A NEW "LADY OF THE LAKE." Ir is a curious fact, though the people of Geneva have such a beautiful lake that foreigners flock to it from all parts of the world, yet they themselves derive but little or no enjoyment from it. Versoix, Coppet, Nyon, Rolles, Ouchy, Cully, Vevey, Villeveuve, and, on the Savoy side, Evian and Thonon, have delightful walks along its shore Geneva has none. This has not always been the case. It is known from documents, and old books, and drawings, that, a hundred years ago, there were footpaths running along the southern and northern side, and that the people of Geneva were fond of walking there in the evening. These paths have all disappeared enclosed gardens, and plots of ground, frequently separated from each other by walls, extend to the water's edge. Would you know how this has happened, you need only look at the water in calm serene weather, and you will see heaps of stones lying in the lake, and posts standing up in it to a considerable distance from the bank. If records did not inform us, we have ocular demonstration that, on the south west, where the current of the Rhone is very impetuous, the water has gradually washed away the bank, undermined and overthrown the stone dykes, along which the foot-paths were carried, and advanced to the margin of the gardens and private enclosures. Perhaps, however, it is a fortunate circumstance that the Genevese cannot get at their lake without some trouble; otherwise the practice of drowning themselves might be more common than it is at present. One might almost say that it has become the fashion, especially with the female sex, who in other respects cannot justly be charged with any excesses of passion. A milliner resolves to take a hand some shop; some one anticipates her, and away she runs to the water: another fair lady cannot raise the money to buy a handsome shawl, which she covets, and plunges forthwith into the lake. One of these determined females recently met with a most severe disappointment, for she was fished out again in spite of herself, and carried on shore. I know not whether my British country women have such a decided horror of what Toricelli calls a vacuum. Here, at any rate, that horror is entertained. Hence the women eke themselves out at all points with buckram, whalebone, cork, and wadding, and with these aids they produce beautiful contours, and an appearance of plumpness, where there is scarcely more than skin and bone. These imitations are so perfect, and the additions so admirably rounded, as to deceive even the eye of the connoisseur. But to the point-One of these becorked and be-wadded females, having had a tiff with her lover, found life absolutely intolerable, and away she posted to the water. To her no small discomfiture, however, two prodigious gigots, and a vast cork tournure, kept her upright. She made the most furious exertions to sink herself-but the thing was inpossible. The two gigots floated like blown bladders on the surface of the lake, and the cork below forcibly propelled her upward. In this awkward predicament, she fell to scolding and raving at such a rate as to attract the notice of some fishermen, who hastened to her assistance. Chance led me to the spot just as they were bringing this "lady of the lake" ashore. She presented a most pitiable sight; for the whole curious fabric was now visible through her wet and closely adhering garments, and plainly showed what a difference there is between nature and art, INDEPENDENT EXISTENCE OF MIND. We have, in truth, the same kind of evidence for the existence of mind, that we have for the existence of matter; namely, from its properties-and of the two, the former appears to be the least liable to deception. "Of all the truths we know," says Mr. Stewart, "the existence of mind is the most certain. Even the system of Berkeley concerning the non-existence of matter, is far more conceivable than that nothing but matter exists in the universe." A similar mode of reasoning may be applied to the modification of materialism more prevalent in modern times, by which mind is considered as a result of organisation, or, in other words, a function of the brain; and upon which has been founded the conclusion, that, like our bodily senses, it will cease to be, when the bodily frame is dissolved. The brain, it is true, is the centre of that influence on which depend sensation and motion. There is a remarkable connexion between this organ and the manifestations of mind; and by various diseases of the brain these manifestations are often modified, impaired, or suspended. We shall afterwards see that these results are very far from being uniform; but even if they were uniform, the facts would warrant no other conclusion than that the brain is the organ of communication between the mind and the external world. When the materialist advances a single step beyond this, he plunges at once into conclusions, which are entirely gratuitous and unwarranted. We rest nothing more upon this argument, than that these conclusions are unwarranted; but we might go farther than this, and contend, that the presumption is clearly on the other side, when we consider the broad and obvious distinction which exists between the peculiar phenomena of mind, and those functions which are exercised through the means of bodily organisation. They do not admit of being brought into comparison, and have nothing in common. The most exquisite of our bodily senses are entirely dependent for their exercise upon impressions from external things. We see not without the presence both of light and a body reflecting it; and if we could suppose light to be annihilated, though the eye were to retain its perfect condition, sight would be extinguished. But mind owns no such dependence on external things, except in the origin of its knowledge in regard to them. When this knowledge has once been acquired, it is retained and recalled at pleasure; and