings that are so swift. I am, my dear friend, yours most truly, T. Hero and Leander. It is my dear ambition now to climb Still higher in thy thought — if my bold pen May thrust on contemplations more sublime. Oh Bards of old! Was it that spectacles of sadder plights Should make our blisses relish the more high?

There stands Abydos! But parting renders time both sad and brief. For what rich merchant but will pause in fear, To trust his wealth to the unsafe abyss? So Hero dotes upon her treasure here, And sums the loss with many an anxious kiss, Whilst her fond eyes grow dizzy in her head, Fear aggravating fear with shows of dread. O for a type of parting! Now wouldst thou know the wideness of the wound? And for the agony and bosom-throe, Let it be measured by the wide vast air, For that is infinite, and so is woe, Since parted lovers breathe it everywhere.

Then sadly he confronts his twofold toil Against rude waves and an unwilling mind, Wishing, alas! And soon is gone — or nothing but a faint And failing image in the eye of thought, That mocks his model with an after-paint, And stains an atom like the shape she sought; Then with her earnest vows she hopes to fee The old and hoary majesty of sea.

And where he swam, the constant sun lies sleeping, Over the verdant plain that makes his bed; And all the noisy waves go freshly leaping. Like gamesome boys over the churchyard dead; The light in vain keeps looking for his face:— Now screaming sea-fowl settle in his place. Yet weep and watch for him, though all in vain!

Ye moaning billows, seek him as ye wander! Ye gazing sunbeams, look for him again! Ye winds, grow hoarse with asking for Leander! Ye did but spare him for more cruel rape, Sea-storm and ruin in a female shape! O bootless theft! She read his mortal stillness for content, Feeling no fear where only love was meant. But O sad marvel! O most bitter strange! What dismal magic makes his cheek so pale?

Too stern inscription for a page so young, The dark translation of his look was death! But death was written in an alien tongue, And learning was not by to give it breath; So one deep woe sleeps buried in its seal, Which Time, untimely, hasteth to reveal. I had such treasures once — now they are thine. I have lain hours, and fancied in its tone I heard the languages of ages gone! Surely he sleeps — so her false wits infer! With that she stoops above his brow, and bids Her busy hands forsake his tangled hair, And tenderly lift up those coffer-lids, That she may gaze upon the jewels there, Like babes that pluck an early bud apart, To know the dainty color of its heart.

O too dear knowledge! O pernicious earning! Why hast thou left thy havoc incomplete, Leaving me here, and slaying the more sweet? Would I had lent my doting sense to thee! But now I turn to thee, a willing mark, Thine arrows miss me in the aimless dark! Look, Idol! Now love is death — death will be love to me! Poor gilded Grief! Or else, thou maid! There, like a pearly waif, just past the reach Of foamy billows he lies cast. Just then, Some listless fishers, straying down the beach, Spy out this wonder. Thence the curious men, Low crouching, creep into a thicket brake, And watch her doings till their rude hearts ache.

And here a head, and there a brow half seen, Dodges behind a rock. Here on his hands A mariner his crumpled cheeks doth lean Over a rugged crest. The screaming fowl resigns her finny prey, And labors shoreward with a bending wing, Rowing against the wind her toilsome way; Meanwhile, the curling billows chafe, and fling Their dewy frost still further on the stones, That answer to the wind with hollow groans.

For that the horrid deep has no sure path To guide Love safe into his homely haven. And so day ended. And hark! Then from the giddy steep she madly springs, Grasping her maiden robes, that vainly kept Panting abroad, like unavailing wings, To save her from her death. June it was jolly, Oh for its folly! What can an old man do but die? In secret boughs no sweet birds sing, In secret boughs no bird can shroud; These are but leaves that take to wing, And wintry winds that pipe so loud. My speech is rude — but speech is weak Such love as mine to tell, Yet had I words, I dare not speak, So, Lady, fare thee well; I will not wish thy better state Was one of low degree, But I must weep that partial fate Made such a churl of me.

The ship that it hastens Thy ports will contain, But me! We never shall meet, love, Except in the skies! Welcome, dear Heart, and a most kind good-morrow; The day is gloomy, but our looks shall shine:— Flowers I have none to give thee, but I borrow Their sweetness in a verse to speak for thine.

Dost love sweet Hyacinth? And here are Sun-flowers, amorous of light! Ode to Melancholy. The world! Come let us sit and watch the sky, And fancy clouds, where no clouds be; Grief is enough to blot the eye, And make heaven black with misery. Why should birds sing such merry notes, Unless they were more blest than we? No sorrow ever chokes their throats, Except sweet nightingale; for she Was born to pain our hearts the more With her sad melody.

Why shines the Sun, except that he Makes gloomy nooks for Grief to hide, And pensive shades for Melancholy, When all the earth is bright beside? Let clay wear smiles, and green grass wave, Mirth shall not win us back again, Whilst man is made of his own grave, And fairest clouds but gilded rain! Why do buds ope except to die? Minutes, hours, days, and weeks, Months, years, and ages, shrink to nought; An age past is but a thought!

How cold the dead have made these stones, With natural drops kept ever wet! Blue eyes, red cheeks, are frailer yet; And sometimes at their swift decay Beforehand we must fret. The roses bud and bloom, again; But Love may haunt the grave of Love, And watch the mould in vain. The Moon! To My Wife. On Receiving a Gift. Look how the golden ocean shines above Its pebbly stones, and magnifies their girth; So does the bright and blessed light of Love Its own things glorify, and raise their worth.

Thus, sweet, thy gracious gifts are gifts of price, And more than gold to doting Avarice. The Dream of Eugene Aram. Of is it some historic page, Or kings and crowns unstable? And, long since then, of bloody men, Whose deeds tradition saves; Of lonely folk cut off unseen, And hid in sudden graves; Of horrid stabs, in groves forlorn, And murders done in caves;. For why? Methought, last night, I wrought A murder, in a dream! For every clot, a burning spot Was scorching in my brain! With gyves upon his wrist. For the 14TH Of February. No popular respect will I omit To do thee honor on this happy day, When every loyal lover tasks his wit His simple truth in studious rhymes to pay, And to his mistress dear his hopes convey.

The Death-bed. Her breathing soft and low, As in her breast the wave of life Kept heaving to and fro. For when the morn came dim and sad, And chill with early showers, Her quiet eyelids closed — she had Another morn than ours. The touch of tears Gushed down my cheeks:— the figured woes of years Casting their shadows across sunny hours.

