pair of wings." During the breeding season, the birds may occasionally be seen from the river; and if alarmed by shouts, or by firing a gun, they will launch themselves into the air, and will continue hovering about the rock at an immense height. It has not been satisfactorily ascertained to what species the eagle which frequents the rock belongs. Some persons have asserted that the osprey, or fishing eagle, is the only one known in Ireland; but Mr. Weld says that amongst the mountains of Kerry he has himself remarked several kinds. Eagles are very commonly seen on the small islands of the Lower Lake at Killarney, particularly on some which abound with rabbits. On a calm day, being unwilling to take wing, owing to the difficulty which they then experience in mounting into the air, they watch there quietly for their prey, and exhibit all the appearance of tameness and familiarity, suffering a person to approach within a very short distance of them. Notwithstanding the eager endeavours of the people to destroy them, in consequence of the great depredations they commit amongst lambs and poultry, particularly during the breeding season, when their rapacity is inordinate, it is said that a few years ago the number of these birds was supposed to be increasing in Kerry.

This cliff of the Eagles' Nest is the termination of a short range of mountains, running in a direction at right angles to that of the stream. The river does not encircle the base of the cliff, but runs directly up to it, and then away from it; it turns out of its original direction in order to approach the rock, and only resumes that direction after having receded an equal distance. Thus the tourist obtains a full view of this rock as soon as he has passed that point in the course of the stream at which the deviation takes place, when "the prospect suddenly opens on passing a small promontory, and discloses a huge pile of rocks rising in a pyramidal form :

A cliff to heaven up-piled,
Of rude access, of aspect wild;
Where, tangled round the jealous steep,

Strange shades o'erbrow the valley deep." The water is considerably dilated at its base; and being securely sheltered, it generally presents a dark and glassy surface, on which the rocks and woods are beautifully reflected. Towards the summit of the pile, the rocks in many places have been disjointed, and split into small fragments, by the constant and powerful action of the weather; but lower down they present a broad perpendicular surface, “not unlike the bulwarks of some mighty fortress.' When viewed from a distance, (says Mr. Wright,) this much celebrated rock, so frequently the subject of the painter and the poet, appears quite contemptible, from the superior height of the adjacent mountains; but the approach to its base by the river is picturesque and sublime in the highest degree, since the river runs directly to its foot, and there turns off abruptly, so that the rock is seen from its base to the summit without interruption.

The base of the cliff is clothed with cak, birch, and ash trees, which form a dense shade, interrupted only by the masses of gray rocks, which obtrude their craggy heads through the foliage; and even up to the very summit of the rock, scattered trees and shrubs, of slender growth, may be seen "dependent seemingly upon the stone itself for nourishment."

This remarkable rock (says a writer of the last century,) presents its principal front to the north, and the river making an abrupt turn, passes directly under it. It has that bold freedom in its general outline which sets at nought description, and demands the pencil of Salvator himself to express justly. From the ruggedness of its impending cliffs which almost overshadow the river, it would be truly awful if the trees and shrubs which cover them did not

counteract the effect by diffusing an air of festivity over the whole which strips it of its terrors. The parts of it considered singly are beautiful; their strange combination produces surprise. The effect of a musket or peterara against this mountain exceeds everything I had conceived possible. The report is increased to a degree almost incredible, and returning upon the ear in redoubled peals now from the neighbouring, now from the more distant mountains, imperceptibly dying away and again reviving, till it finally expires in hollow interrupted murmurs, bears a nearer resemblance to natural bursts of thunder than anything artificial.

Speaking of the channel leading from the Eagles' Nest to the Upper Lake, Arthur Young says,—

The scenery in this channel is great and wild in all its features; wood is very scarce; vast rocks seem tossed in confusion through the narrow vale which is opened among the mountains for the river to pass. Its banks are rocks in an hundred forms; the mountain sides are everywhere scattered with them. There is not a circumstance but is in unison with the wild grandeur of the scene.

