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which he wished to experiment could be easily obtained and classified. His mind had for some time been attracted to his specialty; and the world became suddenly aware how far he had gone toward changing meteorology from a speculation, but little more respectable than alchemy, into a positive science, by his invention of the NEPHELOSCOPE, a very simple and accurate instrument by which the expansion of air attributable to latent caloric can be perfectly measured. At this time he published several pamphlets, reviewing and rejecting the theories of storms and currents which prevailed: these attracted notice because of their clear style and great power of analysis, and the savants of New England and Philadelphia began to look to Franklin Institute for some theory which should take the place of those which had been so remorselessly disposed of. By this time, also, Prof. ESPY had formed his own theory, and brought it practically to the test of many storms. Being convinced of its truth, he announced it in a series of lectures in Philadelphia. These lectures were soon called for in other centres of science; and at length it became necessary for him to abandon Franklin Institute, and devote himself to scientific pursuits alone.

We have not space here for an analysis of the Professor's Theory of Storms, which has now become the prevailing one. Its theme is quite simple: He supposes that when the air near the surface of the earth becomes more heated or more highly charged with aqueous vapor, which is only five-eighths of the specific gravity of atmospheric air, its equilibrium is unstable, and up-moving columns or streams will be formed. As these columns rise, their upper parts will come under less pressure, and the air will, therefore, expand; as it expands it will grow colder, about one degree and a quarter for every hundred yards of its ascent, as he demonstrated by experiments in the Nepheloscope. The ascending columns will carry up with them the aqueous vapor which they contain, and, if they rise high enough, the cold produced by expansion from diminished pressure will condense some of this vapor into cloud; for it is known that cloud is formed in the receiver of an air-pump when the air is suddenly withdrawn. The distance to which the air will have to ascend before it will become cold enough to begin to form cloud, is a variable quantity, depending on the number of degrees which the dew-point is below the temperature of the air; and this height may be known at any time, by observing how many degrees a thin metallic tumbler of water must be cooled down below the temperature of the air before the vapor will condense on the outside.

Professor ESPY's account of the generation of winds at the time of a storm, was equally simple: the air rushes from all sides to the centre of the ascending columns, and in conjunction with this, the air is depressed around the columns, and brings down the motion which is known to be greater as air is above the earth's surface. His theories of the annulation of clouds, the interior passage for winds through the cone-centre of tornadoes, are beautiful, and agree with the facts in the ease. But we cannot dwell upon them. No one interested in the subject will be without his great work, The Philosophy of Storms, published by Little & Brown, Boston, during the year 1841. Before its publication in this form, the new theory had caused a sensation in the principal cities of England and France, and Professor ESPY was invited to visit Europe, and compare his results with those which had been reached by Redfield, Forbes, Pouillet, Fournet and others.

He accordingly visited Europe, and in September, 1840, the British Association appointed a day to entertain the Professor's statement, which was made in

the presence of Prof. Forbes, Mr. Redfield, Sir John Herschel, Sir David Brewster, and other eminent naturalists. The discussion which followed was one of the most interesting ever reported in the Journals of the Association. In the Academy of Sciences, at Paris, the interest was equally great, and a committee, consisting of Arago and Pouillet, was appointed to report upon ESPY's observations and theory. They were satisfied of the importance of the theory at once, and so reported. It was in the debate which took place in the Academy at this time, that Arago said, "France has its Cuvier, England its Newton, America its ESPY." On his return from this satisfactory visit, Professor ESPY was appointed corresponding member of the Smithsonian Institute. From that time until his death he resided in Washington, beloved and honored by all who knew him. His more recent discoveries will be given to the world, doubtless, by those who have charge of them; one of them, relating to electricity, is quite interesting and important. We now turn to another side of his life, and one of paramount interest.

