perties of this valuable compound, with reference to the aid derived from it in the investigations of science, there are few substances of higher importance to the philosopher. Among the most useful of those properties are its impermeability to fluids, either in a liquid or aeriform state, its ready permeability to light, together with its power of modifying the qualities of that fluid, and its resistance to almost all those chemical agents, which are capable of destroying the texture of most other substances with which they remain long in contact. In considering the extensive utility of the thermometer and barometer, in their common and most convenient forms, it is evident that their practical value almost entirely depends on the transparency of glass, and on its impermeability to air; and the same properties very greatly enhance the value of glass, in all those philosophical experiments which are carried on under what is called the exhausted receiver. But the most important result of the transparency of glass, is the modification which light undergoes in its passage through lenticular masses of that material. When, for instance, in consequence of disease or advancing age, the eye no longer retains the power of discerning objects distinctly, how much of hourly comfort, as well as of intellectual enjoyment, would be lost, were we not able to supply the natural defect by the artificial aid of glasses of the requisite form and density. And, again, how many important facts in the physiology of animals and vegetables, as also in the constitution of inanimate bodies, would have remained for ever undiscovered, but for the aid of the microscope; the magnifying powers of which, depend on the transparency and form, and the right adjustment of those pieces of glass through which the objects subjected to observation are viewed? And, lastly, how shall we estimate the value of those discoveries which the world owes to that wonderful instrument, the telescope? Having referred to the effects produced by heat on various forms of matter, let us inquire what facilities nature has placed within our reach, for the purpose of exciting and maintaining heat itself. The chemist, in his laboratory, surrounded by the numerous and various agents which he is constantly employing, can never have any difficulty in producing it; but as there are few individuals who have commonly such magic instruments at hand, and even if they had, it is probable that they would want both the leisure and inclination to preserve them in a state fitted to produce at any moment the intended effect. The means of maintaining heat, when once excited to a sufficient extent and degree of intensity for the various purposes of social and civilized life, shall now be considered. To this important purpose, among others, the products of the vegetable world, both in a fossil and recent state are destined? In the early periods of civilization, and while the population of a country bears a small proportion to the extent of soil occupied, the indigenous forests easily supply an ample quantity of fuel; or, in the absence of those larger species of the vegetable kingdom, which may be described under the term of timber, the humblest productions of the morass, though not the most desirable, are, however, a sufficient substitute. Thus the sphagnum palustre, and other mosses, by their successive growth and decay, form the combustible substratum of those extensive and uncultivated tracts in Ireland, which contribute, by the turf and peat which they afford, to the comfort of myriads of individuals, who, were it not for this source of supply, would be in total want of one of the principal necessaries of life. In many populous districts of this island, the aboriginal forests have long since been cleared from the surface of the earth, and their site is now occupied by cultivated lands and a condensed population. The former source of fuel has consequently in such parts long since failed; but the clearing of the surface has, in many places, detected that invaluable mineral combustible, which, usually bearing in itself indubitable marks of a vegetable origin, from the traces of organization still apparent in almost every part of its substance, was deposited ages before it was wanted, as a future substitute for the fuel which, in the meantime, has been derived from the actually existing vegetable kingdom. It is not intended here to enter into the general consideration of those geological formations called coal-fields, which are the repositories of this useful mineral; but there is one circumstance in their history, so evidently calculated to facilitate the labour of man in obtaining this substance, and to extend its supply, and so remarkably, though not exclusively, characteristic of those particular formations, that, though not obvious to a general observer, it cannot fail to arrest the attention of those to whom it is pointed out. A coal-field may be represented, in a popular description, as consisting of a succession of alternating strata of coal and sand-stone, &c., which, having