Of the Eagles' Nest itself he says,—

Having viewed this rock from places where it appears only a part of an object much greater than itself, I had conceived an idea that it did not deserve the applause given it, but upon coming near I was much surprised; the approach is wonderfully fine, the river leads directly to its foot, and does not give the turn till immediately under, by which means the view is much more grand than it could otherwise be; it is nearly perpendicular, and rises in such full majesty, with so bold an outline, and such projecting masses in its centre, that the magnificence of the object is complete. The lower part is covered with wood, and scattered trees climb almost to the top, which (if trees can be amiss in Ireland,) rather weaken the impression raised by this noble rock. This part is a hanging wood, or an object whose character is perfect beauty; but the upper scene, the broken outline, rugged sides, and bulging masses, all are sublime, and so powerful, that sublimity is the general impression of the whole, by overpowering the idea of beauty raised by the wood.

Mr. Weld says, it is scarcely in the power of language to convey an adequate idea of the extraordinary effect of the echoes under this cliff, whether they repeat the dulcet notes of music, or the loud discordant report of a cannon. "Enchantment here appears to have resumed her reign, and those who listen are lost in amazement and delight." A small hillock on the opposite side of the river, usually called the "Station for Audience," is used as the resting place of a paterara, which is carried in the boat from Killarney; the gun is placed on one side of the hillock, while the auditor takes his station on The effect of a musical instrument,— the other. Mr. generally a horn, is tried in the same manner. Weld says, that to enjoy the echoes to the utmost advantage, it would be necessary that a band of musicians should be placed on the banks of the river, about fifty yards below the base of the cliff, and at the same side; while the auditors, excluded from their view, seat themselves on the opposite bank, at some distance above the cliff, behind a small rocky projection.

He expresses his conviction, that if a stranger were conducted thither, ignorant of the arrangement, and unprepared by any previous description of the echo, he would be unable to form a tolerable conjecture as to the source of the sounds, or the number of the instruments. He says, that sometimes it might be supposed that multitudes of musicians, playing upon instruments formed for more than mortal use, were concealed in the caverns of the rock, or behind the trees on different parts of the cliff; and that at others, when a light breeze favours the delusion, it seems as if they were hovering in the air.

Here (says Mr. Ockenden, in his Letters from Killarney,) we again rested on our oars to mark the flight of numerous eagles, (the chief inhabitants of these lofty regions,) which was slow, solemn, and very high; to view the marble 328-2

chasm in the perpendicular side of the mountain in which they had formed their nests, and to admire the many noble objects which presented themselves on every hand, in this stupendous scene; when suddenly, to our inexpressible amazement, we were surprised with music, sweeter than I had ever heard before, which seemed to rise from the rock at which we gazed, and breaking upon us in short melodious strains, filled the very soul with transport.

Angels from the sky, or fairies from the mountain, or O'Donaghoe from the river, was what we every moment expected to appear before us; but after a quarter of an hour's fixed attention, all our raptures were dispersed by a clap of thunder most astonishingly loud, which bursting from the same direction whence the music had lately seemed to flow, rent the mountain with its roar and filled us with the apprehension of being instantly buried in a chaos of wood, hill, and water. But the horror was as suddenly dissipated by the return of the soothing strain which had before entranced us.

The second music which immediately succeeded the thunder seemed more soft and lulling than the first; but our elysium was very short, being soon lost in another clap still louder than that which had preceded it, and which burst suddenly upon us, again awaking us to terror: when lo! a third return of music superlatively sweet indeed restored our senses and reinstated our hearts. It lasted some time, and a most solemn silence ensued. We waited now motionless and awe-struck for what wonders might follow next in this region of enchantment. We gazed at the wood, the rock, the mountain, and the river, with alternate hope and fear; hope while the music dwelt in our thoughts; and fear while we remembered the thunder: and we expected with pleasing impatience some marvellous event. In vain: no angel appeared to delight our eyes; no demons to alarm us with new terrors; no O'Donaghoe to gratify our curiosity.

In the Summer of 1802, when the Earl and Countess of Hardwicke visited Killarney, an officer of a ship of war cruising on the western coast of Ireland, conveyed two pieces of cannon of large calibre in a boat up the river Laune-an enterprise till then pronounced impracticable. The boat's crew remained encamped for some weeks on the island of Innisfallen in the Lower Lake; and the guns were repeatedly fired off in different places. That the echoes would have been proportionate to the strength of their report was a natural expectation, as Mr. Weld says; but, whether attributable to the prejudice of the inhabitants of the country in favour of what they were habituated to, or to the peculiarly unfavourable state of the atmosphere at the time of the trial, it was the concurrent opinion that the report of the ship guns was not attended either with as loud or as numerous echoes as that of the small pieces in ordinary use, loaded with a few ounces of powder.