Mr. ESPY's parents were devout members of the Presbyterian Church, and as that Church had not in those days adopted the compliant system now in vogue, which aspires to carry the Westminster Confession on one shoulder, and the spirit and science of the age on the other, he received a quite strict and religious training. The Bible was his daily study, and he learned the New Testament by rote. But we have seen that he was a realist at birth. One day, having read in the Testament the words "whatsoever ye shall ask in my name that ye shall receive," he went out into the garden alone, and, extending his hand upward, said, "O God, give me a dollar!" His surprise and pain that the dollar did not drop into his hand from the clouds was great. Then Doubt quietly entered, took her seat, and henceforth every text must needs pass under her hand, and bear her questionings. Skeptic means, by etymology, 'one who considers a thing: consequently skeptics are rarely orthodox. Professor ESPY, when he had passed through the waves of doubt, found himself on the strong shores where Faith marries Reason; and their progeny of high thoughts and holy aspirations arose within him. His mind at first, and entirely by its own operations, arrived at a complete faith in the existence and benevolence of God: then adieu, O parental Church, with thy doctrine of the angry God and the endless torments! But he did not pause with the speculative Epicurists, who care to follow an idea only so far as it makes things easy, and lays the fear-phantoms; he went farther than to reject the idea that endless torment awaited any immortal child of God; he developed the most perfect system of Optimism which has yet been announced. THERE IS NO EVIL: GOD IS GOOD; GOD IS OVER ALL: ALL IS FOR THE BEST. This was his theme, and he was wont with those who knew him to dwell on it with a convincing power and eloquence which easily arose to majesty. This stormking, as he was called, had not gone forth to discover the pathways of the lightning and survey the inviolable channels of wind and storm, and returned to believe that the Chaos, driven from the external world forever, prevailed yet in the storms and winds of the inward and human worid. He saw that the passions, the impulses, the motives, had their law, and that there was no chance-work but to empyrics, no Chaos but to the ignorant. These views gradually wrote themselves through his experience and life, and have bequeathed us the work of which the Introduction has appeared in The Dial. In it his distinction, beyond the production of a clear, simple and logical essay on a much confused subject,

is, that he shows that so far from Necessity annihilating responsibility, as is alleged, Necessity alone makes responsibility possible.

On the 17th day of January last, Professor ESPY was stricken with paralysis: he was nearly seventy-four years of age, and it was scarcely expected by his friends, that even a constitution so vigorous as his, a constitution which had never been wronged by a bad habit of any kind, could vanquish the violent foe. When he was in pain, and could scarcely speak, he was heard to whisper, "I have tried to will to move that limb, and can not." No paralytic stroke could strike to the seat of thought and conviction! Never in such a condition have we known a mind to remain so active and so healthy in its tone to the last. As we looked upon the snowy locks of the pure old man, we felt how truly the ancient poet described such as "the white blossoms of eternal fruit." He died January 24th.

The character of Professor ESPY was as pure and elevated as any which it has been our happiness to meet. His word, with those who met him, was truth itself; his innocence was like that of a child; he lived and died without ever being willing to suspect those whom others saw to be jealous of his position and influence. His benevolence was not only large and true, but it was equaled by his affectionateness and tenderness toward those who were appointed in the order of God to minister and be ministered to in the circle of his life.

When the immortal old man was drawing near to his end, the writer of this memoir stood by him, amongst other friends, anxious for a last word. The old man could not speak a word, but presently moved his fingers as if he would write. Pencil and paper having been brought, he wrote some words in almost illegible scratches. It took us some hours to decipher them, but at last, letter added to letter, a sublime sentence shone with clear ray upon us; it ran: "I have found in human nature a principle superior to conscience. Conscience can be taught that it is right to burn heretics: Instinct can not be taught not to feel pain at the sight of suffering."

There it is, O reader! a voice from the mysterious boundary-line between the darkness of earth and the light of the superior world. We who received it, bear witness that by that principle a living and beautiful soul climbed to bloom and cluster in the light of God.

The will which he left does so perfectly repeat the practical aim and spirit of his whole life, that we record its opening paragraphs here:

"In the beginning of this, my last will and testament, I wish to express my most profound reverence for the Supreme Ruler of the Universe, and my unwavering belief that everything which I have experienced during my whole life (as well the painful as the pleasant) has been so arranged by His infinite goodness and wisdom, as to result in good to me, by educating me to a highar state of knowledge, and to a more intense love of goodness, and so to prepare me for an eternity of happiness after death. If it is better for me to exist happy after death, I shall so exist, as certainly as there is a God of infinite goodness, wisdom and power; and if it is better for me to suffer some pain hereafter for the sake of further improvement, I doubt not that an infinitely wise and good Father has arranged that I shall so suffer.

"Heavenly Father, with unwavering confidence in Thy love, I commit myself and the whole human family, Thy children, to Thy holy keeping."

Almost a Heroine.

CRITICAL NOTICES.

By the author of Charles Auchester, Counterparts, and Rumour. Boston: Ticknor & Fields. Cincinnati: For sale by G. S. Blanchard.

This list comprises the most remarkable works of the imaginative order, which have ever been published, and some of them surpass the limits of ordinary admiration. There seems to be no fit response to them but enthusiasm. A woman it is that writes them, for no man could be so entirely in the sacred circle of the ideal, without even an instant's transgression; and herein, perhaps, lies the " open secret of these works. They have only to do with ideals, and consequently, as an artist, their author must advance to the highest place indeed, like all persons of true genius, she is a soul astray — Heaven, the Heaven of our highest and rarest aspiration, is her home. Only from such a one could such a strain proceed as this:

"

"Let none envy the fate of the exceptional, those whose fate it is to weave rainbows into the awful web of being; whose fathomless heart-springs brim the fountains of imagination with eternal freshness, while the dream-flowers nurtured by that freshness only bloom to die. It is no characteristic, no destiny to be coveted by the selfish for themselves, or by the loving and unselfish for their children. If these exceptional beings are weak or false to their own estimates; if on the least scrutiny a flaw is found, then they do evil in this evil world. If they are strong and pure, and shrink not to declare what they know-nay, all the more, if their mind's history is a page clean as drifted snow- - then they must endure to the end, perhaps find that end the martyr's fate without his crown."

