Chapter XV: Scraps Of History (3)

A great impetus was given to the study of terrestrial magnetism by the publication of M. Hansteen’s labors; and the various arctic expeditions sent out by the country did much toward making us acquainted with the laws of magnetism in the northern regions. One of these expeditions led to the discovery of the north magnetic pole, or that point where the dipping-needle assumes a vertical position. The discovery was made by Captain Sir James Ross, who sailed with his uncle Sir John Ross, in a voyage undertaken in search of a northwest passage. He left his uncle’s ship with a party for the sole purpose of reaching this interesting magnetical point, which a series of observations assured him could not be very far distant. The following extract from his journal communicating his discovery will be read with interest. Under the date of the 31st of May 1831, he writes: “We were now within fourteen miles of the calculated position of the magnetic pole, and my anxiety, therefore, did not permit me to do or endure any thing which might delay my arrival at the long wished-for spot. I resolved, therefore, to leave behind the greater part of our baggage and provisions, and to take onward nothing more than was strictly necessary, lest bad weather or other accidents should be added to delay, or lest unforeseen circumstances, still more untoward, should deprive me entirely of the high gratification which I could not but look to in accomplishing this most-desired object. We commenced, therefore, a most rapid march, comparatively disencumbered as we now were; and persevering with all our might, we reached the calculated place at eight in the morning of the 1st of June. The amount of the dip, as indicated by my dipping-needle, was 89° 59’, being thus within one minute of the vertical; while the proximity at least of this magnetic pole, if not its actual existence where we stood, was further confirmed by the total inaction of the several horizontal needles then in my possession. These were suspended in the most delicate manner possible, but there was not one which showed the slightest effort to move from the position in which it was placed—a fact which even the most moderately-informed of readers must know to be one which proves that the centre of attraction lies at a very small horizontal distance, if at any. The land at this place is very low near the coast, but it rises into ridges of fifty or sixty feet high about a mile inland. We could have wished that a place so important had possessed more of mark or note. But nature had here erected no monument to denote the spot that she had chosen as the centre of one of her great and dark powers. We had abundance of materials for building in the fragments of limestone that covered the beach, and we therefore erected a cairn of some magnitude, under which we buried a canister containing a record of the interesting fact, only regretting that we had not the means of constructing a pyramid of more importance, and of strength sufficient to stand the assaults of time and of the Esquimaux.” The latitude of this spot is 70° 5’ 17", and its longitude 96° 46’ 45" west. The reader may remember that during his late arctic voyage in search of Sir John Franklin, Sir James Ross was extremely anxious to revisit this interesting locality, which he was at one time not very distant from; but which, as the places of magnetic intensity are continually changing, he would no longer have found representing the north magnetic pole. It is not a little remarkable that during Sir John Ross’s voyage, Mr. Barlow, who had been long engaged investigating the laws of magnetism, had constructed a magnetical map, in which he laid down a point which he described as that where, in all probability, the dipping-needle would be perpendicular, and which is the very spot where Sir James Ross ascertained the north magnetic pole to exist.

But valuable and interesting as were the observations made by navigators in different parts if the globe, yet philosophers began to perceive that, without some definite plan of proceeding, the mere multiplication of random observations made here and there at irregular periods was not the course most likely to lead to desired results, and to make us acquainted with the mysterious laws of magnetism. The establishment of national observatories for the registration of magnetical observations became absolutely necessary; and the illustrious Humboldt, to whom every branch of science owes so much, gave the first impulse to this great undertaking. During the course of his memorable voyages and travels in various parts of the globe, the observation of the magnetic phenomena in all their particulars occupied a large portion of his attention; and as the commencement of any great work is always an epoch of rare and lasting interest, we shall give the philosopher’s own words on the subject: “When the first proposal to establish a system of observatories forming a network of stations, all provided with similar instruments, was made by myself, I could hardly entertain the hope that I should actually live to see the time when, thanks to the united activity of excellent physicists and astronomers, and especially to the munificent and persevering support of two governments—the Russian and the British, both hemispheres should be covered with magnetic observatories. In 1806 and 1807 my friend M. Altmanns and myself frequently observed the march of the declination needle at Berlin for five or six days and nights consecutively, from hour to hour, and often from half hour to half hour, particularly at the equinoxes and solstices. I was persuaded that continuous uninterrupted observations during several days and nights were preferable to detached observations continued during an interval of many months.”

