SIR, CRYSTALIZATION OF ALUM. I HAVE just been spending a most agreeable half-hour in viewing an elegant and varied assemblage of ornaments, fabricated by the simplest, yet most beautiful chemical processthe crystalization of alum : the whole being the result of a few spare hours of patient industry in regulating the steps of this simple process, so as to cause the aluminous deposit to affix itself to almost any desired object or form. I do not claim to myself the original principle of this pleasing invention, which I believe has been chiefly confined to the fabrications of flowerbaskets for chimney ornaments among the more amiable sex, and the enchase ment with an artificial crystal of busts, &c., by the idlers of our own: But as the result of my own experience and consequent gratification, I am induced to offer some observations which I am persuaded may contribute in some degree to the pleasure of others (more especially to the lovers of botany and other branches of natural history), as relates to the more extensive application of aluminous crystali zation. The steps of the operation are these ;-Dissolve eighteen ounces of pure alum in a quart, beer measure, of soft spring water (observing the same proportion for a greater or less quantity) by boiling it gently in a close tinned vessel over a moderate fire, keeping it stirred with a wooden spatula until the solution is complete. When the liquid is almost cold, suspend the subject to be crystalized, by means of a fine thread or twine, from a lath or small stick laid horizontally across the aperture of a deep glazed earthen jar, into which the solution should now be poured, as being best adapted to the process. The respective articles should remain in the solution about twenty-four hours; when they are taken out, they are again to be carefully suspended in the shade until perfectly dry. The whole process of crystalization is best conduct ed in a cool situation. When the subjects to be crystalized are put into the solution while it is quite cold, the crystals are apt to be formed too large; on the other hand, should it be too hot, the crystals will be small in proportion. Experiments have convinced me that the best temperature of the liquid is about 95° of Fahrenheit's thermometer. I shall subjoin a list of the subjects which are admirably adapted to the purpose I have mentioned, all of which I have succeeded in bringing to a most beautiful state of crystalization by the above method. Among the vegetable specimens, are the common moss-rose of the gar dens; the protuberance or bur found on the wild rose, rosa canina, occasioned by an insect depositing its ova thereon-this should be plucked with its foot-stalk and a few of the leaves small bunches of hops, ears of corn, especially millet-seed, and the bearded wheat, berries of the bolly, fruit of the sloe bush, the hyacinth, pink, furze blossom, ranunculus, garden daisy, and a great variety of others: in fact there are but few subjects in the vegetable world that are not eligible to this mode of preservation. In the animal kingdom, the lizard, large spider, grasshopper, all the beetle kind, the nests of small birds, with their eggs, forming most beautiful speci mens, when neatly secured in portions of the branches of the tree, &c., in which they are accustomed to resort. A considerable degree of attention is requsite to prevent too great a deposit of the alum on some of the abovementioned subjects, by which their beauty would be obscured; they ought therefore to be frequently inspected while crystalization is going on, and removed as soon as it can be ascertained that they have acquired a sufficient coating. Various articles of turnery, &c. intended as chimney or naments, in almost every diversity of form if first carefully covered oyer with common cotton, wound round them, may be submitted to crys- P. S. If desirable, the crystalized subjects may be tinged with almost any variety of colour, by boiling in the alum solution a little indigo, Brazil logwood, French berries, or other vegetable and mineral dyes. A little care and ingenuity will likewise enable the operator to confine his tints to the crystal surrounding flower-blossoms, and other particular parts of plants which he may wish to preserve. Among the vegetable tribe, the class of lichens, especially the cup-moss, are most eligible subjects, nor are many specimens of fungi less adapted; the two latter tribes of vegetables have moreover the advantage of permanently retaining their native colours, without any aid whatever from art. A thin coating of the crystalizing matter only should be allowed to obtain on most individuals of the cryptogamia, which is adequate to their preservation, and much more essential to the beauty of the specimen. JOURNAL OF AN OFFICER IN THE IRISH LEGION, LATELY SERVING IN COLUMBIA.