been originally deposited in a basin-shaped cavity, in such a manner as to be at the same time parallel to the concave surface of the basin and to each other, have been subsequently broken up by some force, that has thrown the planes of the ruptured masses into various directions. Now, had the strata remained undisturbed, a very considerable proportion of the coal which is now quarried, would most probably never have been obtained by human industry; for the strata dipping down from the circumference towards the centre of the basin, that perpendicular depth beyond which it is practically impossible to work the coal, would soon have been reached in the operation of mining. But in consequence of the rupture, and consequent dislocation of the strata, many of those portions which were originally deposited at such a depth beneath the surface as would have rendered the working of them impossible, have been thrown up to the very surface, and thus have become available to the miner. [Abridged from KIDD's Bridgewater Treatise.] THE ECONOMY OF NATURE Each shell, each crawling insect, holds a rank Important in the plan of Him who framed This scale of beings; holds a rank, which lost, Would break the chain, and leave behind a gap Which nature's self would rue.-' -THOMSON. THERE is no study, perhaps, more delightful than that of tracing the all-wise disposition of the Creator in the reciprocal uses to which all created things were designed. It is impossible to contemplate this subject without being struck with the infinite wisdom of Almighty God. We find things so connected together that they are all subservient to the same end, and all contribute to assist in the preservation of the several species. The death and destruction, therefore, of one thing, is made useful in the restitution of another, and this is one of the most interesting facts in the economy of Nature. Everything is so perfectly contrived, so wonderfully propagated, and so providentially supported, that we are not only lost in wonder when we reflect upon them, but are obliged to confess that after all the researches and observations which have been made, an ample field still remains for fresh remarks, and interesting discoveries in the to produce madness;-Shakspeare alludes to this works of nature. . Almighty Being, Cause and support of all things, can I view It would afford me a satisfaction which I cannot describe, could I think that these reflections, feebly as they are expressed, would lead any one to acknowledge the power and goodness of the Creator, as seen in the works of his creation, and to improve his mind by the study of them. In every plant, in every insect, we may observe some beauty, or some curious properties which are not to be found in other bodies. On comparing them we shall be convinced that they were not created by chance, but were contrived for sume useful purpose-JESSE's Gleanings. OUR engravings represent three plants, differing materially from each other, but which all bear the name of Hellebore; and as their properties are very different, it is worth while to be able to understand the distinction. Of these plants the White Hellebore is the only species which is decidedly poisonous, and its noxious properties reside not only in the root, which is the most deadly poison, but also in every other part of the plant; even the leaves and seeds prove deleterious to many animals. The dried root has no peculiar smell, but a durable, nauseous, acrid, bitterish taste, burning the mouth and jaws; when powdered, if applied to a wound, it affects the constitution in the same manner as taken inwardly. It is supposed :1 property of Hellebore in his tragedy of Macbeth :- It has been used in medicine, particularly by the ancients; but, if it is a safe medicine, it is at present seldom employed. It is a native of Italy, Switzerland, Austria, &c.; and was first brought into this country about the year 1596. The Black Hellebore is very different from either of the others. It takes its specific name from the colour of the root, which is covered with a coarse black integument; it was originally brought from Austria and Italy, and first cultivated in England about two hundred years since. If the weather is mild, it is in bloom in January, and becomes no insignificant ornament to the garden at that dreary season of the year. Although the Black Hellebore is not decidedly poisonous, its action on the system is extremely violent; if a portion of the recent root is chewed, the tongue, in a few minutes, becomes benumbed, and loses its sense of feeling, as it does after eating or supping anything too hot. The ancients considered it a wonderful remedy for madness, but its use at present is entirely laid aside. The Fetid Hellebore, Great Black Hellebore, or Bear's Foot, for it has all these names, grows wild in England, and flowers about February. The blossom is of a pale green colour; the smell of the recent plant is extremely unpleasant, and the taste so acrid and bitter as, if chewed, to remove the skin from the mouth. A decoction of the leaves is commonly employed as a domestic medicine against intestinal worms; but although, when carefully administered, it may be useful, several instances are on record of its fatal effects, when taken in too large a quantity LONDON: Published by JOHN WILLIAM PARKER, WEST STRAND and so.d by al Booksellers. ITERATURE EDUCA? Magazine. 