All these were dear To heart and eye — but an invisible fear Shook in the trees and chilled upon the air, And if one spot was laughing brightest — there My soul most sank and darkened in despair! To a Child Embracing His Mother. Love thy mother, little one! Gaze upon her living eyes! Press her lips the while they glow! Oh, revere her raven hair! Although it be not silver-gray; Too early Death, led on by Care, May snatch save one dear lock away. Pray for her at eve and morn! Still glides the gentle streamlet on, With shifting current new and strange; The water that was here is gone, But those green shadows do not change.

Serene, or ruffled by the storm, On present waves as on the past, The mirrored grave retains its form, The self-same trees their semblance cast. The hue each fleeting globule wears, That drop bequeaths it to the next, One picture still the surface bears, To illustrate the murmured text. So, love, however time may flow, Fresh hours pursuing those that flee One constant image still shall show My tide of life is true to thee!

Sonnet to Ocean. Nay, dost thou not against my own dear shore Full break, last link between my land and me? To —— Composed at Rotterdam. Those sailors, how outlandish The face and form of each! And has the earth lost its so spacious round, The sky its blue circumference above, That in this little chamber there is found Both earth and heaven — my universe of love! All that my God can give me, or remove, Here sleeping, save myself, in mimic death. Sweet that in this small compass I behove To live their living and to breathe their breath!

Almost I wish that, with one common sigh, We might resign all mundane care and strife, And seek together that transcendent sky, Where Father, Mother, Children, Husband, Wife, Together pant in everlasting life! Is there a bitter pang for love removed, O God! In being wrung from a great happiness. Would I were laid Under the shade Of the cold tomb, and the long grass forever!

Ode to Rae Wilson, Esq. What else? I do not hash the Gospel in my books, And thus upon the public mind intrude it, As if I thought, like Otaheitan cooks, No food was fit to eat till I had chewed it. Mere verbiage — it is not worth a carrot! Spontaneously to God should tend the soul, Like the magnetic needle to the Pole; But what were that intrinsic virtue worth, Suppose some fellow, with more zeal than knowledge, Fresh from St.

I do confess that I abhor and shrink From schemes, with a religious willy-nilly, That frown upon St. Now loud as welcomes! In proof how over-righteousness re-acts, Accept an anecdote well based on facts. But being so particular religious, Why, that , you see, put master on his guard! Such, may it please you, is my humble faith; I know, full well, you do not like my works! Some minds improve by travel, others, rather, Resemble copper wire, or brass, Which gets the narrower by going farther! Worthless are all such Pilgrimages — very!

A sorry sight it is to rest the eye on, To see a Christian creature graze at Sion, Then homeward, of the saintly pasture full, Rush bellowing, and breathing fire and smoke, At crippled Papistry to butt and poke, Exactly as a skittish Scottish bull Hunts an old woman in a scarlet cloak! With such a bristling spirit wherefore quit The Land of Cakes for any land of wafers, About the graceless images to flit, And buzz and chafe importunate as chafers, Longing to carve the carvers to Scotch collops? Gifted with noble tendency to climb, Yet weak at the same time, Faith is a kind of parasitic plant, That grasps the nearest stem with tendril-rings; And as the climate and the soil may grant, So is the sort of tree to which it clings.

Consider then, before, like Hurlothrumbo You aim your club at any creed on earth, That, by the simple accident of birth, You might have been High Priest to Mumbo Jumbo. Mild light, and by degrees, should be the plan To cure the dark and erring mind; But who would rush at a benighted man, And give him two black eyes for being blind? Shun pride, O Rae! To picture that cold pride so harsh and hard, Fancy a peacock in a poultry yard.

I am that Saintly Fowl, thou paltry chick! Look at my crown of glory! Thou dingy, dirty, drabbled, draggled jill! That little simile exactly paints How sinners are despised by saints. By saints! The Saints! How strange it is while on all vital questions, That occupy the House and public mind, We always meet with some humane suggestions Of gentle measures of a healing kind, Instead of harsh severity and vigor, The Saint alone his preference retains For bills of penalties and pains, And marks his narrow code with legal rigor!

But possibly the men who make such fuss With Sunday pippins and old Trots infirm, Attach some other meaning to the term, As thus:. Dear Fanny! So mayst thou live, dear! Miss Kilmansegg and Her Precious Leg. Her Pedigree. To trace the Kilmansegg pedigree To the very root of the family tree Were a task as rash as ridiculous: Through antediluvian mists as thick As London fog such a line to pick Were enough, in truth, to puzzle old Nick, Not to name Sir Harris Nicolas. He gave, without any extra thrift, A flock of sheep for a birthday gift To each son of his loins, or daughter: And his debts — if debts he had — at will He liquidated by giving each bill A dip in Pactolian water.

He had gold to lay by, and gold to spend, Gold to give, and gold to lend, And reversions of gold in futuro. What different dooms our birthdays bring! For instance, one little manikin thing Survives to wear many a wrinkle; While Death forbids another to wake, And a son that it took nine moons to make Expires without even a twinkle! What different lots our stars accord! Not so with the infant Kilmansegg! Oh, happy Hope of the Kilmanseggs! Thrice happy in head, and body, and legs, That her parents had such full pockets!

And how was the precious baby drest? Her Christening. A name? As a Hogg, a Grubb, or a Chubb rejoice? Or any such nauseous blazon? Not to mention many a vulgar name, That would make a door-plate blush for shame, If door-plates were not so brazen! Now to christen the infant Kilmansegg, For days and days it was quite a plague, To hunt the list in the Lexicon: And scores were tried, like coin, by the ring, Ere names were found just the proper thing For a minor rich as a Mexican. The same auriferous shine behold Wherever the eye could settle! So fine! Meanwhile, the Vicar read through the form, And gave her another, not overwarm, That made her little eyes twinkle.

Oh, then the kisses she got and hugs! The golden mugs and the golden jugs That lent fresh rays to the midges! There was nothing but guineas glistening! The Clerk had ten, And that was the end of the Christening. Her Childhood. Our youth! When the rich are wealthy beyond their wealth, And the poor are rich in spirits and health, And all with their lots contented! Bon-bons she ate from the gilt cornet ; And gilded queens on St. Her Education. Dame Education begins the pile, Mayhap in the graceful Corinthian style, But alas for the elevation!

They praised — poor children with nothing at all! What sad little bad little figures you make To the rich Miss K. They praised her falls, as well as her walk, Flatterers make cream cheese of chalk, They praised — how they praised — her very small talk, As if it fell from the Solon; Or the girl who at each pretty phrase let drop A ruby comma, or pearl full-stop, Or an emerald semi-colon.