—TOUR FROM MERIDA TO THE VALE OF SANTA MARIA ANNA. LEAVING Merida in the morning, from Seville, in old Spain, with a view we proceeded to the vale of Santa Anna: in our way we visited the ruined monastery that belonged to the Dominican friars previous to the revolution. Here, instead of bare walls, we were surprised to find gilded roofs, marble altar pieces, and other vestiges of grandeur, that might have done honour to Rome or Paris. In the nave and chancel lay many good and holy fathers, whose pious stories were engraved upon their tombs for the benefit of posterity; but, unfortunately, time and the damps had been extremely busy with them. One monument struck me more particularly it bore a copper-plate, nearly fitted into the marble-slab, surmounted by two panes with wings, which covered the tomb, and on this was the name of the late superior of the order, in Spanish, with many encomiums on his good qualities. Amongst many other titles, all too flattering for any virtue except that of a romance, he was classically styled, Fulcrum Miserorum, gemma virorum. Having a natural curiosity to know something of a man's history in whose character those rare traits were to be met with, I inquired of an old Frenchman, who accompanied me, as to his knowledge of the superior. He told me that the monk had originally come to improve his fortune; that, in consequence of the refusal of another prelate to place himself at the mercy of the wind and waves, he was ap pointed Bishop of Venezuela, and that on his translation to this rich see he resided between Maracaibo and Merida. I asked the Frenchman whether the hero of this tale had died rich ? "Oui, Monsieur ;"-not content with an income of forty thousand dollars, on the death of the governor of Maracaibo, he made free with the treasure in the royal chest; a defalcation of six hundred thousand dollars was the consequence, which could not be accounted for, and the governor's haciendas were confiscated in order to make good the deficiency. Not thinking it prudent to return to old Spain, he retired to the convent, where he assumed the character of a hermit, and lived with the fathers a life of piety and mortification, according to some; but, as others tell the tale, in all manner of voluptuousness and hypocrisy. He himself had been pressed into the Monk's service as baker-general to the convent, to superintend the bread and pastry, and also to act as pilot to his pleasurebarge on the lake; during the lifetime of the superior he had enjoyed a tolerable easy place of it, but after his death the monks had obliged him to cut fuel to serve the ovens, for which he got many benedictions in lieu of his promised salary. I asked him to whose gratitude the superior was indebted for his handsome monument; he replied, to the fishermen of Maracaibo, in return for his having obliged his flock to abstain from meat three times a week, which gave them a good market for their fish: perhaps the hint was taken from Pope Leo, who proclaimed Saturday a fast-day in England, to oblige the pious fishermen of that country, who gave him a douceur of five hundred pounds for his papal benevolence. The monk could hardly have fixed on a more delightful-spot through the whole earth, than that retreat which his own see afforded: here he could enjoy his otium cum dignitate to his heart's content, unruffled by the care of this world, amid the romantic scenery of forests, lakes, rivers, rocks and hanging gardens, with a climate the most favourable. The gardens belonging to the convents have gone to ruin since the revolution, but sufficient vestiges of taste and decoration still linger to tell what they once were. Innumerable flowers and blooming shrubs emit a delightful fragrance, while the numerous exotics once collected in the green-house of the convent have been suffered to remain, and, beautiful even in neglect and wildness, lend a charm to desolation. These monasteries are connected with the female convents in the vale by a serpentine walk about a mile in length, shaded by tall trees interwoven so as to exclude the rays of the sun at proper intervals, little arbours are placed, festooned with the acacia, in bloom the whole year round, and other flowery shrubs equally rare to the European. Here the fathers were often entertained by the sisterbood with coffee, lemonade, and fruits, until dusk. Our French guide also told us, that the demon of civil war caused a feud amongst the nuns of the two convents, who espoused the cause of their respective partizans as fiercely as the contending generals and their armies: it was not unusual, he said, to see the radical nuns going before the inquisitor-general of their order