12TH, 1836. UNDER THE DIRECTION OF THE COMMITTEE OF GENERAL LITERATURE AND EDUCATION APPOINTED BY THE SOCIETY FOR PROMOTING CHRISTIAN KNOWLEDGE. THE RHINE. No. I*. THE PFALTZ, OR CASTLE OF THE PALATINATE. Of all the rivers of Europe, there is none which has attained such celebrity as the Rhine. It is one, without doubt, pre-eminently interesting in almost every point of view in which a river can be so. The scenery of the Rhine" is proverbial; its attractions are sufficiently attested by the crowds of strangers that annually resort to its banks "in search of the picturesque." In all the charms, too, of historical interest, it is peculiarly rich: from the days of Julius Cæsar to our own-from the time when he built that famous bridge which carried him over its stream, to chastise the wild Germans who then dwelt beyond its banks, down to the close of the last European war, the Rhine has always figured conspicuously in the political changes and incidents of western Europe. Then, in the lighter attractions of fable, it abounds perhaps still more. By the common consent of mankind, it has long been established as the chosen seat of romance-the head-quarters of the spirits and supernatural agents which used so grievously to terrify many who lived in former ages, and which now embellish so many legends, for the amusement of their descendants. 66 Its The It now proceeds to water the rich and beautiful valley, in which are situated Alsace, part of the territory of Baden, the ancient Palatinate, and Mayence. Its course onwards to Kehl (opposite to Strasburg), is very impetuous; but flowing afterwards in a broad channel studded with agreeable and well-wooded islands, it assumes a very different character. banks have been in several places gradually undermined, and its waters are covered with boats. breadth of the river at Mayence is about 700 yards; as it proceeds in its course, it waters a romantic, though fertile country; and a line of hills, covered with vineyards, extends at no great distance from its banks. It receives, in that part of its course, the Neckar, which conveys to it the waters of Lower Swabia and the Maine, which, in its numerous windings, collects the streams of the ancient Franconia." It is at Mayence, or Mentz, the point of the latter junction, that the banks of the Rhine begin to assume their most attractive aspect; and from that city down to Cologne §, they are generally considered to exhibit all the characteristics of what is so peculiarly denominated the scenery of the Rhine. But the reallyromantic and grand scenery does not commence till the river arrives at Bingen, from whence down to This river rises in the centre of Switzerland, in Coblentz, its waters are confined between lofty the south-west part of the canton of the Grisons:-"a mountains. At Coblentz, where the confluence with country," says Malte Brun, " in which all the streams the Moselle takes place, it flows through a more open are denominated currents or Rheinen, a word that and plain, though very beautiful country: as it apappears to be of Celtic or ancient Germanic origin."proaches Cologne, or rather Bonn, a touch of romantic It is formed by the junction of two principal streams, called the Vorder Rhein, or Fore Rhine, and the Hinter Rhein, or Hind Rhine. There is a central stream which unites with the Fore Rhine before this junction takes place, and which has sometimes, though, as it is said, with little reason, been considered as the chief branch, notwithstanding its smaller size. To which of the others we are to ascribe the honour of that appellation, is a disputed point. The Fore Rhine is formed by several springs issuing from the foot of a little mountain which shoots out from the great St. Gothard: the Hinter Rhein has its origin in the magnificent glacier of the Rheinwald, of which we have spoken in a former numbert. The height of their sources is more than 6000 feet above the level of the sea; and the streams, therefore, descend from them with considerable rapidity. The direction of the course of the Rhine at first, is to the north-east; and after receiving some tributary streams, it quits the country of the Grisons, at the town of Sargaus, having first become navigable some miles before at Reichenau for boats. It then passes into the lake of Constance, which it traverses throughout its whole length, having performed a descent of more than 4750 feet in the comparatively short distance which it has passed over from its source. On entering this lake, its course changes to the westward; and, continuing in this direction after quitting it, its bed is crossed by a ridge of the Alps, a little below Schaffhausen, and there it forms the celebrated fall of that name, which, though not the highest, is said to be the