mind exercises its various functions without any dependence upon impressions from the external world. That which has long ceased to exist is still distinctly before it; or is recalled, after having been long forgotten, in a manner even still more wonderful; and scenes, deeds, or beings, which never existed, are called up in long and harmonious succession, invested with all the characters of truth, and all the vividness of present existence. The mind remembers, conceives, combines, and reasons; it loves, and fears, and hopes, in the total absence of any impression from without that can influence, in the smallest degree, these emotions; and we have the fullest conviction that it would continue to exercise the same functions in undiminished activity, though all material things were at once annihilated. This argument, indeed, may be considered as only negative; but this is all that the subject admits of. For when we endeavor to speculate directly on the essence of mind, we are immediately lost in perplexity, in consequence of our total ignorance of the subject, and the use of terms borrowed from analogies with material things. Hence the unsatis consistent with the idea of an impression made upon a material organ, except he has recourse to the absurdity of supposing that one series of particles, as they departed, transferred the picture to those which came to occupy their room. If the being, then, which we call mind or soul, be, to the utmost extent of our knowledge, thus dissimilar to, and distinct from, anything that we know to be a result of bodily organisation, what reason have we to believe that it should be affected by any change in the arrangement of material organs, except in so far as relates to its intercourse with this external world. The effects of that change which we call the death of an animal body, are nothing more than a change in the arrangement of its constituent elements; for it can be demonstrated, on the strictest principles of chemistry, that not one particle of these elements ceases to exist. We have, in fact, no conception of annihilation; and our whole experience is opposed to the belief of one atom that ever existed having ceased to exist. There is, therefore, as Dr. Brown has well remarked, in the very decay of the body, an analogy which would seem to indicate the continued existence of the thinking principle, since that which we term decay is itself only another name for continued existence. ceive, then, that anything mental ceases to exist after death, when we know that everything corporeal continues to exist, is a gratuitous assumption, contrary to every rule of philosophical inquiry, and in direct opposition, not only to all the facts relating to mind itself, but even to the analogy which is furnished by the dissolution of the bodily frame. factory nature of every physiological or metaphysical argument respecting the essence of mind, arising entirely from the attempt to reason the subject in a manner of which it is not susceptible. It admits not of any ordinary process of logic; for the facts on which it rests are the objects of consciousness only; and the argument must consist in an appeal to the consciousness of every man, that he feels a power within totally distinct from any function of the body. What other conception than this can he form of that power by which he recalls the past, and provides for the future-by which he ranges uncontrolled from world to world, and from system to system--surveys the works of all-creating power, and rises to the contemplation of the Eternal Cause? To what function of matter shall he liken that principle by which he loves and fears, and joys and sorrows-by which he is elevated with hope, excited by enthusiasm, or sunk in the horrors of despair? These changes also he feels, in many instances, to be equally independent of impressions from without, and of the condition of his bodily frame. In the most peaceful state of every corporeal function, passion, remorse, or anguish, may rage within; and, while the body is racked by the most frightful diseases, the mind may repose in tranquillity and hope. He is taught by physiology, that every part of his body is in a constant state of change, and that, within a certain period, every particle of it is renewed. But, amid these changes, he feels that the being whom he calls himself remains essentially the same. In particular, his remembrance of the occurrences of his early days, he feels to be totally in To con WATER. WHAT a poor, starveling, unsubstan- name: only think of the "watery tial thing is "WATER.' What soli- element," and "watery grave," of tariness and sadness are in its the newspapers; and those unenvia tar.-Oh! the " glassy essence that enabled them to ble attributes of health, toast and water, barley-water, and warm water. Allied with something else, it is barely tolerable sugar and water is an elegant French drink, and brandy and water may be a palata--The mystery-mongers of our day ble English beverage; but nothing can be more anti-social than water. You have but to think of Parnell's hermit "his drink the crystal well," and you may fancy yourself insolated from all that is good in life. You feel an unpleasant vacuum in your imaginative enjoyments, and inclined to leave the man of the cell to his monastic nunnery, and to, betake yourself to better things. Perhaps, however, no subject is more intimately connected with our existence and well-being than water, and a knowledge of its properties. It constitutes our food and physic. It is our best friend, and not unfrequently enables us to prevail over stronger enemies. Before us is a thin half-crown Treatise on Water. The subject is patriarchal; the author is Abraham Booth, and the volume is dedicated "to his revered father, Isaac Booth." Here the natural and chemical properties of water are briefly treated of, and the British mineral waters duly considered. There is little new