Novels she read to amuse her mind, But always the affluent match-making kind That ends with Promessi Sposi, And a father-in-law so wealthy and grand, He could give cheque-mate to Coutts in the Strand; So, along with a ring and posy, He endows the Bride with Golconda off hand, And gives the Groom Potosi.

What more? Her Accident. He snorted with pride and pleasure! A load of treasure? But the Groom has lost his glittering hat!

But still flies the Heiress through stones and dust, Oh, for a fall, if she must, On the gentle lap of Flora! But still, thank Heaven! Away she gallops! She has circled the Ring!

Similar authors to follow

The fields seem running away with the folks! The Elms are having a race for the Oaks At a pace that all Jockeys disparages! All, all is racing! On and on! The iron rails seem all mingling in one, To shut out the Green Park scenery! Throw and scatter her! Spill her! Smash her! Roll on her over and over! Dover Street, Bond Street, all are past! But — yes — no — yes! The Furies and Fates have found them! But what avails gold to Miss Kilmansegg, When the femoral bone of her dexter log Has met with a compound fracture?

Even thus with Miss K. Nor a leg of cork, if she never stood, And she swore an oath, or something as good, The proxy limb should be golden! A wooden leg! She could — she would have a Golden Leg, If it cost ten thousand guineas! Wood cut down Is vulgar — fibre and particle! And Cork! A Leg of Gold — solid gold throughout, Nothing else, whether slim or stout, Should ever support her, God willing! All other promised gifts were in vain. Etna presents us not merely with an image of the power of subterranean heat, but a record also of the vast period of time during which that power has been exerted.

A majestic mountain has been produced by volcanic action, yet the time of which the volcanic forms the register, however vast, is found by the geologist to be of inconsiderable amount, even in the modern annals of the earth's history. In like manner, the Falls of Niagara teach us not merely to appreciate the power of moving water, but furnish us at the same time with data for estimating the enormous lapse of ages during which that force has operated.

A deep and long ravine has been excavated, and the river has required ages to accomplish the task, yet the same region affords evidence that the sum of these ages is as nothing, and as the work of yesterday, when compared to the antecedent periods, of which there are monuments in the same district.

Every arsenate has its corresponding phosphate, composed according to the same proportions, combined with the same amount of water of crystallization, and endowed with the same physical properties: in fact, the two series of salts differ in no respect, except that the radical of the acid in one series in phosphorus, while in the other it is arsenic.

The experimental clue he used forming his law of isomerism. Partington, A History of Chemistry , Vol. Everything on this earth iz bought and sold, except air and water, and they would be if a kind Creator had not made the supply too grate for the demand. Evidence of this [transformation of animals into fossils] is that parts of aquatic animals and perhaps of naval gear are found in rock in hollows on mountains, which water no doubt deposited there enveloped in sticky mud, and which were prevented by coldness and dryness of the stone from petrifying completely.

Very striking evidence of this kind is found in the stones of Paris, in which one very often meets round shells the shape of the moon. Crombie, Augustine to Galileo , Vol. Examining this water I found floating therein divers earthy particles, and some green streaks, spirally wound serpent-wise Letter to the Royal Society, London 7 Sep In John Carey, Eyewitness to Science , Facts to [Herbert] Hoover's brain are as water to a sponge; they are absorbed into every tiny interstice.

African proverb. If a lion chases you to the bank of a river filled with crocodiles, you will leap into the water convinced you have a chance to swim to the other side. But you would not accept such odds if there were no lion. For I took an Earthen Vessel, in which I put pounds of Earth that had been dried in a Furnace, which I moystened with Rain-water, and I implanted therein the Trunk or Stem of a Willow Tree, weighing five pounds: and about three ounces: But I moystened the Earthen Vessel with Rain-water, or distilled water alwayes when there was need and it was large, and implanted into the Earth, and leaft of the Vessel, with an Iron-Plate covered with Tin, and easily passable with many holes.

I computed not the weight of the leaves that fell off in the four Autumnes. At length, I again dried the Earth of the Vessel, and there were found the same pounds, wanting about two ounces. Therefore pounds of Wood, Barks, and Roots, arose out of water onely. Oriatrike: Or, Physick Refined , trans.

For if there is any truth in the dynamical theory of gases the different molecules in a gas at uniform temperature are moving with very different velocities. Put such a gas into a vessel with two compartments [A and B] and make a small hole in the wall about the right size to let one molecule through. Provide a lid or stopper for this hole and appoint a doorkeeper, very intelligent and exceedingly quick, with microscopic eyes but still an essentially finite being.

Whenever he sees a molecule of great velocity coming against the door from A into B he is to let it through, but if the molecule happens to be going slow he is to keep the door shut. He is also to let slow molecules pass from B to A but not fast ones In this way the temperature of B may be raised and that of A lowered without any expenditure of work, but only by the intelligent action of a mere guiding agent like a pointsman on a railway with perfectly acting switches who should send the express along one line and the goods along another.

I do not see why even intelligence might not be dispensed with and the thing be made self-acting. Moral The 2nd law of Thermodynamics has the same degree of truth as the statement that if you throw a tumblerful of water into the sea you cannot get the same tumblerful of water out again.

Letter to John William Strutt 6 Dec For many of us, water simply flows from a faucet, and we think little about it beyond this point of contact. We have lost a sense of respect for the wild river, for the complex workings of a wetland, for the intricate web of life that water supports. For, as the element of water lies in the middle of the globe, so, the branches run out from the root in its circuit on all sides towards the plains and towards the light. From this root very many branches are born.

One branch is the Rhine, another the Danube, another the Nile, etc. Waite , Vol. Fractal geometry will make you see everything differently. There is a danger in reading further. You risk the loss of your childhood vision of clouds, forests, flowers, galaxies, leaves, feathers, rocks, mountains, torrents of water, carpet, bricks, and much else besides. Never again will your interpretation of these things be quite the same. From a drop of water a logician could predict an Atlantic or a Niagara without having seen or heard of one or the other. So all life is a great chain, the nature of which is known whenever we are shown a single link of it.

From birth, man carries the weight of gravity on his shoulders. He is bolted to earth. But man has only to sink beneath the surface and he is free. From common salt are obtained chemically as primary derivatives chlorine—both a war gas and a means of purifying water; and 'caustic soda. Thus, from a healthful, preservative condiment come things useful and hurtful—according to the intent or purpose. From packaging materials, through fibers, foams and surface coatings, to continuous extrusions and large-scale moldings, plastics have transformed almost every aspect of life.