Political disturbances, always ruinous to the calm researches of the man of science, for many years prevented Humboldt carrying his wishes into effect; and it was not until 1828 that he was enabled to erect a small observatory at Berlin, whose more immediate object was to institute a series of simultaneous observations at concerted hours at Berlin, Paris, and Freiburg. In 1829 magnetic stations were established throughout Northern Asia, in connection with an expedition to that country which emanated from the Russian government; and in 1832 M. Gauss, the illustrious founder of a general theory of terrestrial magnetism, established a magnetic observatory at Göttingen, which was completed in 1834, and furnished with his ingenious instruments.

In 1836 Baron Humboldt addressed a long and highly-interesting letter to the Duke of Sussex, then president of the Royal Society, urging the establishment of regular magnetical stations in the British possessions in North America, Australia, the Cape of Good Hope, and between the tropics, not only for the observation of the momentary perturbations of the needle, but also for that of its periodical and secular movements. This appeal was nobly responded to.

The Royal Society, in conjunction with the British Association, called on government to advance the necessary funds to establish magnetical observatories at Greenwich, and in various parts of the British possessions; and in 1839-40 magnetical establishments were in activity at St. Helena, the Cape of Good Hope, Canada, and Van Diemen’s Land. The munificence of the directors of the East India Company founded and furnished, at the request of the Royal Society, magnetic observatories at Simla, Madras, Bombay, and Singapore, and the observations will be published in a similar form to those of the British observatories. We will now briefly describe the scheme of observations, and the manner of making them in the different observatories.

Each observatory is supplied with three magnetometers, or bars of magnetized steel, delicately suspended by threads of raw silk, which measure the magnetical declination, horizontal intensity, and vertical force—and such astronomical apparatus as is required for ascertaining the time and the true meridian. To these have also been added in each case a most complete and perfect set of meteorological instruments, carefully compared with the standards in possession of the Royal Society, not only for the purpose of affording the necessary corrections of the magnetic observations, but also with a view to obtaining at each station, at very little additional cost and trouble, a complete series of meteorological observations. In order that the observations may be made at the same periods of time, it was resolved that the mean time at Göttingen should be employed at all the stations, without any regard to the apparent times of day at the stations themselves. Each day is supposed to be divided into twelve equal portions of two hours each, commencing at all the stations at the same instants of absolute time, which are called the magnetic hours. At the commencement of each period of two hours throughout the day and night, with the exception of Sundays, the magnetometers are observed, and the meteorological instruments read off. Independently of these observations, others are made at stated periodical intervals every two minutes and a half during twenty-four hours. These are known by the name of “turn-day observations.” Printed forms for registering the observations have been prepared with great care, in order that a complete form of registry may be preserved—a point of great importance, when it is remembered that all the observations made at the different stations must eventually be reduced and analyzed. A singularly felicitous adaptation of photography has been carried into effect with the magnetometers. By means of mirrors attached to their arms, reflected light is cast on highly-sensitive photographic paper wound round a cylinder moved by clockwork, and the slightest variation of the magnets is registered with the greatest accuracy.

The period has not yet arrived for reaping the fruits of all the labor carried on in the magnetic observatories at home and abroad, but already certain results have been deduced from the observations which are highly interesting. It appears that if the globe be divided into an eastern and a western hemisphere by a plane coinciding with the meridians of 100° and 280°, the western hemisphere, or that comprising the Americas and the Pacific Ocean, has a much higher magnetic intensity distributed generally over its surface than the eastern hemisphere, containing Europe and Africa, and the adjacent part of the Atlantic Ocean. The distribution of the magnetic intensity in the intertropical regions of the globe affords evidence of two governing magnetic centres in each hemisphere. The highest magnetic intensity which has been observed is more than twice as great as the lowest. It had long been known that in Europe the north end of a magnet suspended horizontally (meaning by the north end that which is directed toward the north) moves to the east from the night until between seven and eight o’clock in the morning, when an opposite movement commences, and the north end of the magnet moves to the west. Recent observations have shown that a similar movement takes place at the same hours of local time in North America, and that it is general in the middle latitudes of the northern hemisphere; but to show the capricious nature of magnetism, it may be mentioned, that although in the southern portion of the globe the movement of the magnet in the contrary direction is constant throughout the year, yet at St. Helena the peculiar feature of the diurnal is, that during one half of the year the movement of the north end of the magnet corresponds in direction with the movement which is taking place in the northern hemisphere, while in the other half of the year the direction corresponds with that which is taking place in the southern hemisphere.