with black eyes, and other tokens of the courage with which they maintained their doctrines. In the avenues of the shrubbery or tinta we met a fat monk, who in the course of our conversation with him, regretted that the extreme poverty of the brother and sisterhood prevented our being received with the usual hospitality of their prosperous days. As he looked too comfortable a personage for a pauper, I remarked that fasting and mortification were forgotten with other comforts. This ill-timed repartee he took no notice of more than by a significant shrug, remarking, that before the revolution, they enjoyed many privileges, but that the country growing poorer, and consequently more wicked, contributed very little at present to their support. I told him, for his consolation, that a French and English colony would soon repeople the land, and give a fresh energy to manufacture and commerce. "Oh, Santa Maria," said he, "Voltaire and Paine's disciples!" A prolonged ha-ra-co succeeded a pause, in which he was evidently labouring under some mortifying perplexity; to add to his chagrin, I told him a worse evil than those was to follow, as the Methodist missionaries were instruct ing some Saint in the Spanish language, in order to preach the gospel in South America to the people of colour. I can hardly describe the emotions of the good father on hearing this account: he looked in despair, and prayed to God to remove him out of the world before that occurrence should take place. I left him, however, to his own reflections, which I dare say were any thing rather than pleasant. The Frenchman wrinkled up his face into an arch smile, exclaiming, "Monsieur padre is von damned grand gourmand," and added that this fellow was a greater plague to him than any of the fathers; "he used to squeeze my nose, Sennor, in the wafer tongs, if he had not the wafer for the sacrament and his breakfast-bread by six o'clock in the morning." In our way onwards, we saw five other convents, mostly in ruins from the earthquake; but, dreadful as such an event must be, one can hardly regret its having destroyed these receptacles of pious indolence, which operated as a double tax on the community, by withdrawing from the general toil so many people capable of labour, and then taxing those that remained, for their support. This charming spot is infinitely picturesque and delightful: a succession of the most fertile hacundas cover the vale for nine leagues: as far as the eye can range over to the lofty Paramos de los Cunegos Mountains you are sure to see the vine and olive appear in rich luxuriance, festooning the props that support them, while vast plantations of sugar-cane diversify the appearance in the vallies. Nothing is wanted to the perfection of this scene, but that moral beauty which is supplied by the presence of an industrious population, and humanity would hope that this will not long be wanted; the tide of liberty and intelligence is setting in with a powerful flow over the whole world; and though despotism may check the rapidity of its course by temporary barriers, it must eventually bear down every obstacle opposed to it, and leave only the ruins of slavery as the earthquakes have left the ruins of the convent. MY COUNTRY CHURCHYARDS. No. IV. Y next Chapter, I think, was to be of "graves, and stones, and epitaphs." Come then to the churchyard with me, whoever shrinketh not from thoughtful inspection of those eloquent sermon books. Come to that same churchyard where lately we saw the assembled congregation-the aged and the young-the proud and the lowly-the rich and poor collecting together on the Sabbath morning to worship their Creator within those sacred walls. Many months since then have slipt away-the green leaves have withered, and dropt, and decayed, and the bare branches have been hung with icicles, and bent down under the weight of winter snows, and again they have budded and put forth their tender shoots, and the thick foliage of summer has cast its broad shadow on the dark green sod, and again "decay's effacing fingers" are at work, and the yellow tints of autumn are gaining on the rich verdure of summer. And man!