Without them, much of modern medicine would be impossible and the consumer electronics and computer industries would disappear. Plastic sewage and water pipes alone have made an immeasurable contribution to public health worldwide. In Paul C. Painter and Michael M. Coleman, Essentials of Polymer Science and Engineering , From the intensity of the spots near the centre, we can infer that the protein molecules are relatively dense globular bodies, perhaps joined together by valency bridges, but in any event separated by relatively large spaces which contain water.

From the intensity of the more distant spots, it can be inferred that the arrangement of atoms inside the protein molecule is also of a perfectly definite kind, although without the periodicities characterising the fibrous proteins. The observations are compatible with oblate spheroidal molecules of diameters about 25 A. At this stage, such ideas are merely speculative, but now that a crystalline protein has been made to give X-ray photographs, it is clear that we have the means of checking them and, by examining the structure of all crystalline proteins, arriving at a far more detailed conclusion about protein structure than previous physical or chemical methods have been able to give.

Gentlemen and ladies, this is ordinary alcohol, sometimes called ethanol; it is found in all fermented beverages. As you well know, it is considered by many to be poisonous, a belief in which I do not concur. If we subtract from it one CH 2 -group we arrive at this colorless liquid, which you see in this bottle.

It is sometimes called methanol or wood alcohol. It is certainly more toxic than the ethanol we have just seen. Its formula is CH 3 OH. If, from this, we subtract the CH 2 -group, we arrive at a third colorless liquid, the final member of this homologous series. This compound is hydrogen hydroxide, best known as water. It is the most poisonous of all. Arizona is mining groundwater. He who knows what sweets and virtues are in the ground, the waters, the plants, the heavens, and how to come at these enchantments, is the rich and royal man. From 'Nature', collected in Essays, Second Series , Heat energy of uniform temperature [is] the ultimate fate of all energy.

The power of sunlight and coal, electric power, water power, winds and tides do the work of the world, and in the end all unite to hasten the merry molecular dance. Heat may be considered, either in respect of its quantity, or of its intensity. Thus two lbs. Here is no water but only rocks Rocks and no water and the sandy road. Hieron asked Archimedes to discover, without damaging it, whether a certain crown or wreath was made of pure gold, or if the goldsmith had fraudulently alloyed it with some baser metal.

While Archimedes was turning the problem over in his mind, he chanced to be in the bath house. There, as he was sitting in the bath, he noticed that the amount of water that was flowing over the top of it was equal in volume to that part of his body that was immersed. He saw at once a way of solving the problem. He did not delay, but in his joy leaped out of the bath.

Rushing naked through the streets towards his home, he cried out in a loud voice that he had found what he sought. His Majesty has, with great skill, constructed a cart, containing a corn mill, which is worked by the motion of the carriage. He has also contrived a carriage of such a magnitude as to contain several apartments, with a hot bath; and it is drawn by a single elephant. This movable bath is extremely useful, and refreshing on a journey. He has also invented several hydraulic machines, which are worked by oxen.

The pulleys and wheels of some of them are so adjusted that a single ox will at once draw water out of two wells, and at the same time turn a millstone. From Ain-i-Akbery c. Note: Akbar Akber was a great ruler and enlightened statesman. How did I discover saccharin? Well, it was partly by accident and partly by study. I had worked a long time on the compound radicals and substitution products of coal tar One evening I was so interested in my laboratory that I forgot about my supper till quite late, and then rushed off for a meal without stopping to wash my hands.

I sat down, broke a piece of bread, and put it to my lips. It tasted unspeakably sweet. I did not ask why it was so, probably because I thought it was some cake or sweetmeat. I rinsed my mouth with water, and dried my moustache with my napkin, when, to my surprise the napkin tasted sweeter than the bread.

Then I was puzzled. I again raised my goblet, and, as fortune would have it, applied my mouth where my fingers had touched it before. The water seemed syrup. It flashed on me that I was the cause of the singular universal sweetness, and I accordingly tasted the end of my thumb, and found it surpassed any confectionery I had ever eaten. I saw the whole thing at once.

I had discovered some coal tar substance which out-sugared sugar. I dropped my dinner, and ran back to the laboratory. There, in my excitement, I tasted the contents of every beaker and evaporating dish on the table. Interview with American Analyst. How many wells of science there are in whose depths there is nothing but clear water! In Bluettes et Boutardes. Translated in Conceits and Caprices , How mysterious this life was, how deep and muddy its waters ran, yet how clear and noble what emerged from them.

Narcissus and Goldmund. Quoted in Kim Lim ed. However much we may enlarge our ideas of the time which has elapsed since the Niagara first began to drain the waters of the upper lakes, we have seen that this period was one only of a series, all belonging to the present zoological epoch; or that in which the living testaceous fauna, whether freshwater or marine, had already come into being.

If such events can take place while the zoology of the earth remains almost stationary and unaltered, what ages may not be comprehended in those successive tertiary periods during which the Flora and Fauna of the globe have been almost entirely changed. Yet how subordinate a place in the long calendar of geological chronology do the successive tertiary periods themselves occupy! How much more enormous a duration must we assign to many antecedent revolutions of the earth and its inhabitants!

No analogy can be found in the natural world to the immense scale of these divisions of past time, unless we contemplate the celestial spaces which have been measured by the astronomer. I am concerned about the air we breathe and the water we drink. If overfishing continues, if pollution continues, many of these species will disappear off the face of the earth. I am the daughter of earth and water, And the nursling of the sky; I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores; I change, but I cannot die. For after the rain when with never a stain, The pavilion of Heaven is bare, And the winds and sunbeams with their convex gleams, Build up the blue dome of air, I silently laugh at my own cenotaph, And out of the caverns of rain, Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb, I arise and unbuild it again.

I call this Spirit, unknown hitherto, by the new name of Gas, which can neither be constrained by Vessels, nor reduced into a visible body, unless the feed being first extinguished. But Bodies do contain this Spirit, and do sometimes wholly depart into such a Spirit, not indeed, because it is actually in those very bodies for truly it could not be detained, yea the whole composed body should I lie away at once but it is a Spirit grown together, coagulated after the manner of a body, and is stirred up by an attained ferment, as in Wine, the juyce of unripe Grapes, bread, hydromel or water and Honey.

John Chandler , I continued to do arithmetic with my father, passing proudly through fractions to decimals. I eventually arrived at the point where so many cows ate so much grass, and tanks filled with water in so many hours I found it quite enthralling. I did not expect to find the electric cable in its primitive state, such as it was on leaving the manufactory.