Another striking result of these investigations is the estimate of the total magnetic power of the earth as compared with a steel bar magnetized one pound in weight. This proportion is calculated as 8,464,000,000,000,000,000,000 to 1, which, supposing the magnetic force uniformly distributed, will be found to amount to about six such bars to every cubic yard of the earth’s surface.

Thus measured, it will be seen how tremendously mysterious is the power of magnetism, and how potent an influence it must possess over animate and inanimate nature! And not one of its least wonderful mysteries is its singular exception to the character of stability and permanence. The configuration of our globe, the distribution of temperature in its interior, the tides and currents of the ocean, the general course of winds, and the affections of climate—all these are appreciably constant. But magnetism, that subtle, undefinable fluid, is perpetually undergoing a change, and of so rapid a nature, that it becomes necessary to assume epochs, which ought not to be more than ten years apart, to which every observation should be reduced. The extreme importance of knowing the exact amount of magnetic variation can scarcely be overrated for maritime purposes; and the establishment of a complete magnetical theory, based on an extensive series of observations, must be regarded as a desideratum by the first nautical country.

The numerous magnetical surveys that have been made by our government, taken in conjunction with those in progress on the continent of Europe, and particularly in the Austrian dominions, give a full promise of the speedy realization of M. Humboldt’s wish, so earnestly expressed, that the materials of the first general magnetic map of the globe should be assembled; and even permit the anticipation, that the first normal epoch of such a map will be but little removed from the present year.

EARLY HISTORY OF THE USE OF COAL. (FROM CHAMBERS’S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.)

Bituminous matter, if not the carboniferous system itself, exists abundantly on the banks of the Euphrates. In the basin of the Nile coal has been recently detected. It occurs sparingly in some of the states of Greece; and Theophrastus, in his “History of Stones,” refers to mineral coal (_lithanthrax_) being found in Liguria and in Elis, and used by the smiths; the stones are earthy, he adds, but kindle and burn like wood coals (the _anthrax_). But by none of the Oriental nations does it appear that the vast latent powers and virtues of the mineral were thus early discovered, so as to render it an object of commerce or of geological research. What the Romans termed _lapis ampelites_, is generally understood to mean our cannel coal, which they used not as fuel, but in making toys, bracelets, and other ornaments; while their _carbo_, which Pliny describes as _vehementer perlucet_, was simply the petroleum or naphtha, which issues so abundantly from all the tertiary deposits. Coal is found in Syria, and the term frequently occurs in the Sacred Writings. But there is no reference any where in the inspired record as to digging or boring for the mineral—no directions for its use—no instructions as to its constituting a portion of the promised treasures of the land. In their burnt-offerings, wood appears uniformly to have been employed; in Leviticus, the term is used as synonymous with fire, where it is said that “the priests shall lay the parts in order upon the wood”—that is, on the fire which is upon the altar. And in the same manner for all domestic purposes, wood and charcoal were invariably made use of. Doubtless the ancient Hebrews would be acquainted with _natural_ coal, as in the mountains of Lebanon, whither they continually resorted for their timber, seams of coal near Beirout were seen to protrude through the superincumbent strata in various directions. Still there are no traces of pits or excavations into the rock to show that they duly appreciated the extent and uses of the article.... For many reasons it would seem that, among modern nations, the primitive Britons were the first to avail themselves of the valuable combustible. The word by which it is designated is not of Saxon, but of British extraction, and is still employed to this day by the Irish, in their form of _o-gual_, and in that of _kolan_ by the Cornish. In Yorkshire, stone hammers and hatchets have been found in old mines, showing that the early Britons worked coals before the invasion of the Romans. Manchester, which has risen upon the very ashes of the mineral, and grown to all its wealth and greatness under the influence of its heat and light, next claims the merit of the discovery. Portions of coal have been found under, or imbedded in the sand of a Roman way, excavated some years ago for the construction of a house, and which at the time were ingeniously conjectured by the local antiquaries to have been collected for the use of the garrison stationed on the route of these warlike invaders at Mancenion, or the Place of Tents. Certain it is that fragments of coal are being constantly, in the district, washed out and brought down by the Medlock and other streams, which break from the mountains through the coal strata. The attention of the inhabitants would in this way be the more early and readily attracted by the glistening substance. Nevertheless, for long after, coal was but little valued or appreciated, turf and wood being the common articles of consumption throughout the country. About the middle of the ninth century, a grant of land was made by the Abbey of Peterborough, under the restriction of certain payments in kind to the monastery, among which are specified sixty carts of wood, and as showing their comparative worth, only twelve carts of pit coal. Toward the end of the thirteenth century, Newcastle is said to have traded in the article, and by a charter of Henry III., of date 1284, a license is granted to the burgesses to dig for the mineral. About this period, coals for the first time began to be imported into London, but were made use of only by smiths, brewers, dyers, and other artisans, when, in consequence of the smoke being regarded as very injurious to the public health, parliament petitioned the king, Edward I., to prohibit the burning of coal, on the ground of being an intolerable nuisance. A proclamation was granted, conformable to the prayer of the petition; and the most severe inquisitorial measures were adopted to restrict or altogether abolish the use of the combustible, by fine, imprisonment, and destruction of the furnaces and workshops! They were again brought into common use in the time of Charles I., and have continued to increase steadily with the extension of the arts and manufactures, and the advancing tide of population, till now, in the metropolis and suburbs, coals are annually consumed to the amount of about three million of tons. The use of coal in Scotland seems to be connected with the rise of the monasteries.... Under the regime of domestic rule at Dunfermline, coals were worked in the year 1291—at Dysart and other places along the Fife coast, about half a century later—and generally in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries the inhabitants were assessed in coals to the churches and chapels, which, after the Reformation, have still continued to be paid in many parishes. Boethius records that in his time the inhabitants of Fife and the Lothians dug “a black stone,” which, when kindled, gave out a heat sufficient to melt iron.—_Rev. Dr. Anderson’s Course of Creation._