HEAT-COLD-CLIMATE-AIR. THE known powers of nature may be reduced to two primitive forces, attraction and repulsion. The first is the cause of gravity; in other words, it is by the attraction which exists between the mass of the earth and all bodies near its surface, that everything has a natural tendency downward; that, in fact, all matters naturally fall to the ground, &c. The second principle is the cause of elasticity, and this, by counteracting the effects of attraction, prevents the matter of the universe from becoming a solid mass.

Ancient authors believed, and it is still popularly understood, that there are only four distinct species of elementary or original matter, namely, fire, air, water, and earth. Modern science has however discovered that none of these are to be considered as elements, or primary substances; while, on the other hand, it has increased the number of elementary principles to fifty-two. But as the popular arrangement is sufficient for our present purpose, we will not depart from it

There is reason to believe that fire, heat, or caloric, is the only permanently elastic substance in nature. When it penetrates the pores of any body, it uniformly causes the expansion of such body. A bar of iron is lengthened by being heated, metals and other substances are melted by heat, and by heat water is converted into vapour. There is therefore ample ground for believing that all fluidity is the effect of heat. The natural state of water is ice; and air itself, were there any means of producing a sufficient degree of cold, might probably be reduced to a solid mass.

As all fluidity has heat for its cause, so we find that a much greater degree of heat is requisite to keep one substance in a fluid state than another. Iron, for instance, requires more heat to keep it in fusion than gold; gold much more than tin; but much less suffices to keep wax, much less to keep water, much less spirit of wine, and at last exceedingly less for mercury (quicksilver), since that metal only becomes solid at 187 degrees below the point at which water freezes; mercury, therefore, would be the most fluid of all bodies, if air were not still more so. Now, what does this fluidity, greater in air than in any other matter, indicate? It appears to indicate the least degree of adherence that can be conceived between the parts of which it is composed, supposing them to be of such a figure as only to touch each other at one point. The greater or less degree of fluidity does not, however, indicate that the parts of the fluid are more or less weighty, but only that their adherence is so much the less, their union so much the less intimate, and their separation so much the easier. If a thousand degrees of heat are required to keep water in a fluid state, it might perhaps require but one to preserve the fluidity of air.

It is yet doubtful whether light consists of the same matter with elementary fire or not. The great source of light is found to be the sun, from which it is projected to the earth in the space of about eight minutes; and as the sun is computed to be distant ninety-five millions of miles, light must of consequence travel at the rate of about two hundred thousand miles in one second of time.

Light may be reflected as well as projected. The light which we receive from the moon is only reflected as from a mirror. The light of the sun is three hundred thousand times stronger than the light of the moon.

The air we inhale is composed of 21 parts of oxygen to 79 of nitrogen gas, which are mixed with vapour and small quantities of other gases.

The effects of heat in producing a noxious quality in the air, are well known. The torrid regions under the line are always unwholesome. At Senegal, the natives consider forty as an advanced time of life, and generally die of old age at fifty. At Carthagena, where the heat of the hottest day ever known in Europe is continual....where, during the winter season, these dreadful heats are united with a continual succession of thunder, rain, and tempests....the wan and livid complexions of the inhabitants might make strangers suspect that they were just recovered from some dreadful distemper. The habits of the natives are influenced by the same causes as their colour, and all their motions are relaxed and languid; the heat of the climate even affects their speech, which is soft and slow, and their words generally broken. Travellers from Europe retain their strength and colour, possibly for three or four months, but afterwards suffer such decays in both, that they are no longer to be distinguished by their complexion from the inhabitants. the inhabitants. Here, however, this languid and spiritless existence is frequently drawled on some

times even to eighty. Young persons are generally most affected by the heat of the climate, which spares the more aged; but all, upon their arrival on the coasts, are subject to the same train of fatal disorders. In the memorable expedition to Carthagena, more than three parts of our army were destroyed by the climate, and those that returned from that fatal service, found their former vigour irretrievably gone. Of the expedition to the Havannah, not a fifth part of the army were left survivors of their victory; climate is an enemy that even heroes cannot conquer.