The long serpent, covered with the remains of shells, bristling with foraminiferae, was encrusted with a strong coating which served as a protection against all boring mollusks. It lay quietly sheltered from the motions of the sea, and under a favorable pressure for the transmission of the electric spark which passes from Europe to America in. Doubtless this cable will last for a great length of time, for they find that the gutta-percha covering is improved by the sea water. I do not find that any one has doubted that there are four elements.

The highest of these is supposed to be fire, and hence proceed the eyes of so many glittering stars. The next is that spirit, which both the Greeks and ourselves call by the same name, air. It is by the force of this vital principle, pervading all things and mingling with all, that the earth, together with the fourth element, water, is balanced in the middle of space. Letter 10 Mar to his father on the day his first words were sent by wire to Mr. As quoted in Robert V.

I had at one time a very bad fever of which I almost died. In my fever I had a long consistent delirium. I dreamt that I was in Hell, and that Hell is a place full of all those happenings that are improbable but not impossible. The effects of this are curious. Some of the damned, when they first arrive below, imagine that they will beguile the tedium of eternity by games of cards. But they find this impossible, because, whenever a pack is shuffled, it comes out in perfect order, beginning with the Ace of Spades and ending with the King of Hearts.

There is a special department of Hell for students of probability. In this department there are many typewriters and many monkeys. Every time that a monkey walks on a typewriter, it types by chance one of Shakespeare's sonnets. There is another place of torment for physicists. In this there are kettles and fires, but when the kettles are put on the fires, the water in them freezes. There are also stuffy rooms. But experience has taught the physicists never to open a window because, when they do, all the air rushes out and leaves the room a vacuum.

I had gone on a walk on a fine Sabbath afternoon. I was thinking upon the engine at the time, and had gone as far as the herd's house, when the idea came into my mind that as steam was an elastic body it would rush into a vacuum, and if a communication were made between the cylinder and an exhausted vessel it would rush into it, and might be there condensed without cooling the cylinder. I then saw that I must get rid of the condensed steam and injection water if I used a jet, as in Newcomen's engine. Two ways of doing this occurred to me. First, the water might be run off by a descending pipe, if an outlet could be got at the depth of 35 or 36 feet, and any air might be extracted by a small pump.

The second was to make the pump large enough to extract both water and air. I had not walked further than the Golf-house when the whole thing was arranged in my mind. Note that these are not the verbatim words of James Watt, but are only a recollection of them by Robert Hart, who is quoting as best he can from memory of a conversation he and his brother had with James Watt that took place over 43 years previously.

I had this experience at the age of eight. My parents gave me a microscope. I then found my own little world, completely wild and unconstrained, no plastic, no teacher, no books, no anything predictable. At first I did not know the names of the water-drop denizens or what they were doing. But neither did the pioneer microscopists.

Like them, I graduated to looking at butterfly scales and other miscellaneous objects. I never thought of what I was doing in such a way, but it was pure science. I have divers times endeavoured to see and to know, what parts the Blood consists of; and at length I have observ'd, taking some Blood out of my own hand, that it consists of small round globuls driven through a Crystalline humidity or water. Translated from the original Dutch, and published in 'More Microscopical Observations made by the same M.

I have sat by night beside a cold lake And touched things smoother than moonlight on still water, But the moon on this cloud sea is not human, And here is no shore, no intimacy, Only the start of space, the road to suns. I have satisfied myself that the [cosmic] rays are not generated by the formation of new matter in space, a process which would be like water running up a hill.

Nor do they come to any appreciable amount from the stars. According to my investigations the sun emits a radiation of such penetrative power that it is virtually impossible to absorb it in lead or other substances. This ray, which I call the primary solar ray, gives rise to a secondary radiation by impact against the cosmic dust scattered through space. It is the secondary radiation which now is commonly called the cosmic ray, and comes, of course, equally from all directions in space.

If radium could be screened effectively against this ray it would cease to be radioactive, he said. I now saw very distinctly that these were little eels or worms Lying huddled together and wriggling, just as if you saw with your naked eye a whole tubful of very little eels and water, the eels moving about in swarms; and the whole water seemed to be alive with the multitudinous animalcules. For me this was among all the marvels that I have discovered in nature the most marvellous of all, and I must say that, for my part, no more pleasant sight has yet met my eye than this of so many thousands of living creatures in one small drop of water, all huddling and moving, but each creature having its own motion.

Letter to H. Oldenburg, 9 Oct I was at once inflamed with a great desire to make for myself a thermometer of the same sort, so that I might with my own eyes perceive this beautiful phenomenon of nature. From 'Experimenta circa gradum caloris liquorum nonnullorum ebullientium instituta', Philosophical Transactions , 33 , 1, as translated in William Francis Magie, A Source Book in Physics , I shall conclude, for the time being, by saying that until Philosophers make observations especially of mountains that are longer, more attentive, orderly, and interconnected, and while they fail to recognize the two great agents, fire and water, in their distinct affects, they will not be able to understand the causes of the great natural variety in the disposition, structure, and other matter that can be observed in the terrestrial globe in a manner that truly corresponds to the facts and to the phenomena of Nature.

Ezio Vaccari.

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I shall never forget the sight. It was the most remarkable sight I ever saw, and remarkable not so much for its profoundly melancholy nature. But do not think the less of them. Precisely because they do, because they try as hard as they can, they are worthy of all respect. It is probable that dotted through the cosmos there are other suns which provide the energy for life to attendant planets.

It is apparent, however, that planets with just the right conditions of temperature, oxygen, water and atmosphere necessary for life are found rarely. But uncommon as a habitable planet may be, non-terrestrial life exists, has existed and will continue to exist. In the absence of information, we can only surmise that the chance that it surpasses our own is as good as that it falls below our level.

As quoted by H. I think the real miracle is not to walk either on water or in thin air, but to walk on earth. I took a glass retort, capable of containing eight ounces of water, and distilled fuming spirit of nitre according to the usual method. In the beginning the acid passed over red, then it became colourless, and lastly again all red: no sooner did this happen, than I took away the receiver; and tied to the mouth of the retort a bladder emptied of air, which I had moistened in its inside with milk of lime lac calcis , i.

Then I continued the distillation, and the bladder gradually expanded. Here-upon I left every thing to cool, tied up the bladder, and took it off from the mouth of the retort. I mixed one part of this air with three parts of air, wherein fire would not burn; and this mixture afforded air, in every respect familiar to the common sort.