--the ephemeron! who perisheth as a flower of the field-whose time on earth is like the shadow that departeth-how hath it fared with him during the revolving seasons! How many are gone to their long home, and their place on earth knoweth them no more! How many of those who, when last we looked upon this scene, stood here among their friends and neighbours, full of life and health, and the anticipation of long years to come, full of schemes, and hopes, and expectations, and restless thoughts, and cumbersome cares, and troubles and pleasures of this life! How many of these are since returned to this spot-Yea but to tarry here-to occupy the house appointed for all living—to lie down and sleep, and take their rest, undisturbed by winter winds, or summer storms-unawakened by the chime of the church-bells when they summon hither the Sabbath congregation, or by the voices of those they loved in life, who pass by their lowly graves, already, perhaps, forgetful of the form beloved" so recently deposited there! "So music past is obsolete- This is again a Sabbath day-the evening of an autumnal SabbathMorning and afternoon divine service has been performed within those walls, and now Nature is offering up her own pure homage. The hymns of winged choristers-the incense of her flowery censor-the flames of her centuries,-them also, the unsparing great altar, that glorious setting sun. See how his departing beams steal athwart the churchyard between those old oaks, whose stately trunks, half darkly defined in the blackness of their own shadow, half gilded by the passing brightness, prop that broad canopy of "many twinkling leaves" now glittering underneath with amber light, while above, the dense mass of foliage towering in heavy grandeur, stands out in bold and bleak relief against the golden glory of the western horizon. How magnificent that antique colonnade! How grand that massy superstructure! Lo! the work of the great Architect, which might well put to shame the puny efforts of his creatures, and the frail structures they erect to his glory, were it not, that he whom the heaven of heavens cannot contain, hath vouchsafed to promise, that where a few faithful hearts are gathered together to worship him in spirit and in truth, He will be there in the midst of them, even in their perishable temples. Therefore, though yon majestic oaks overtop with their proud shadow the low walls, and even the ivied tower of that rustic church, yet are they but a fitting portico, an "outer porch," to the sanctuary more especially hallowed by His presence. Neither is their spreading arch, too magnificent a canopy for those obscure graves, so peacefully ranged beneath it. Many a sincere and humble Christian rests from his labours beneath those green hillocks. Many a faithful believer, who has drunk without a murmur his earthly cup of bitterness, because it was awarded to him by the divine will, and because, trusting in the merits of his Redeemer, he cast down his burden at his feet, looking forward, through his promises, to be a partaker of the glory which shall be revealed hereafter. Many a one, "to fortune and to fame unknown," who walked thus humbly with his God, sleeps unrecorded in the majestic shadow of those venerable trees. But when those giants of the earth shall have stood their appointed season,―shall have lived their life of hand shall smite, and they too, shall lie prostrate in the dust; and for their sapless trunks there shall be no renovation, while the human grain, now hidden beneath their roots, retains, even in corruption, the principles of immortality, and shall, in the fulness of time, spring up to life eternal, What histories-not of great actions, or of proud fortunes, or of splendid attainments, but of the human heart, that inexhaustible volume! might be told over these graves, by one who should have known their quiet tenants, and been a keen and feeling observer of their infinitely varying natures! Nay, by one who should relate from his own remembrance, even the more obvious circumstances of their obscure lives!— What tales of love, and hope, and disappointment, and struggling care, and unmerited contumely, and uncom plaining patience, and untold suffering, and broken hearts, might be extracted from this cold earth we tread on! What heart-wrung tears have been showered down upon these quiet graves! What groans, and sighs, and sobs of uncontrollable grief, have burst out in this spot from the bosoms of those who have stood even here, on the brink of the fresh-opened grave, while the coffin was lowered into it, and the grating cords were withdrawn, and the first spadeful of earth rattled on the lid, and the solemn words were uttered-"Dust to dust!" And where are those mourners now, and how doth it fare with them?-Here!they are here!-And it fareth well with them, for their troubles are over, and they sleep in peace amongst their friends and kindred; and other mourners have wept beside their graves, and those, in turn, shall be brought back here, to mingle their dust with that of foregone generations. Even of the living multitude assembled here this day twelvemonths, how many, in the short interval between that and the present time, have taker up their rest within these consecrated precincts! And already, over_the graves of many, the green sods have again united in velvet smoothness. |