Kitabı oku: «The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 14, No. 406, December 26, 1829», sayfa 3
BOOKSELLERS' MARKS OR SIGNS
(For the Mirror.)
Many books, especially those printed in the 17th century, have no other designation either of printer, bookseller, or even city, but merely marks or signs. The anchor is the mark of Raphelengius, at Leyden; and the same with a dolphin twisted round it, of the Mantuii, at Venice and Rome; the Arion denotes a book printed by Oporrinus, at Basil; the caduceus, or pegasus, by the Wechelliuses, at Paris and Frankfort; the cranes, by Cramoisy; the compass, by Plantin, at Antwerp; the fountain, by Vascosan, at Paris; the sphere in a balance, by Janson, or Blaew, at Amsterdam; the lily, by the Juntas, at Venice, Florence, Lyons, and Rome; the mulberry-tree, by Morel, at Paris; the olive-tree, by the Stephenses, at Paris and Geneva, and the Elzevirs, at Amsterdam and Leyden; the bird between two serpents, by the Frobeniuses, at Basil; the truth, by the Commelins, at Heidelberg and Paris; the Saturn, by Collinaeus; the printing press, by Badius Ascensius, &c.
P.T.W.
THE NATURALIST
DIFFERENT COLOURS OF THE EGGS OF BIRDS
It is a remarkable fact in the economy of nature, that of those birds whose nests are the most liable to discovery, and whose eggs are most exposed to observation from the form of the nests, the eggs are of that colour which is the least different from the surrounding objects; whilst those birds whose eggs are of a bright and positive colour, hide their nests in the hollows of trees, or never quit them, excepting in the night, or sit immediately that they have laid one or two eggs. It is also to be observed that of those species which build an exposed nest, and the females of which alone perform the duty of incubation, the colour of the female is much less bright than that of the male, and more in harmony with the objects by which she is surrounded during the period in which she sits upon her eggs. It would seem, therefore, that those birds which lay a brightly-coloured egg have the instinct to make a close nest, or to place it in the least exposed situations; while those which lay a sober-coloured egg are less solicitous to conceal it from the notice of their enemies. M. Gloger, a German naturalist, has paid great attention to this curious circumstance, and has very recently published an elaborate memoir, in a work printed at Berlin, in which he notices the habits of all the species of birds indigenous to Germany, in confirmation of the theory. Our limits will not allow us to notice the particular species which he enumerates; but it may be sufficient to excite attention to this subject, to mention, that the birds which lay an egg perfectly white (the most attractive of colours) make their nests in holes of the earth, and cavities of trees, such as the kingfisher and the woodpecker, or construct them with a very narrow opening, as the domestic swallow; that the same coloured egg is found amongst the birds which scarcely quit their nests in the day, as hawks and owls; and that such birds as doves, which only lay one or two eggs, and sit immediately after, have their eggs white. The bright blue or bright green egg belongs to birds which make their nests in holes, as the starling, or construct them of green moss, or place them in the midst of grass, but always well covered. The eggs of many gallinaceous birds, that make their nests carelessly in the grass, are of a pale and less decided green, such as those of the partridge and pheasant. Of the mixed-coloured eggs, those of which white forms the ground belong to birds that make very close nests. Speckled eggs, with a dark or dirty ground, belong to the largest number of species. Almost all the song birds lay such eggs; and building open nests, they almost invariably line the inside of them with materials of a harmonious colour with the eggs, so that no evident contrast is presented which would lead to their destruction.—Companion to the Almanac.
EFFECTS OF SEA AIR
Those who frequent the sea-coast are not long in discovering that their best dyed black hats become of a rusty brown; and similar effects are produced on some other colours. The brown is, in fact, rust. Most, if not all, the usual black colours have iron for a basis, the black oxide of which is developed by galls, logwood, or other substances containing gallic acid. Now the sea-air contains a proportion of the muriates over which it is wafted; and these coming in contact with any thing dyed black, part with their hydrochloric (muriatic) acid, and form brown hydrochlorate of iron, or contribute to form the brown or red oxide, called rust. The gallic acid, indeed, from its superior affinity, has the strongest hold of the iron; but the incessant action of the sea-air, loaded with muriates, partially overcomes this, in the same way as any acid, even of inferior affinity to the gallic, when put upon black stuff, will turn it brown.—Ibid.
THE DUGONG, THE MERMAID OF EARLY WRITERS
Of all the cetacea, that which approaches the nearest in form to man is undoubtedly the dugong, which, when its head and breast are raised above the water, and its pectoral fins, resembling hands, are visible, might easily be taken by superstitious seamen for a semi-human being.—Edinburgh Journal.
SPIDERS
Live and grow without food. Out of fifty spiders produced on the last day of August, and which were kept entirely without food, three lived to the 8th of February following, and even visibly increased in bulk. Was it from the effluvia arising from the dead bodies of their companions that they lived so long? Other spiders were kept in glass vessels without food, from the 15th of July till the end of January. During that time they cast their skins more than once, as if they had been well fed.—Redi, Generat. Insect.
Spiders are excellent barometers: if the ends of their webs are found branching out to any length, it is a sure sign of favourable weather: if, on the contrary, they are found short, and the spider does not attend to repairing it properly, bad weather may be expected.—Times.
SWARMING OF BEES
The ingenious President of the Horticultural Society, Mr. T.A. Knight, has been led from repeated observation to infer, that, in the swarming of bees, not a single labourer emigrates without previously inspecting its proposed future habitation, as well as the temporary stations of rest where their numbers collect soon after swarming.—Philosophical Magazine.
