leap from it, and, hitting his forehead, strike
him dead. This sad event made philosophers
chary of experiments with electricity derived
directly from the clouds. Had they continued,
other victims, there is little doubt, would have
been sacrificed. Besides, the grand problem was
already solved. Lightning having been drawn
down to earth, in the shape of electric sparks,
its nature was no longer a mystery.

That lightning should kill is not surprising,
but sometimes it works homeopathic cures.
In 1762, it entered the chamber of one Dr.
Winter, residing in Kent, who had been
paralysed for more than a year, after a fit
of apoplexy. He received a violent shock,
which completely cured him. At Niort (Deux
Sèvres), in 1819, a patient who had suffered
for years from rheumatism in the left arm, was
knocked down, and cured, by a flash of
lightning.

We may consider it proved that every thunder
cloud develops in the ground beneath it, an
electricity the opposite to its own. This result
will occur with considerable energy in soils
that are good conductors, such as marshy
grounds or metalliferous districts. The effect
will be greatest on the most elevated points,
such as the tops of steeples, trees, or masts.
In such cases there is danger. If the cloud
discharge its electricity, its action ceases, and
terrestrial objects, suddenly reverting to their
former electrical condition, experience what is
called "the return shock." Flocks of sheep,
teams of horses, groups of people congregated
together, have been stunned and even killed by
it, with no visible wound on the upper part of
their bodies, though often on the soles of their
feet. This summer, several soldiers have been
struck by the return shock, with no more serious
injury than the loss of the nails in the soles of
their shoes.

One of the most curious thunder feats is
recorded by Bridone. One Mrs. Douglas was
looking out of window during a tempest. The
lightning struck the iron wire by which the
rim of her hat was kept in shape, and melted
it. The hat was ruined, but the lady got off
scot free. Another time, when a storm was
coming on, a young lady stretched her arm out
of a window in order to close it. There was a
lightning flash, and the bracelet she wore
disappeared so completely that not a trace of it
could be found. These facts show with what
precision lightning picks out metallic bodies
and avoids insulating materials.

On the 17th of last July, a whole family,
named Collart, living near Avesnes, were struck
during a violent tempest. The lightning ran
down the chimney, entered the living room
where they were all assembled, and escaped by
making a hole over the door. The father
received on his right leg a shock which prevented
his going to work for three weeks; the mother
had her right wrist bruised; the eldest daughter,
aged sixteen, was struck on the forehead; the
second daughter, aged nine, was hit on one
knee; and what is most strange, her tongue was
burnt, causing intense pain for a quarter of an
hour only. Most wonderful of all, none of these
injuries were dangerous.

Completely puzzling are the doings of lightning
in what may be called its spheroïdal state.
Globular lightning, balls of fire, have been
known for ages. M. Babinet relates that a
tailor lodging near the Val-de-Grâce, in Paris,
was sitting at table, when, after a loud thunder
clap, the paper screen which closed the fireplace
fell as if beaten in by a gust of wind, and a
ball of fire as big as a child's head emerged
gently from the chimney and slowly moved
about the room at a little distance above the
floor. Its aspect resembled a kitten rolled into
a ball; it was luminous, but appeared cold.
When it approached the tailor's legs, he avoided
its contact by opening them wide. After
several excursions in the middle of the chamber,
it rose to the level of his head. To avoid it,
he threw himself back on his chair. Suddenly,
it lengthened itself a little, and directed its
course towards a hole in the chimney that had
been made to admit the tube of a stove, but was
closed by paper pasted over it. The fireball
tore the paper and went out again up the
chimney. When it was supposed to have
reached the chimney pot, a loud explosion was
heard which demolished a part of the top of the
chimney. Similar instances might be cited in
plenty.

IN THE CLUB SMOKING ROOM.

I. THE UNAPPRECIATED POET.

            THE critic's curse
            Is on my verse;
        What matters? Creatures such as he
            Beslime the rose
            That sweetest blows,
        Or spit their venom in the sea;
            Yet have no power
            To blight the flower,
        Vex the great deep, or injure me!

    Write, would-be poet! write for girls!
        And take the boarding school by storm;
    Shed epithets on eyes, and curls,
        Teeth, lips, and graces of the form,
    And small reviews shall flaunt your name,
    And give you half a fortnight's fame!

    But thou, true poet, write for men!
        And though the fools would jeer thee down,
    They're harmless both with tongue and pen,
        And neither make nor mar renown.
    And men thy music shall prolong
    And love thy memory and thy song.

        I know that in a hundred years
            This verse of mine,
        That few men heed, because I live,
            Will glow and shine,
        Bright in the darkness of the past,
            Because I'm dead,
        And stop by competition keen
            No rival's bread.
        Let it, or let it not! To me
        Myself is my Futurity!