JENNY LIND. BY FREDRIKA BREMER.

There was once a poor and plain little girl dwelling in a little room in Stockholm, the capital of Sweden. She was a poor little girl indeed, then; she was lonely and neglected, and would have been very unhappy, deprived of the kindness and care so necessary to a child, if it had not been for a peculiar gift. The little girl had a fine voice, and in her loneliness, in trouble or in sorrow, she consoled herself by singing. In fact she sang to all she did; at her work, at her play, running or resting, she always sang.

The woman who had her in care went out to work during the day, and used to lock in the little girl, who had nothing to enliven her solitude but the company of a cat. The little girl played with her cat and sang. Once she sat by the open window and stroked her cat and sang, when a lady passed by. She heard the voice and looked up and saw the little singer. She asked the child several questions, went away, and came back several days later, followed by an old music master, whose name was Crelius. He tried the little girl’s musical ear and voice, and was astonished. He took her to the director of the Royal Opera of Stockholm, then a Count Puhe, whose truly generous and kind heart was concealed by rough speech and a morbid temper. Crelius introduced his little pupil to the count, and asked him to engage her as “_élève_ for the opera.” “You ask a foolish thing!” said the count, gruffly, looking disdainfully down on the poor little girl. “What shall we do with that ugly thing? see what feet she has? And then her face? She will never be presentable. No, we can not take her. Away with her!”

The music master insisted, almost indignantly. “Well,” exclaimed he at last, “if you will not take her, poor as I am, I will take her myself, and have her educated for the scene; such another ear as she has for music is not to be found in the world!”

The count relented. The little girl was at last admitted into the school for _élèves_, at the Opera, and with some difficulty a simple gown of black bombazine was procured for her. The care of her musical education was left to an able master, Mr. Albert Breg, director of the song school of the Opera.

Some years later, at a comedy given by the _élèves_ of the theatre, several persons were struck by the spirit and life with which a very young _élève_ acted the part of a beggar-girl in the play. Lovers of genial nature were charmed, pedants almost frightened. It was our poor little girl, who had made her first appearance, now about fourteen years of age, frolicksome and full of fun as a child.