THE CHAMELEON'S ANTIPATHY TO BLACK
Whatever may be the cause, the fact seems to be certain, that the chameleon has an antipathy to things of a black colour. One, which Forbes kept, uniformly avoided a black board which was hung up in the chamber; and, what is most remarkable, when it was forcibly brought before the black board, it trembled violently, and assumed a black colour.—Oriental Mem.
RULES FOR THE WEATHER
A wet summer is always followed by a frosty winter; but it happens occasionally that the cold extends no farther. Two remarkable instances of this occurred in 1807-8 and 1813-14. With these exceptions, every frosty winter has been followed by a cold summer.
The true cause of cold, or rather the direct cause, is to be found in the winter excess of west wind, every winter with excess of west wind being followed by a cold summer; and if there is no cold before, or during a first excess, then a second excess of west wind in winter occasions a still colder summer than the first. It also appears, by repeated experience, that cold does not extend to more than two years at a time.
Again, if the winter excess of east wind be great, in the first instance, the winters will be mild, and followed by mild summers; while the summer excess of east wind is itself, in the first instance, always mild; but uniformly followed by cold winters and cold summers, which continue, more or less, for one or two years, according to circumstances.—Mackenzie, Syst. of the Weather.
SPIRIT OF THE PUBLIC JOURNALS
PERIODICAL LITERATURE
Periodical Literature—how sweet is the name! 'Tis a type of many of the most beautiful things and events in nature; or say, rather, that they are types of it—both the flowers and the stars. As to flowers, they are the prettiest periodicals ever published in folio—the leaves are wire-wove and hot-pressed by Nature's self; their circulation is wide over all the land; from castle to cottage they are regularly taken in; as old age bends over them, his youth is renewed; and you see childhood poring upon them, prest close to its very bosom. Some of them are ephemeral, and their contents are exhaled between the rising and the setting sun. Once a-week others break through their green, pink, or crimson cover; and how delightful, on the seventh day, smiles in the sunshine the Sabbath flower—the only Sunday publication perused without blame by the most religious—even before morning prayer. Each month, indeed, throughout the whole year, has its own flower-periodical. Some are annual, some biennial, some triennial, and there are perennials that seem to live for ever—and yet are still periodical—though our love will not allow us to know when they die, and phoenix-like re-appear from their own ashes. So much for flowers—typifying or typified;—leaves emblematical of pages—buds of binding dew-veils of covers—and the wafting away of bloom and fragrance like the dissemination of fine feelings, bright fancies, and winged thoughts!
The flowers are the periodicals of the earth—the stars are those of heaven. With what unfailing regularity do the Numbers issue forth! Hesperus and Lucifer! ye are one concern! The pole-star is studied by all nations. How beautiful the poetry of the moon! On what subject does not the sun throw light! No fear of hurting your eyes by reading that fine, clear, large type on that softened page. Lo! as you turn over, one blue, another yellow, and another green, all, all alike delightful to the pupil, and dear to him as the very apple of his eye! Yes, the great Periodical Press of heaven is unceasingly at work—night and day; and though even it has been taxed, and its emanations confined, still their circulation is incalculable; nor have we yet heard that Ministers intend instituting any prosecution against it. It is yet Free, the only free Power all over the world. 'Tis indeed like the air we breathe—if we have it not, we die!
Look, then, at all our paper Periodicals with pleasure, for sake of the flowers and the stars. Suppose them all extinct, and life would be like a flowerless earth, a starless heaven. We should soon forget the seasons themselves—the days of the week—and the weeks of the month—and the months of the year—and the years of the century—and the centuries of all Time—and all Time itself flowing away on into eternity. The Periodicals of external nature would soon all lose their meaning, were there no longer any Periodicals of the soul. These are the lights and shadows of life, merrily dancing or gravely stealing over the dial; remembrancers of the past—teachers of the present—prophets of the future hours. Were they all dead, spring would in vain renew her promise—wearisome would be the long, long, interminable summer-days—the fruits of autumn would taste fushionless—and the winter's ingle blink mournfully round the hearth. What are the blessed Seasons themselves, in nature and in Thomson, but Periodicals of a larger growth? They are the parents, or publishers, or editors, of all the others—principal contributors—nay, subscribers too—and may their pretty family live for ever, still dying, yet ever renewed, and on the increase every year. We should suspect him of a bad, black heart, who loved not the Periodical Literature of earth and sky—who would weep not to see one of its flowers wither—one of its stars fall—one beauty to die on its humble bed—one glory to drop from its lofty sphere. Let them bloom and burn on—flowers in which there is no poison, stars in which there is no disease—whose blossoms are all sweet, and whose rays are all sanative—both alike steeped in dew, and both, to the fine ear of nature's worshipper, bathed in music.
Only look at Maga! One hundred and forty-eight months old! and yet lovely as maiden between frock and gown—even as sweet sixteen! Not a wrinkle on cheek or forehead! No crow-foot has touched her eyes—
"Her eye's blue languish, and her golden hair!"
Like an antelope in the wilderness—or swan on the river—or eagle in the sky. Dream that she is dead, and oh! what a world! Yet die she must some day—so must the moon and stars. Meanwhile there is a blessing in prayers—and hark! how the nations cry, "Oh! Maga, live for ever!"
We often pity our poor ancestors. How they contrived to make the ends meet, surpasses our conjectural powers. What a weary waste must have seemed expanding before their eyes, between morning and night! Don't tell us that the human female never longs for other pastime than