Since this air is absolutely necessary for the generation of fire, and makes about one-third of our common air, I shall henceforth, for shortness sake call it empyreal air , [literally fire-air ] the air which is unserviceable for the fiery phenomenon, and which makes abut two-thirds of common air, I shall for the future call foul air [literally corrupted air ].

Forster, Stevenson ed. I venture to maintain, that, if the general culture obtained in the Faculty of Arts were what it ought to be, the student would have quite as much knowledge of the fundamental principles of Physics, of Chemistry, and of Biology, as he needs, before he commenced his special medical studies. Moreover, I would urge, that a thorough study of Human Physiology is, in itself, an education broader and more comprehensive than much that passes under that name.

There is no side of the intellect which it does not call into play, no region of human knowledge into which either its roots, or its branches, do not extend; like the Atlantic between the Old and the New Worlds, its waves wash the shores of the two worlds of matter and of mind; its tributary streams flow from both; through its waters, as yet unfurrowed by the keel of any Columbus, lies the road, if such there be, from the one to the other; far away from that Northwest Passage of mere speculation, in which so many brave souls have been hopelessly frozen up.

In Collected Essays , Vol. I want to get out in the water. I want to see fish, real fish, not fish in a laboratory. Electrolytes must consist of two parts which during the electrolization , are determined the one in the one direction, and the other towards the poles where they are evolved; these evolved substances I call zetodes , which are therefore the direct constituents of electrolites. Letter to William Whewell 24 Apr In Frank A. James ed. Ideas are like stars: You will not succeed in touching them with your hands, but like the seafaring man on the ocean desert of waters, you choose them as your guides, and following them, you reach your destiny.

If it was the warmth of the sun, and not its light, that produced this operation, it would follow, that, by warming the water near the fire about as much as it would have been in the sun, this very air would be produced; but this is far from being the case. In Tobias George Smollett ed. The greatest Remedy for it is to throw the Patient unwarily into the Sea, and to keep him under Water as long as he can possibly bear without being quite stifled.

Aphorism No. We should remember that when we hear this again, because you will hear it again. If this fire determined by the sun, be received on the blackest known bodies, its heat will be long retain'd therein; and hence such bodies are the soonest and the strongest heated by the flame fire, as also the quickest dried, after having been moisten'd with water; and it may be added, that they also burn by much the readiest: all which points are confirm'd by daily observations. Let a piece of cloth be hung in the air, open to the sun, one part of it dyed black, another part of a white colour, others of scarlet, and diverse other colours; the black part will always be found to heat the most, and the quickest of all; and the others will each be found to heat more slowly, by how much they reflect the rays more strongly to the eye; thus the white will warm the slowest of them all, and next to that the red, and so of the rest in proportion, as their colour is brighter or weaker.

If we make a couple of discoveries here and there we need not believe things will go like this for ever. An acrobat can leap higher than a farm-hand, and one acrobat higher than another, yet the height no man can overleap is still very low. Just as we hit water when we dig in the earth, so we discover the incomprehensible sooner or later. Every tree, every plant, every leaf, serves not only as an habitation, but as a world to some numerous race, till animal existence becomes so exceedingly refined, that the effluvia of a blade of grass would be food for thousands.

If [science] tends to thicken the crust of ice on which, as it were, we are skating, it is all right. If it tries to find, or professes to have found, the solid ground at the bottom of the water it is all wrong. Our business is with the thickening of this crust by extending our knowledge downward from above, as ice gets thicker while the frost lasts; we should not try to freeze upwards from the bottom. Samuel Bulter, Henry Festing Jones ed. If, then, the motion of every particle of matter in the universe were precisely reversed at any instant, the course of nature would be simply reversed for ever after.

The bursting bubble of foam at the foot of a waterfall would reunite and descend into the water; the thermal motions would reconcentrate their energy, and throw the mass up the fall in drops re-forming into a close column of ascending water. Heat which had been generated by the friction of solids and dissipated by conduction, and radiation, and radiation with absorption, would come again to the place of contact, and throw the moving body back against the force to which it had previously yielded.

Boulders would recover from the mud materials required to rebuild them into their previous jagged forms, and would become reunited to the mountain peak from which they had formerly broken away. And if also the materialistic hypothesis of life were true, living creatures would grow backwards, with conscious knowledge of the future but no memory of the past, and would become again unborn. In a great number of the cosmogonic myths the world is said to have developed from a great water, which was the prime matter.

In many cases, as for instance in an Indian myth, this prime matter is indicated as a solution, out of which the solid earth crystallized out.

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In a manner of speaking, I can no longer hold my chemical water. I must tell you that I can make urea without the use of kidneys of any animal, be it man or dog. Ammonium cyanate is urea. Letter from Wohler to Berzelius 22 Feb Wallach ed.

Berzelius und F. Wohler , Vol. In addition, the oil royalties the Federal Government does not collect from big oil will starve the Land and Water Conservation Fund of critical financial resources. In deriving a body from the water type I intend to express that to this body, considered as an oxide, there corresponds a chloride, a bromide, a sulphide, a nitride, etc.

The type is thus the unit of comparison for all the bodies which, like it, are susceptible of similar changes or result from similar changes. Partington, A History of Chemistry , , Vol. In fact, almost everything in this isle [Ireland] confers immunity to poison, and I have seen that folk suffering from snake-bite have drunk water in which scrapings from the leaves of books from Ireland had been steeped, and that this remedy checked the spreading poison and reduced the swelling.

In fact, the thickness of the Earth's atmosphere, compared with the size of the Earth, is in about the same ratio as the thickness of a coat of shellac on a schoolroom globe is to the diameter of the globe. That's the air that nurtures us and almost all other life on Earth, that protects us from deadly ultraviolet light from the sun, that through the greenhouse effect brings the surface temperature above the freezing point. Without the greenhouse effect, the entire Earth would plunge below the freezing point of water and we'd all be dead.

Now that atmosphere, so thin and fragile, is under assault by our technology. We are pumping all kinds of stuff into it. You know about the concern that chlorofluorocarbons are depleting the ozone layer; and that carbon dioxide and methane and other greenhouse gases are producing global warming, a steady trend amidst fluctuations produced by volcanic eruptions and other sources. Who knows what other challenges we are posing to this vulnerable layer of air that we haven't been wise enough to foresee?