largest in point of volume that exists in the civilized part of Europe. Soon afterwards it reaches Basle, the mass of its stream being greatly enlarged by the junction of the Aar; and at that city its course again changes to the north-a general direction which it preserves pretty constantly till its termination. We have already given our readers a slight notice of the Rhine (see Saturday Magazine, Vol. 111., page 194); but as it is our intention to furnish them with a series of papers which may afford a more complete knowledge of its most interesting features, we here describe its course and general character at greater length. + Sce Saturday Magazine, Vol, V., p. 29. Ibid. Vol. VI., p. 66. scenery is again afforded in the neighbourhood of the celebrated Seven Mountains. This is the last which the river offers in its descent. After leaving Cologne it waters a flat, dull country, till it loses its name, and almost its existence, in the alluvial levels of Holland. It is customary with geographers to divide the course of this river into three principal portions; and this division will much assist our readers in understanding the descriptions of the varied scenery which its banks present. These three portions are termed the Upper Rhine, the Middle Rhine, and the Lower Rhine. This is The scenery of the Upper Rhine is not very remarkable. From its sources to Basle the river flows through a country partaking more or less of an alpine character, but yet affording in the vicinity of its waters no remarkable views. The stream widens on passing Basle, and becomes studded with islands in profusion; but still the country on both sides is low and uninteresting. This character, indeed, it retains, to a certain extent, as far as Mentz; but long before the river reaches that city, it passes through one of the most interesting portions of Germany, a district to which, indeed, it gives its name. the celebrated “ plain of the Rhine, every foot of which," says Mr. Russell, "teems with population, industry, and fertility, and during two hundred years has been fattened with the best blood of Europe." The river bounds it uniformly on the west, while to the east it is confined by mountains of irregular elevation, behind which tower the shaggy summits of the far-famed Hercynian, or Black Forest. fertility and smiling beauty, this territory is compared to the plains of Florence and Bologna; the traveller looks down upon the charming landscape from the heights which bound it to the east, and his eye never tires. The general character of the objects does not vary, it is a perpetual succession of villages and small towns, lurking among vineyards, corn-fields, and orchards; "but at every turn they combine themselves into new groups, or lie under new lights. Here § See Saturday Magazine, Vol. VI., p. 170. For a long stretch of the broad and glittering Rhine bursts into view, bounding the distant landscape like a silver girdle; there his place is occupied by the remoter summits of the Vosges. Here you may linger among the cottages of Offenthal, whose vine still retains its character, and hangs its cluster round the window of the peasant; or close by that little churchyard you may muse at the tree where Turenne fell on the last of his fields, and make a brief pilgrimage to the rustic chapel, beneath whose altar the heart of the hero was deposited. The Middle Rhine comprises the whole of the romantic and beautiful scenery of this river; below Cologne, or above Mentz, there is little worth seeing which presents itself to the eye of the traveller as he passes along the surface of its waters. It is this region, then, which has so many charms for tourists, and which engrosses, indeed, the whole share of their attention; they hasten with all speed to Cologne, and, ascending to Mentz, seldom continue their excursion beyond that city. Nearly the whole of this long line of river-scenery possesses the attractions of beauty in an eminent degree; but it is only a portion of it that combines all the characteristic charms of what is peculiarly denominated the scenery of the Rhine. With the exception of the district of the Seven Mountains, which he passes soon after leaving Cologne, or rather Bonn, the traveller ascends for many miles before he discovers any views remarkable for grandeur; at length he beholds, rising on either side, gentle hills, which, as he advances, gradually approach the banks and swell into mountains, till he finds himself among narrow defiles picturesquely chequered with vineyard and with wood. This scenery accompanies him for a while, and then again, as he draws near Andernach, gives way to the tamer landscape of a wide and comparatively level plain. This, too, in its turn, vanishes; and, as he journeys on towards Coblentz, he begins to perceive these rising hills which mark the entrance into that most celebrated portion of the Rhine which extends from Boppart up to Bingen. No sooner has he entered this enchanting region, than he feels the full effects of its diversified scenery; the several reaches of the river expand into