The distempers that proceed from those climates are many that, for instance, called the Chapotonadas, carries off a multitude of the people, and extremely thins the crews of European ships, whom gain tempts into those regions. The nature of this dis temper is but little known, being caused in some persons by cold, in others by indigestion. But its effects are generally fatal in three or four days: upon its seizing the patient it brings on what is there called the black vomit, after which none are ever found to

recover.

A different set of calamities prevail in some climates where the air is condensed by cold. In such places the train of distempers known to arise from obstructed perspiration, are very common-eruptions, boils, scurvy, and a loathsome leprosy, that covers the body with a scurf and ulcers. These disorders also are infectious, and not only banish the patient from society, but generally accompany him to the grave. The men of those climates seldom attain to the age of fifty; but the women, who lead less laborious lives, live longer.

One fact our senses teach us, namely, that although the air is too fine for our sight, it is very obvious to the touch. Although we cannot see the wind contained in a bladder, we can very readily feel its resistance; and though the hurricane be colourless, we know that it does not want force. We have equal experience of the spring, or elasticity of the air; a bladder filled with air, when pressed, returns again, upon the pressure being taken away.

So far the slightest experience teaches us; but, by carrying experiment a little further, we learn that air also is heavy; a glass vessel, emptied of air, and accurately weighed, will be found lighter than when weighed with the air in it. Upon computing the superior weight of the full vessel, a cubic foot of air is found to weigh 527 grains, while the same quantity of hydrogen gas weighs no more than 40 grains. This is familiarly illustrated in balloons, the ascent of which is at the present time so common in this country. The balloon ascends because the gas with which it is filled is lighter than the quantity of atmospheric air which would fill the same space as the balloon itself, and the ascending power of the balloon, and consequently the weight it will carry, is in proportion to the actual difference between the weight of the gas and the weight of the air. When it is required that the balloon shall descend, some of the gas is let out of the balloon through a valve, just as water might be let out of a barrel. The gas that remains in the balloon is still lighter than the air, measure for measure, but the proportions between the gas originally contained in the balloon and the weight the balloon carries, are destroyed; the balloon with its burden becomes heavier than the air it displaces, and, consequently, the balloon descends.

We learn, therefore, that the earth, and all things upon its surface, are in every direction covered with a ponderous fluid, which, rising very high over our heads, must be proportionally heavy. For instance,

as in the sea a man at the depth of twenty feet sustains a greater weight of water than a man at the depth of but ten feet, so will a man at the bottom of a valley have a greater weight of air over him than a man on the top of a mountain.

If by any means we contrive to take away the pressure of the air from any one part of our bodies, we are soon made sensible of the weight upon the other parts. Thus, if we place the hand upon the mouth of a vessel whence the air has been expelled, we feel as if the hand were violently sucked inwards; this is nothing more than the air upon the back of the hand that forces it into the empty space below. As by this experiment we perceive that the air presses with great weight upon everything on the surface of the earth, so by other experiments we learn the exact weight with which it presses. First, if the air in a vessel be exhausted, and the vessel set with the mouth downwards in water, the water will rise up into the empty space, and fill the inverted glass -for the external air will, in this case, press up the water, where there is no weight to resist, just as one part of a bed being pressed makes the other parts that have no weight upon them rise. In this case, as we said, the water being pressed without, will rise in the glass, and would continue to rise to a height of thirtytwo feet. Hence we learn, that the weight of the air which presses up the water is equal to a pillar, or column, of water, thirty-two feet high, for it is able to raise such a column, and no more. In other words, the surface of the earth is everywhere covered with a weight of air, which is equivalent to a covering of thirty-two feet deep of water, or to a weight of twenty-nine inches and a half of quicksilver, which is just as heavy as the former.