In India we have clear evidence that administrative statistics had reached a high state of organization before B. In my understanding of God I start with certain firm beliefs. One is that the laws of nature are not broken. We do not, of course, know all these laws yet, but I believe that such laws exist. I do not, therefore, believe in the literal truth of some miracles which are featured in the Christian Scriptures, such as the Virgin Birth or water into wine.

God works, I believe, within natural laws, and, according to natural laws, these things happen. His correct eye and steady hand contributed to the one; his admirable precautions, foreseeing and providing for every emergency, secured the other. While he poured he would mention this adaptation of the height to the diameter as a necessary condition of success. I have seen him mix two substances in a receiver into which a gas, as chlorine, had been introduced, the effect of the combustion being perhaps to produce a compound inflammable in its nascent state, and the mixture being effected by drawing some string or wire working through the receiver's sides in an air-tight socket.

The long table on which the different processes had been carried on was as clean at the end of the lecture as it had been before the apparatus was planted upon it. Not a drop of liquid, not a grain of dust remained. In rivers, the water that you touch is the last of what has passed and the first of that which comes; so with present time. In shades of black and blue the skies do bow as darkness falls the lights go out.

Nature softly immersed in glee as all mankind drifts off to sleep. Water breathes a sigh of relief now aquatic creatures can do as they please. Animals whether large or small regain the natural instincts that man has fought. Midnight calms the wounds of the world the break of dawn disperses new hope In so far as such developments utilise the natural energy running to waste, as in water power, they may be accounted as pure gain. But in so far as they consume the fuel resources of the globe they are very different. The one is like spending the interest on a legacy, and the other is like spending the legacy itself.

In structure these little animals were fashioned like a bell, and at the round opening they made such a stir, that the particles in the water thereabout were set in motion thereby. And though I must have seen quite 20 of these little animals on their long tails alongside one another very gently moving, with outstretcht bodies and straitened-out tails; yet in an instant, as it were, they pulled their bodies and their tails together, and no sooner had they contracted their bodies and tails, than they began to stick their tails out again very leisurely, and stayed thus some time continuing their gentle motion: which sight I found mightily diverting.

Letter to the Royal Society, London 25 Dec In Clifford Dobell ed. In the beginning God created the heaven and earth. And the earth was waste and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep: and the spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters. God made the vault, and it divided the waters above the vault from the waters under the vault. Printed for the Universities of Oxford and Cambridge , 1. In the beginning was the book of Nature.

For eon after eon, the pages of the book turned with no human to read them. No eye wondered at the ignition of the sun, the coagulation of the earth, the birth of the moon, the solidification of a terrestrial continent, or the filling of the seas. Opening paragraph in Gary G. In the bleak midwinter Frosty wind made moan, Earth stood hard as iron, Water like a stone; Snow had fallen, snow on snow, Snow on snow, In the bleak midwinter, Long ago.

In the mountains of Parma and Piacenza, multitudes of shells and corals filled with worm-holes may be seen still adhering to the rocks, and when I was making the great horse at Milan a large sack of those which had been found in these parts was brought to my workshop by some peasants The red stone of the mountains of Verona is found with shells all intermingled, which have become part of this stone And if you should say that these shells have been and still constantly are being created in such places as these by the nature of the locality or by potency of the heavens in these spots, such an opinion cannot exist in brains possessed of any extensive powers of reasoning because the years of their growth are numbered upon the outer coverings of their shells; and both small and large ones may be seen; and these would not have grown without feeding, or fed without movement, and here [embedded in rock] they would not have been able to move The peaks of the Apennines once stood up in a sea, in the form of islands surrounded by salt water MacCurdy , Vol.

In the republic of scholarship everybody wants to rule, there are no aldermen there, and that is a bad thing: every general must, so to speak, draw up the plan, stand sentry, sweep out the guardroom and fetch the water; no one wants to work for the good of another. Aphorism 80 in Notebook D , as translated by R. Hollingdale in Aphorisms Reprinted as The Waste Books , In the year , the solar water heater behind me, which is being dedicated today, will still be here supplying cheap, efficient energy.

A generation from now, this solar heater can either be a curiosity, a museum piece, an example of a road not taken, or it can be just a small part of one of the greatest and most exciting adventures ever undertaken by the American people: harnessing the power of the Sun to enrich our lives as we move away from our crippling dependence on foreign oil. The road was not taken, nationally, in the eight years of his presidency.

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Several of the panels are, indeed, now in museums. Most were bought as government surplus and put to good use on a college roof. In using the present in order to reveal the past, we assume that the forces in the world are essentially the same through all time; for these forces are based on the very nature of matter, and could not have changed.

The ocean has always had its waves, and those waves have always acted in the same manner. Running water on the land has ever had the same power of wear and transportation and mathematical value to its force. The laws of chemistry, heat, electricity, and mechanics have been the same through time. The plan of living structures has been fundamentally one, for the whole series belongs to one system, as much almost as the parts of an animal to the one body; and the relations of life to light and heat, and to the atmosphere, have ever been the same as now.

In war, science has proven itself an evil genius; it has made war more terrible than it ever was before. Science has taught him to go down into the water and shoot up from below and to go up into the clouds and shoot down from above, thus making the battlefield three times as bloody as it was before; but science does not teach brotherly love. Science has made war so hellish that civilization was about to commit suicide; and now we are told that newly discovered instruments of destruction will make the cruelties of the late war seem trivial in comparison with the cruelties of wars that may come in the future.

This speech was prepared for delivery at the trial, but was never heard there, as both sides mutually agreed to forego arguments to the jury. Incandescent carbon particles, by the tens of millions, leap free of the log and wave like banners, as flame. Several hundred significantly different chemical reactions are now going on. For example, a carbon atom and four hydrogen atoms, coming out of the breaking cellulose, may lock together and form methane, natural gas. The methane, burning combining with oxygen , turns into carbon dioxide and water, which also go up the flue. If two carbon atoms happen to come out of the wood with six hydrogen atoms, they are, agglomerately, ethane, which bums to become, also, carbon dioxide and water.

Three carbons and eight hydrogens form propane, and propane is there, too, in the fire. All these compounds come away in the breaking of the cellulose molecule, and burn, and go up the chimney as carbon dioxide and water. Pentane, hexane, heptane, and octane have a collective name. Logs burning in a fireplace are making and burning gasoline. But now physics was faced with an entirely new situation. The same entity, light, was at once a wave and a particle. How could one possibly imagine its proper size and shape? To produce interference it must be spread out, but to bounce off electrons it must be minutely localized.