a constant succession of lakes, encircled with a chain of the most picturesque mountains, "some clothed with wood, others naked, black, and frowning, with rocks rearing their pinnacled heads under every fantastic shape, and scarcely distinguishable from the ruined remains of forts and castles which are seen crowning their rugged summits themselves, shaped as they had turrets been, in mockery of man's art;' while the narrow spaces between their feet and the margin of the lakes are smiling with cultivation, and enlivened with towns and villages in the midst of vineyards." The entrance into this "Paradise of the Rhine," in the descent of the river, is still more striking than that which the traveller passes through at Boppart. As he approaches towards Bingen, the course of the stream appears to his eyes blocked up by the chain of mountains before him; but on arriving at Rüdesheim, a busy little town at the foot of the mountain, on which is produced the famous Rüdesheimer wine, an abrupt turn in the river presents to him the great gulf, or opening in the rocky mountains, through which it pursues its course. The change of scene which ensues upon entering this gulf is described as "instantaneous, grand, and imposing." The fine open expanse of country which has accompanied him from Mentz at once vanishes, and is succeeded by romantic defiles of mountains hemming in the river, doubling the impetuosity of its course, and more than compensating for the cheerful fertility of the scenes he has passed, by their wilder and more majestic beauties. "its When the traveller has descended the Rhine, about nine-and-twenty miles from Mentz, and when he has been for nearly twelve miles gliding down upon its waters through the midst of that romantic scenery which commences at Bingen, he comes to a rock, standing alone in the middle of the stream, and crowned by a grotesque and singular building, roof covered with about fifty little slated spires and pinnacles, precisely resembling extinguishers." This is the edifice which is depicted in our engraving; the reader will recognise the "spires and pinnacles," though not indeed to quite so great a number as fifty. It lies opposite to the little town of Kaub, and is called the castle of Pfalzgrafenstein, or simply the Pfalz, the German word for the Palatinate, which, it will be recollected, was one of the old divisions of the German empire, comprising a portion of the country on both sides of the Rhine in this part of its course. "This fort," says Dr. Cogan, who wrote in 1792, answers several important purposes. It is the state-prison of the palatinate, and it effectually prevents all vessels from eluding the tolls due to Kaub. Its situation and its construction, which unites the security of thick massy walls, subterraneous cells, iron-bars, and trap-doors, preclude all possibility of escape to the hopeless prisoner, and a watchman, continually resident in the turret, who rings a bell to advertise collectors on shore, makes it almost as impracticable for vessels to pass unnoticed." A French writer of the last century says, that it might be called "the Spandau, or Bastile of the Palatinate." In former times it must have been a convenient gaol for state-prisoners, and equally convenient for its master to watch and plunder the passengers on the Rhine, instead of its levying, as it now helps to do, one of the few lawful tolls which are still imposed upon the navigation of the Rhine. This tower is said to possess a remarkable well of soft water, which is sunk very deep into the rock of its foundation, and which is in nowise connected with the river. The general character of the scenery of the Rhine is seldom defined with correctness by travellers; they seem to be too much in rapture with its enchantments to measure the expressions which they apply to it. We frequently find it spoken of as "magnificent;" but this epithet cannot be properly coupled with its name. "It is not," to quote the more correct description of the author of a Family Tour through South Holland, sufficiently capacious to justify the appellation of that term; but to the eye of the traveller, it possesses charms abundantly superior to those rivers that are so truly magnificent, that one shore is frequently invisible from the other. The Rhine includes within its banks sublimity and beauty, softness and amenity. In gliding down the stream, the eye embraces all these at one glance, and riots in endless variety;—the rugged and fantastic forms displayed by naked mountain-tops, vying in picturesque effect with some ancient and ruined castle, —the over-hanging forest,—the sombre crag mingled with the verdant vine,—the neatly-cultivated plain,— the clustered town, with its turreted towers and spires, -the sequestered village and the lonely cottage,— the beautiful island, and the constant succession of new objects, and a new disposition of them; these are the features, ever varied, that constitute the beauties, and afford that delight which travellers rarely fail to derive from an excursion on, or along the banks of the Rhine." |