It is found, by computation, that to raise water thirty-two feet requires a weight of fifteen pounds upon every square inch. Now, if we are fond or computations, we have only to calculate how many square inches are in the surface of an ordinary human body, and allowing every inch to sustain fifteen pounds we may amaze ourselves at the weight of air we sustain. It has been computed that the ordinary pressure of the air on a man amounts to within little short of forty thousand pounds!

The elasticity of the air is one of its most amazing properties, and to which it should seem nothing can set bounds. A body of air, that may be contained in a nut-shell, may be dilated by heat into a sphere of unknown dimensions. On the contrary, the air contained in a house may be compressible into a cavity not larger than the eye of a needle. In short, no bounds can be set to its confinement or expansion, at least experiment has hitherto found all attempts indefinite. In every situation air retains its elasticity, and the more closely compressed, the more strongly does it resist the pressure. If, in addition to increasing the elasticity by compression, it be increased by heat, the force of both soon becomes irresistible ; and it has been well said, that air, thus confined and expanding, is sufficient for the explosion of a world. [From BUFFON, GOLDSMITH, CUVIER, &c.]

FUNERAL CEREMONIES AMONG THE
HINDOOS.

WHEN a Hindoo dies, his obsequies are distinguished, especially among the higher castes, by a number of singular and absurd rites. When a Brahmin is at the point of death, a square space is prepared upon the ground for the body of the dying man. This space having been carefully overspread with a thin coat of cow-dung, considered by the superstitious Hindoos as

a great purifier, and strewed with a sacred herb, the body of the sick Brahmin is placed upon it, and covered with a cotton cloth, which has neither been worn nor washed, and is consequently considered free from all impurity. Then commences the ceremony of absolution, which is performed by the Purohita, or officiating Brahmin.

The dying man having expressed his consent to undergo the ceremony of expiation, the Purohita takes a salver, on which are placed several pieces of silver coin, and other matters; among these, is a most offensive mixture, called the Panchakaryam.

The sick man having taken a good mouthful of this nauseous mixture, the rite called prayashita | is next performed. The word prayashita signifies general expiation, and is performed by the recital of certain mantras, or mystical prayers, supposed to have an efficacy so potent, that even the gods are unable to resist their power. After this follows a ceremony to which all pious Hindoos attach great importance. A cow with her calf is introduced before the dying Brahmin. The animal's horns are decorated with rings of gold or of brass, and its neck with garlands of flowers. A piece of new cotton cloth is cast upon her back, descending nearly to the ground. She is led, thus adorned, beside the sick man, who, stretching out his feeble hand, reverently grasps her by the tail, the Purohita the while muttering a mantra, signifying that the cow shall conduct the expiring sinner to the next world by a path with which she alone is familiar.

It is held to be indispensable that a Brahmin should die upon the bare earth, because, as soon as his soul is disengaged from his body, the Hindoos imagine that it must enter into another, which will accompany his spirit to the celestial paradise; and should he die on a bed, or even on a mat, he must carry those things with him to the next world, which would be extremely inconvenient. This notion has given rise to common malediction among the Brahmins, Mayest thou never have a friend to lay thee on the ground when thou diest!"

a

66

When the spirit is released, the corpse, washed and shaved, is arrayed in the finest clothes, and adorned with all the jewels which belonged to the deceased. This being done, the body is rubbed with sandal, and the mark of caste affixed to the forehead. It is now placed upon a sort of litter, and the nearest of kin strips it of its clothing and jewels, then covers it with a single handkerchief, one corner of which he tears off, wrapping in it a small piece of iron, and a few seeds of sesamum.

The litter is borne by four Brahmins, headed by the Purohita, carrying fire in a vessel. The male relatives only follow the body, without their turbans, their foreheads being encircled with a narrow strip of cloth as a mourning badge. The procession stops several times before it reaches the funeral pile. At each halt a few grains of undressed rice are put into the mouth of the deceased, in order that if life should not be extinct, there may be time for reanimation to take place.