The above is from Rumour, in many regards her most characteristic work, which, however, no American publisher has been kind enough to issue.

Almost a Heroine is, every way considered, the least important of these works; and yet it is full of a life that would be overmuch for any but trained readers. In it a new gospel is given to fallen man, and rare exception!· absolute purity is insisted upon. There must be no compromise whatever in any of our personal relations: these should spring from the Sovereign LawLove. Any violation can not be so ritualized or certified as to save it from the deadly element of prostitution. The author especially dwells on the marital relation; since, if there be a flaw here, the discord enters into all other relations. A terrible sacrifice in this direction, made from a stern sense of duty. gives the work its deep interest, and is in distinct contrast with a perfect marriage.

We are aware that the circle of readers which these works will enjoy must be limited, and that Fame's brazen trump is not the appointed utterer of her merits. Indeed, we could not desire that a conventional, garish popularity should whisper the spirits, as the Arabs say, from this exceptional one. But we have never read her works, from that golden day when Charles Auchester bore us, as on magic mantle, from height to height in the pure ether, but there seemed to stand near the sacred triumvirate, Beethoven, Mozart, Mendelssohn; and they say, "Wheresoever we are recognized or remembered, this that she hath done shall also be recognized and remembered.”

M. C. B.

The Marble Faun: or, the Romance of Monte Beni. By NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE. 2 Vols. Boston: Ticknor & Fields. Cincinnati : For sale by G. S. Blanchard.

Amongst those "entertainingly constructed heads" of which Charles Lamb speaks, we have always reckoned Mr. Hawthorne's; and, after reading this, his newest and oldest romance, we feel much as if we had passed with torches through Weir's Cave, in which, for the time, the spirit of the Phantom Chamber, the Gothic Hall, the Tomb, the Fairy's Grotto seemed to be the stuff of which real life is woven, and the sunshine, oaks and bluebirds illusory. Mr. Hawthorne passed out from the stage of Literature about eight years ago, in not a very graceful way; many a heart that had glowed over the "Twice-Told Tales," and kept ever fresh the "Mosses of the Old Manse," became cooler and dryer when his genius stooped to yoke itself with the party-ox which was dragging into the presidency a mere pretender. But let bygones be bygonesRichard is himself again. He bears, manifestly, a true Damascus blade; and though, whilom, folded up as if it were a riband, it comes forth bright and keen and magical as of old.

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As a work of art, this Tale has superiorities and defects which the author has not exhibited hitherto. Despite the "tragical" nature of the work, as the newspapers term it, there is a moral purpose and a struggling into sunshine not to be found in the "Scarlet Letter" or Blithedale Romance." Is it not time that we recovered from the dyspeptic idea of tragedy? Is it, for example, tragical when two spirits, having soiled themselves with evil, so gain the divine discipline, which every evil must have at the core, that they go cheerfully, hand in hand, to drink the cup they have mingled for their own lips? Is it not triumphal rather than tragical—a theme struck in the major, not the minor key? As if death were the one mournful thing! Few tragedies, thank Heaven, have ever been written ; and those few are the sad records of souls selling themselves to a near success- taking their feet from the neck of the Fiend to give him their hands. Meanness is the only tragedy.

Besides this more cheerful tone, these gleams of a higher and definitely moral beauty, which pervade this work, amounting, in some cases, into that which few had ever expected of its author - a distinct expression of optimismwe have portrayals of real character. Donatello is not a stranger to the circle of any careful observer - furry ears and all. Arrested developments are found all along the way; voices from which the bleat or roar has not died-eyes which call forth the huntsman.

But we spoke of defects in the volume, considered as a work of art. There is too much stage effect, of the Ravel style: where so many white doves fly about a Yankee girl, who devotes her congregational piety to keeping a vestal flame before the Virgin's shrine, instead of singing "Park Street" and "Smyrna ;" when said doves fly from her tower down to her lover and back again; when said girl longs for her distant lover for a special emergency, and he feels at the moment a tug at his heart-stings; when, indeed, many things woven into this story, take place, we are so abominably sophisticated, in this age, as to think of slides and wire ladders, and invisible grapples of men and boys behind there, in their shirt-sleeves, tugging at cranks and pulleys. A geuius so prolific might dispense with these things.

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