Affinity, and Motion. Consequently, Fire is
only an energetic manifestation of one of these
forces. Further, it is held that those physical
forces are not only correlative, but have one
common origin. However that may be, it is
certain that any one of these forces can produce
an equivalent amount of any other force. Electricity
may produce chemical affinity, magnetism,
heat, or motion. Motion may produce heat, as
when a wheel takes fire; light, as the sparks
scattered by a cutler's wheel; and electricity,
as in the well-known machine, or by rubbing a
piece of amber on your coat-sleeve. Light can
produce Electricity, Motion, and Heat. Heat
can produce Motion, Electricity, and Light.
The algebraic law of Permutations and Combinations
is the only limit to the changes that may be
rung on the convertibility of the physical forces.

In conclusion, then: Question. What is Fire?
Answer. Fire is the manifestation of one of the
Physical Forces, Heat, in a state of sufficient
activity to produce sensible combustion, with
flame or incandescence.

If the answer does not satisfy everybody, by
not attempting to explain the cause of Force, it
is at least free from the erroneous encumbrance
.of material Phlogiston and fluid caloric. All
we know or see is the effect of force; we do not
see force—we see motion or moving matter. We
only know certain changes of matter, for which
changes Heat is a generic name; the thing heat
is unknown. And probably man will ever remain
ignorant both of the ultimate structure of matter
and of the minutiae of molecular actions.

MELANCHOLIA.

1.
Within the solemn sounding of the sea,
That doth to desert lands make endless moan,
By casements never closed, dejectedly
The deep-eyed Melancholy sits alone;
Her elbow large is based on her broad knee;
And a great book she hath wide-open thrown
Across her hollow ample lap; but she
Doth neither read nor even look therein,
Whose eyes with innermost intensity
Burn outward; her shut hand props her upslanted
chin:

2.
Her vesture vast, of watchet hue, the mould
Of her long limbs from lap to foot doth heap
In many a massive fall and rigid fold,
And all unmoved the mighty hem doth sleep
Flat on the chilly floor: her hair down roll'd
Floods all her body, and doth curl and creep
Along the flint beneath: a chain of gold
Hangs weighty from her waist, with many keys:
And all day long doth fall a shadow deep
From some great form unseen across her solemn
knees.

3.
Above, a rusty bell doth hang i' the beam;
Therefrom a rotting rope: and all within
The gaping black bell-mouth her silent scheme
Of patient film the spider fine doth spin:
On wormy shelf, in dusky nook, doth gleam
A livid hour-glass, thro' whose middle thin
The red sand unregarded down doth stream;
All day small gnats do make malignant din
Unheard, unheard at eve the fretful bat doth scream.

4.
And, stretched along the callous floor, hard-by
The foot of the unmindful Melancholy,
Blood-tinged deep and splinter'd sharp, doth lie
A crooked cross, and crown of crumpled holly,
The nails, the hammer, and the carpentry
That fashion'd that sad tree for use unholy,
Whereon the Lord of Life whilom did die:
And in the casement, flusht with the last fume
Of the red sunset which is sinking slowly,
A marble ewe, all earth-stain'd, dug from a nameless
tomb.

5.
Upon the wall, in faintly figured line,
A long, unsumm'd arithmetic is wrought,
And starry calculation; here, the sign
Of Saturn, leaden lord of sullen thought,
Doth with the moody moon and Mars combine
Sad influence; there, are wandering planets brought
In opposition, Sextile, Quartile, Trine;
And numbers set in cube and root and square;
And geometric forms, whate'er is taught
By old or modern schools to measure everywhere.

6.
The compass of that dreadful deep unknown
Which round about the soul of man doth lie;
And, thro' this chamber wide are heap'd and strown
The implements of every art whereby
Men make what they imagine; blocks of stone,
And beams of wood, and tooth'd machinery
Of rack and wheel, adze, plummet, plane, and hone,
Chain, pulley, chisel, easel, pencil, cart,
And canvas, all are tost regardlessly
In cobwebb'd corners cold about this chamber vast.

7.
In the dim loft a giant organ stands,
Full of deep sadness, whence there comes no sound,
Whereon the waning light from lonesome lands
And that forsaken sea's forlornest bound
Shines like a ghost, what time the gloom expands
From his deep hiding-places, and all round
Feels out like a blind thing with filmy hands;
Bow'd o'er bis harp 'neath golden carved wings,
Ere his wan smile in darkness deep is drowned,
The seraph seems to mourn lost music from the
strings.

8.
And still that Melancholy will not speak.
The sigh is ever on her lip, and yet
'Tis never sounded; on her earnest cheek
There is no tear, tho' her deep eyes be wet
With woful meaning; that great bell will break
Her silence never; nor those numbers, set
Upon the wall, be ever summ'd; so, meek
Must that sad seraph long endure disdain,
Long must that mighty organ slumber yet,
And long unused must rest the plummet, adze, and
plane.

ICE-BOUND IN RUSSIA.

When the field-mice hide early, and the
mole-hills are many, and the wild swine carry
straw to their lairs, there will be a severe
winter. When the storks and wild ducks fly
away with the birds of their kind, and the hardy
sparrow, the crow, and the hawk only (who can
bear forty-five degrees of cold) are abroad, the
severe winter is come.

Mrs. Hutchinson begins those noble memoirs