in the work, but considerable industry has been used in collecting its materials. We looked for more on the Thames water; though our expectations were those of a Londoner attaching all importance to his great city. Mr. Booth's Treatise is too thin to allow us to say we have waded through it. Here and there we pick out some amusing facts. Thus, what tricks our forefathers were enabled to play off on the ignorant, through the wells round London, several of which were impregnated with carbonic acid gas. The monks of the Holy-well, near Shoreditch, turned this property to good account by selling the water as spiritus mundi, or a kind of spiritual nec "Play such fantastic tricks before high heaven As made the angels weep." are those who adulterate our drink with water: they affect the same consideration for our bodies that the monks did for our souls; and both made and make the study an equal source of profit. At page 47, there is mentioned a frightful fact, that "Dr. Lambe has lately revived the idea of arsenic being present in all natural waters, and particularly in the waters of the Thames." This is as alarming as a drop of the same water seen through Carpenter's microscope, with its myriads of animalculæ. For a month after we had seen this, we drank nothing weaker than Spanish wine, and took care not to sit next to a water-drinker. A page of pleasant romance succeeds. Thus, says Mr. Booth : "Various remarkable accounts of particular waters are on record, which, although they must be deemed fabulous, we shall just enumerate. The Stygian water, said to be the death of Alexander the Great, is supposed to have contained fluoric acid gas. A spring of this kind is said to have been discovered in Prussia, and closed by order of the government. A river is named at Epirus that puts out any lighted torch, and kindles any torch that was never lighted. Some waters, being drunk, cause madness, some drunkenness, and some death. The river Selarus was said in a few hours to turn a root or wand into stone. There is also a river in Arabia where all the sheep that drink thereof have their hair turned to a vermilion color; and one, of no less credit than Aristotle, names a merry river, the river Elusina, that dances at the sound of music; 'for with music it bubbles, dances, and grows sandy, and so continues till the music ceases; but then it presently returns to its wonted clear ness and calmness.' Josephus likewise names a river in Judea that runs swiftly all the six days of the week, and stands still and rests all the Sabbath." Rain water is next in purity to distilled water; but its drinkers have a chance of their insides being plastered and white-washed. "Rain, collected in towns, acquires a small quantity of sulphate of lime, and carbonate of lime, obtained from the roof and the plaster of houses." Hippocrates knew this, although Mr. Booth tells us some chemists do not; for the father of physic states that rain water should always be boiled and strained when collected near large towns. Dr. Perceval observes that bricks harden the softest water, and give it an aluminous impregnation. Mr. Booth adds, "the common practice of lining wells with them is therefore very improper, unless they be covered with cement:" would not the cement have a similar hardening property? Hard water introduces Burton ale, the excellence of which has been found by chemistry and law to be owing to a gypsum rock over which the Trent water flows. We have therefore to thank Nature for this delicious sophistication, and the drinker may double his nips or tankard accordingly for, what nature and the law sanction, let no man eschew. : Mr Booth tells us, "At Paris, where the water is hard, the same baker cannot make so good bread as at Gormes. The purity of the waters at Beaume, in Burgundy, is the cause why this bread was long celebrated as the whitest and best bread in France." We always thought the Paris bread excellent; but the French bakers have more varieties than we have. The crisp-crusted roll, napkin, silver, and china of the Restaurateur, will never fade away from our recollection. Bleaching is another important use. At page 86, Mr. Booth says: "Pure waters are found most valuable in bleaching wax, and in the manufacture of white paper; in consequence that such waters require the less alkali and soap in cleansing and whitening the rags, and the paper made with soft water is thus found firmer and to require less sizing than that made with hard water. This circumstance is said to give the French paper a preference to the English or Dutch, whose waters being harder, require more soap and lime, become more tender, and require more sizing than the French." We fall in with these observations; for nothing can be more vexatious to fast writers than some English floccy paper, where the pen becomes furred every twen ty minutes. The chapter on mineral waters is interesting; but that on the dietetic properties of water exceeds it. Notwithstanding all we have said against the stream, we must give place to the following: "Water drinkers are in general longer livers, are less subject to decay of their faculties, have better teeth, more regular appetites, and less acrid evacuations, than those who indulge in a more stimulating diluent as their common drink. This liquid is undoubtedly not only the most fitted for quenching the thirst and promoting true and healthy digestion, but the best adjutant to a long and comfortable life. Its properties are thus summed up by Hoffman: Pure water is the fittest drink for all ages and temperaments: and, of all the productions of nature or art, comes the nearest to that universal remedy so much sought after by mankind, and never hitherto, discovered' an opinion in which he is supported by most scientific and intelligent men." The reader will pardon our prolixity; the subject is of current interest, and one which all who thirst after useful knowledge must enjoy. |