Having arrived at the place appointed for the last solemn act of cremation, a narrow trench is dug, about seven feet long and three broad. The place upon which the pile is to be erected having been consecrated, the officiating Brahmin sprinkles the spot with water, and casts upon it several pieces of a small gold coin. The pile is constructed of dry sandal-wood, and upon this the body is laid at full length with great form. A piece of cow-dung, pressed flat, and dried in the sun, is now kindled, and placed upon the chest of the deceased, over whom

the Purohita makes the sacrifice of boiled rice, saturated with ghee or clarified butter. This rite being ended, the Purohita addresses certain mantras to each aperture of the body, and finishes by dropping a piece of gold betwixt the jaws of the deceased, several Brahmins in succession forcing into the mouth of the corpse a small quantity of crude rice steeped in water from the Ganges.

The body is now quite denuded, and sprigs of a sacred herb, well sprinkled with that offensive compound, the Panchakaryam, are strewed over it, the chief functionary marching three times round the pile, with a pitcher of water upon his shoulders, which he breaks at the head of the corpse. He now receives a torch from one of his attendants, but before taking it, he throws himself into the most violent contortions of body, and makes dreadful lamentations, beating his breast, and rolling on the ground. His attendants unite their cries to his, until the din is positively deafening. After this, the chief of the funeral seizes the torch, and applies it to the four corners of the pile. So soon as he sees the flames ascend, the Purohita hurries to the nearest tank or river, and plunges in, in order to cleanse himself from the pollution imbibed from contact with a dead body. Dripping with his bath, he boils a quantity of rice, and casts it to the crows, which abound in India. It is, however, believed, that— On such an occasion, the crows are not crows, but devils or malevolent beings, under that shape, whom the Brahmins wish to appease and render propitious by this offering. If they should refuse to eat, which the Hindoos say has sometimes happened, it is taken for an evil presage of the future state of the deceased; and people would thence have a right to conclude that, so far from having been admitted into the regions of bliss, he had been kept fast, notwithstanding all the mantras and purifications of his brethren, in the Yama Lokam, or place of torment.-Dubois.

The concluding ceremony is curious. It consists in suspending a vessel filled with water from the ceiling of the house in which the deceased died. It is hung by a very fine piece of cord, supposed to serve as a ladder for the pranas, or winds of the body, to descend every day to drink. Thus close the obsequies of a Brahmin.

The most dreadful part of a Hindoo funeral is when the widow of the deceased determines to burn herself with the body of her husband. Having more than once witnessed this horrible act of fanaticism, I shall give an account of it from personal observation. The victim of this awful sacrifice to which I now refer, was young, rather stout, and scarcely darker than a native of Italy. She had an infant a few months old, at which she gazed with vacant indifference, as if scarcely conscious of its presence, amid the frightful preparations that were making round her.

A considerable interval elapsed before all things were ready for the one great act of immolation, and by this time some change had clearly taken place in her sensations. Her clear, dark eyes gradually became more expressive, but more wild. Her senses had been evidently paralyzed, by the too free use of opium, so often employed, and with such fatal efficacy, upon these and similar melancholy occasions, in order to disarm the terrors, and confirm the fortitude, of the miserable victims doomed by the ferocious sanctity of Hindoo superstition to a premature death, and that too the most horrible.

The devoted widow was rapidly recovering from the partial stupor in which her mental faculties had been involved, and in proportion as her perceptions cleared, her terrors visibly multiplied. Her actions, which had at first appeared merely mechanical, now seemed directed by her returning impulses, which

every moment grew stronger and more distressing. She divided among her friends the different ornaments of her dress, with the look and bearing of one who, from the distraction of her thoughts, scarcely knew what she was doing; but suddenly hearing the cry of her infant, her eye dilated with a bright gleam of recognition, her lip quivered, her bosom heaved, her breath escaped in short, hard gaspings; she sprang forward, tore it from the arms of an attendant, and clasped it passionately to her bosom. Her convulsive sobs struck upon the ear with a thrilling potency, and it was now evident that she was inwardly shrinking from the last act of this most horrible sacrifice ;she stood before the spectators an image of mute but agonized despair.