A few years still later, a young debutante was to sing for the first time before the public in Weber’s Freischutz. At the rehearsal preceding the representation of the evening, she sang in a manner which made the members of the orchestra at once lay down their instruments to clap their hands in rapturous applause. It was our poor, plain little girl here again, who now had grown up and was to appear before the public in the role of Agatha. I saw her at the evening representation. She was then in the prime of youth, fresh, bright, and serene as a morning in May—perfect in form—her hands and her arms peculiarly graceful—and lovely in her whole appearance, through the expression of her countenance, and the noble simplicity and calmness of her manners. In fact she was charming. We saw not an actress, but a young girl full of natural geniality and grace. She seemed to move, speak, and sing without effort or art. All was nature and harmony. Her song was distinguished especially by its purity, and the power of soul which seemed to swell in her tones. Her “mezzo voice” was delightful. In the night scene where Agatha, seeing her lover come, breathes out her joy in rapturous song, our young singer on turning from the window, at the back of the theatre, to the spectators again, was pale for joy. And in that pale joyousness she sang with a burst of outflowing love and life that called forth, not the mirth, but the tears of the auditors.

From this time she was the declared favorite of the Swedish public, whose musical tastes and knowledge are said not to be surpassed. And, year after year, she continued so, though, after a time, her voice, being overstrained, lost somewhat of its freshness, and the public being satiated, no more crowded the house when she was singing. Still, at that time, she could be heard singing and playing more delightfully than ever in Pamina (in Zauberflote) or in Anna Bolena, though the opera was almost deserted. She evidently sang for the pleasure of the song.

By that time she went to take lessons of Garcia, in Paris, and so give the finishing touch to her musical education. There she acquired that warble in which she is said to have been equalled by no singer, and which could be compared only to that of the soaring and warbling lark, if the lark had a soul.

And then the young girl went abroad and sang on foreign shores and to foreign people. She charmed Denmark, she charmed Germany, she charmed England. She was caressed and courted every where, even to adulation. At the courts of kings, the houses of the great and noble, she was feasted as one of the grandees of nature and art. She was covered with laurels and jewels. But friends wrote of her, “In the midst of these splendors she only thinks of her Sweden, and yearns for her friends and her people.”

One dusky October night, crowds of people (the most part, by their dress, seemed to belong to the upper classes of society) thronged on the shore of the Baltic harbor at Stockholm. All looked toward the sea. There was a rumor of expectance and pleasure. Hours passed away, and the crowds still gathered, and waited and looked out eagerly toward the sea. At length a brilliant rocket rose joyfully, far out at the entrance of the harbor, and was greeted with a general buzz on the shore.

“There she comes! there she is!” A large steamer now came whelming on its triumphant way through the flocks of ships and boats lying in the harbor, toward the shore of the “Skeppsbero.” Flashing rockets marked its way in the dark as it advanced. The crowds on the shore pressed forward as if to meet it. Now the leviathan of the waters was heard thundering nearer and nearer; now it relented, now again pushed on, foaming and splashing; now it lay still. And, there on the front of the deck, was seen by the light of lamps and rockets, a pale, graceful young woman, her eyes brilliant with tears, and lips radiant with smiles, waving her handkerchief to her friends and countrymen on shore.

It was she again—our poor, plain, neglected little girl of former days—who now came back in triumph to her fatherland. But no more poor, no more plain, no more neglected. She had become rich; she had in her slender person the power to charm and inspire multitudes.

Some days later, we read in the papers of Stockholm, an address to the public written by the beloved singer, stating, with noble simplicity, that “as she once more had the happiness to be in her native land, she would be glad to sing again to her countrymen, and that the income of the operas in which she was this season to appear, would be devoted to raise a fund for a school where _élèves_ for the theatre would be educated to virtue and knowledge.” The intelligence was received as it deserved, and of course the Opera was crowded every night the beloved singer sang there. The first time she again appeared in Somnambula (one of her favorite roles), the public, after the curtain was dropped, called her back with great enthusiasm, and received her, when she appeared, with a roar of hurrahs. In the midst of the burst of applause a clear and melodious warbling was heard. The hurrahs were hushed instantly. And we saw the lovely singer standing with her arms slightly extended, somewhat bowing forward, graceful as a bird on its branch warbling, warbling as no bird ever did, from note to note—and on every one a clear, strong, soaring warble—until she fell into the retournelle of her last song, and again sang that joyful and touching strain,

“No thought can conceive how I feel at my heart.”

MY NOVEL; OR, VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. BY PISISTRATUS CAXTON. (FROM BLACKWOOD’S EDINBURGH MAGAZINE.)