This was a fundamental dilemma, and the stalemate in the wave-photon battle meant that it must remain an enigma to trouble the soul of every true physicist. It was intolerable that light should be two such contradictory things. It was against all the ideals and traditions of science to harbor such an unresolved dualism gnawing at its vital parts. Yet the evidence on either side could not be denied, and much water was to flow beneath the bridges before a way out of the quandary was to be found. The way out came as a result of a brilliant counterattack initiated by the wave theory, but to tell of this now would spoil the whole story.

It is well that the reader should appreciate through personal experience the agony of the physicists of the period. They could but make the best of it, and went around with woebegone faces sadly complaining that on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays they must look on light as a wave; on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays, as a particle. On Sundays they simply prayed. It is a happy world after all. The air, the earth, the water teem with delighted existence. In a spring noon, or a summer evening, on whichever side I turn my eyes, myriads of happy beings crowd upon my view. It is as if Cleopatra fell off her barge in 40 BC and hasn't hit the water yet.

It is fashionable nowadays to talk about the endless riches of the sea. Away from earth it is usually a gas. It is in the nature of water Congelatione et Conglutinatione Lapidium , trans. Hohnyard and D. Mandeville , It is only those who know a little of nature, who fancy they know much.

I have heard a young man say, after hearing a few popular chemical lectures, and seeing a few bottle and squirt experiments: Oh, water—water is only oxygen and hydrogen! While the true chemist would smile sadly enough at the the youth's hasty conceit, and say in his heart: 'Well, he is a lucky fellow. The Works of Charles Kingsley , It is said that the composing of the Lilavati was occasioned by the following circumstance.

The father ascertained a lucky hour for contracting her in marriage, that she might be firmly connected and have children. It is said that when that hour approached, he brought his daughter and his intended son near him. He left the hour cup on the vessel of water and kept in attendance a time-knowing astrologer, in order that when the cup should subside in the water, those two precious jewels should be united. But, as the intended arrangement was not according to destiny, it happened that the girl, from a curiosity natural to children, looked into the cup, to observe the water coming in at the hole, when by chance a pearl separated from her bridal dress, fell into the cup, and, rolling down to the hole, stopped the influx of water.

So the astrologer waited in expectation of the promised hour. When the operation of the cup had thus been delayed beyond all moderate time, the father was in consternation, and examining, he found that a small pearl had stopped the course of the water, and that the long-expected hour was passed. It is scientists, not sceptics, who are most willing to consider explanations that conflict with their own. By contrast, the [sceptics] are not trying to build a theory of anything.

They have set the bar much lower, and are happy muddying the waters. It is sunlight in modified form which turns all the windmills and water wheels and the machinery which they drive. It is the energy derived from coal and petroleum fossil sunlight which propels our steam and gas engines, our locomotives and automobiles.

Food is simply sunlight in cold storage. It is supposed that the ancients were ignorant of the law in hydraulics, by which water, in a tube, will rise as high as the fountain-head; and hence they carried their stupendous aqueducts horizontally, from hill-top to hill-top, upon lofty arches, with an incredible expenditure of labor and money. The knowledge of a single law, now familiar to every well-instructed school-boy,— namely, that water seeks a level, and, if not obstructed, will find it,—enables the poorest man of the present day to do what once demanded the wealth of an empire.

The beautiful fragments of the ancient Roman aqueducts, which have survived the ravage of centuries, are often cited to attest the grandeur and power of their builders. To me, they are monuments, not of their power, but of their weakness. It is the destiny of the sciences, which must necessarily be in the hands of a few, that the utility of their progress should be invisible to the greater part of mankind, especially if those sciences are associated with unobtrusive pursuits. The workmen have had their labors lightened, but they themselves have not the least idea of the skill of the geometer who directed them; they have been put in motion nearly as the body is by a soul of which it knows nothing; the rest of the world has even less perception of the genius which presided over the enterprise, and enjoys the success it has attained only with a species of ingratitude.

Webmaster has not yet been able to locate a primary source for this quote. It is the triumph of civilization that at last communities have obtained such a mastery over natural laws that they drive and control them. The winds, the water, electricity, all aliens that in their wild form were dangerous, are now controlled by human will, and are made useful servants.

It is usually not recognized that for every injurious or parasitic microbe there are dozens of beneficial ones. Without the latter, there would be no bread to eat nor wine to drink, no fertile soils and no potable waters, no clothing and no sanitation. One can visualize no form of higher life without the existence of the microbes.

They are the universal scavengers. They keep in constant circulation the chemical elements which are so essential to the continuation of plant and animal life. As quoted, citing only the author, in 'New Publications: Dr. It may seem rash indeed to draw conclusions valid for the whole universe from what we can see from the small corner to which we are confined. Who knows that the whole visible universe is not like a drop of water at the surface of the earth?

Inhabitants of that drop of water, as small relative to it as we are relative to the Milky Way, could not possibly imagine that beside the drop of water there might be a piece of iron or a living tissue, in which the properties of matter are entirely different. It must not be thought that it is ever possible to reach the interior earth by any perseverance in mining: both because the exterior earth is too thick, in comparison with human strength; and especially because of the intermediate waters, which would gush forth with greater impetus, the deeper the place in which their veins were first opened; and which would drown all miners.

Principles of Philosophy , trans. Miller , It seems wonderful to everyone that sometimes stones are found that have figures of animals inside and outside. For outside they have an outline, and when they are broken open, the shapes of the internal organs are found inside.

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And Avicenna says that the cause of this is that animals, just as they are, are sometimes changed into stones, and especially [salty] stones. For he says that just as the Earth and Water are material for stones, so animals, too, are material for stones. And in places where a petrifying force is exhaling, they change into their elements and are attacked by the properties of the qualities [hot, cold, moist, dry] which are present in those places, and in the elements in the bodies of such animals are changed into the dominant element, namely Earth mixed with Water; and then the mineralizing power converts [the mixture] into stone, and the parts of the body retain their shape, inside and outside, just as they were before.

There are also stones of this sort that are [salty] and frequently not hard; for it must be a strong power which thus transmutes the bodies of animals, and it slightly burns the Earth in the moisture, so it produces a taste of salt. De Mineralibus On Minerals c. Dorothy Wyckoff , It was on the 25th November that I cut the first polyp. I put the two parts in a flat glass, which only contained water to the height of four to five lignes. It was thus easy for me to observe these portions of the polyp with a fairly powerful lens. I shall indicate farther on the precautions I took in making my experiments on these cut polyps and the technique I adopted to cut them.

It will suffice to say here that I cut the polyp concerned transversely, a little nearer the anterior than the posterior end.