The officiating Brahmins, seeing that it was time to urge the consummation of this detestable oblation, and fearing lest their victim should relent, commanded all her relatives, friends, and attendants, to retire. In a few moments a large area was left round the pile, within which stood no one save the unhappy

widow and her executioners. Before the area was cleared, one of the Brahmins had forcibly taken the child from the mother's arms, and given it to an attendant, unheedful of the cries of the one, or the agonies of the other. The widow, knowing what was to succeed, gave way to the struggles of nature, fell on her knees, raised her eyes towards heaven, and clasped her hands in a transport of speechless anguish. Two of the Brahmins approached her with an air of calm but stern authority, raised her from her recumbent position, and violently urged her towards the pile. She struggled, and, with the energy of despair, resisted the efforts of the priests of this most sanguinary superstition. Upon seeing this, several more of these cruel functionaries rushed forward, and dragged her towards the fagots, which were well smeared with ghee, in order to accelerate their combustion,-a contingent mercy, arising out of the policy of securing a speedy termination to the Suttee's sufferings, as, the quicker the process, the less chance of rescue or escape. The moment her voice was raised, it was drowned in the mingled clamour of tomtoms †, pipes, and the shouts of hundreds of halfmad fanatics, who had assembled to witness the horrid issue of a devoted fanaticism. Her struggles were now unavailing; she was soon dragged to the pile, and forced upon it. At this time she appeared exhausted by her continued exertions. When seated on the fagots, her husband's head was placed upon her lap; the straw, which had been plentifully strewed underneath the wood, was fired; and the flames instantly ascending, enwrapt the wretched Hindoo, at once shutting her out for ever from human sight, and from human sympathy. Lest in her agonies she should leap from the pile, she was kept down upon it by long bamboos; the ends being placed upon her body by the officiating Brahmins, who leaned their whole weight upon the centre of the pole with which each was furnished, so that she could not rise. Her sufferings were soon terminated, as the wood burned with extreme rapidity and fury. Thus ended this abominable holocaust. J. H. C.

The Suttee is the widow who burns herself. † A small double drum.

MANKIND are too apt to judge of measures solely by events; and to connect wisdom with good fortune, and folly with disaster.-ANON.

To work our own contentment, we should not labour so much to increase our substance, as to moderate our desires. -BISHOP SANDERSON.

AMUSEMENTS OF SCIENCE. No. III. OPTICS. PART I.

THERE is no science more fertile in curious facts than that of Optics, nor any which so frequently offers itself to the examination of all men. The eye is so useful an organ, and one so constantly employed, that the dullest capacity cannot fail to notice many of the singular phenomena which result from its use. In observing many of these phenomena, we have no necessity for complicated optical instruments, the eye itself being so beautifully formed, as in many cases to render the employment of other means unnecessary.

But, although the organ of vision is thus beautifully formed, there is no sense so easily deceived as that of sight; and even a knowledge of the means by which optical illusions can be effected, will not always prevent the observer from falling into error. optical experiments depend, are the reflection and The principal properties of matter on which all refraction of rays of light from polished surfaces. The portion of the science which relates to reflection, is called catoptrics,-while that which treats of refraction, is termed dioptrics. If a ray of light proceeding from any point reaches a polished flat surface, it is reflected from that surface at an angle equal to that by which it reached it; that is, the angle of incidence is always equal to the angle of reflection, and vice

D

A

versd. For instance, if A B is a plane mirror, and CE a ray of light reaching the mirror at E, then that ray will be reflected towards F, making the angles E A C, and E B F equal; so that an observer wishing to see the reflection of the object c in the mirror, must stand somewhere in the line E F. If the mirror, instead of being plane, is concave, the reflection takes place in the following manner :-let A E B, fig. 2, be a concave mirror, c a ray of light falling on it at E, then this ray will be reflected towards F; and supposing a line to be drawn from E to D, the centre of the circle, of which the mirror forms an arc, it will be found that the angle ECD, is equal to E D F. If

F

D

Fig. 2.

B

the mirror is convex, the reflection will take place in the manner shown in fig. 3, c being the ray of light which falls on the mirror at E, which is reflected to D, forming the two equal angles CFE and ED F; a line being drawn from the centre at G, and carried on to r, through the point E. The properties of plane, concave, and convex mirrors, give occasion to many curious Fig. 4. experiments in this branch of the science.

Place two plane mirrors about eight inches high, and six in width, in a box, as in fig. 4, the edges being neatly joined and the mirrors standing at an angle of ninety