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quietude, while horrid gorges yawn with silence and desolation, near the flowery marge of meadows.
Leipsic, with her books, Saxony, with her wool, and long courts of velvets, cloths, and satins, must lead us out into the nave again. Perhaps in the multiplicity of German infinity, you may notice that button trophy, with 21,300 varieties glistening like a miniature universe under the clear light.
We are called to refreshments by the whispers of the tired body. That finished, can you help stopping a moment to look at those Indian ivory chairs, that couch of gold, that Eka, or one-horse chariot? Shall we not wonder at the Sancsrit literature in Persia-venture within that Turkish canopy of blue with another tent within, filled with its long hangings of silver laces ?
The Mosaic of Italy, is certainly one of the most wonderful things in the Exhibition. Large centre-tables are thus formed, with landscapes and figures, whose perfection shames the pencil. The Coliseum, Romulus and Remus, the Forum, and other classic memories and scenes, are thus preserved in undying freshness of beauty. I know there is no great utility in these costly Mosaics; but taking this branch of labor, at its lowest value, as a mere source of pleasure from the love of imitation or representation of agreeable objects, it nevertheless becomes the remembrancer of scenes of thrilling interest. It is the elegant accomplishment, by which homes are embellished. It enters into the sisterhood of arts, bound by a common bond—the culture of the human, through the influence of the divine, which ever dwelleth in the pure, the fair, and the beautiful!
point yonder, which requires Can it be? A cherry-stone side, and St. George fighting
What object is that upon the a glass to perceive it? Ha ha! with twenty-five portraits on one the dragon, sculptured on the other! "'Tis sure as any thing most true." Look for yourself! Italy has at least the palm in microscopic beauty, although yon Herculean Godfrey, from Brussels, in the nave, bears away the guerdon for muscular might!
We might fill pages thus depicting each object-which in itself perhaps was a study of years for the artist-but to which we do not give as many minutes. Passing by the statuary of Hero and Leander, which the mournful music from the gallery seems to render more sad, we enter the French tapestry room. There is the French trophy! That hanging, so dazzling in color, so striking in design, at which the eye blenches-cost twenty-six men eight years' labor. That is an object for an industrious exhibition! It is of course from Gobelins.
France is not alone la belle France. The finest collection of philosophical and surgical instruments are hers. False legs and arms, and every aid to injured humanity is hers. Not alone does she excel in Lyons silks and laces, but in kitchen ranges and physical sciences. Like her character is her exhibition of industry. Confectionaries of rarest temptation sweeten near "drums, guns, trumpets, blunderbusses, and thunder." Steam engines revolve in beauty, whose polish almost emulates that of her dazzling mirrors! Wigs, in profusion, are within hearing distance of harps, fiddles, flutes, and pianos. A very medley is France, a serious comedy, a laughing tragedy.
We have done for to-day; yet much of the Eastern entrance and galleries are not glanced at. We go away stunned, as before, at the immensity of this exposition of toil. Truly the dwarf man, "behind his engine of steam, can remove mountains." What a mine of meaning is there in the remarks of Lord Bacon, which we have prefixed to this chapter; yet even his comprehension, which almost became prophecy, could not grasp such a stupendous illustration of their truth as is here enshrined. What an ingathering of the world's daily experience is here! Even so feeble a sketch as this will enable the intelligent reader to form some idea of the wondrous world we live in.
Again, we visit the home of industry. It is Saturday, an ingress cannot be had until noon, by which time a great con course has collected. A rush is made, during which examples of English rudeness, especially toward the gentler sex, is so
common, as to excite the remark and contempt of
every wellThe palace is filled at once, as if from a hundred sluices, with all kinds of people. Invalids, even, in their conveyances, are drawn through the courts. Painters and drawers are perched here and there, copying the articles and scenes. Policemen are taking their stations. Red coats are brushing off the dust from the articles. Paxton was at a loss for a cleaner to the building, and invented, at great expense of time and money, a hundredhousemaid-power-broom for the purpose. He found, after the first day's experience, that the long sweeping trains of the ladies performed the office to a nicety.
I began to-day with France, on the southern side. Amid the jewelry, which shone as "from a sky," we discerned some clocks, fashioned curiously out of trees, in the branches of which chirped, fluttered, and leaped from bough to bough a choir of birds. There were some pecking at beetles, others in the nest, but all pervaded by a vivacity which, at first glance, made the illusion perfect.
Here, too, we saw the rarest fruit-piece of porcelain painting which ever delighted the vision. The grapes and other luscious fruitage hung from a golden frame-work, while tulips and garlands of every flower seemed to hide an angel, of form so ethereal, and with shading so softened, and light so mellowed, as to enthral the fancy. Tapestry overhung all. Further down, and into the nave, is a fine piece of statuary, representing Love scizzoring off the claws of a lion; allegorizing the French sentiment:
Amour, Amour quand tu nous tien,
Silver service, pictures raised, and interminable vistas of dry goods, we fly from, to find refuge in the arms of Belgium, which are spread just above the next department. Here are chimney pieces, with carvings exquisite. Nests of little Cupids and flower bas-reliefs surround us. On move we with the crowd,
until the Austrian statuary room receives us. What a sweet piece is that nun, veiled with marble, and in very truth realizing Wordsworth's line,
breathless in adoration.
The effect of a veil of marble, dimly showing the beautiful cast of countenance, is indeed a triumph of the chisel.
The machinery department has been slighted. My foolish eye has been caught by gauds, as "larks by looking-glasses." Imagine a vast vista of convolving, revolving, intertwisting, gyrating, perpendicularizing, horizontalizing, and whirlygigging generally; yet all playing as silently as polished steel, well oiled, can go, and as gracefully as the stir
"Of a swan's neck among the bushes;"
and you have a glance at the engine-room with its contents. Here on our right is a new locomotive runnning by atmosphere; there is, also, an improved "feather" paddle-wheel, with two shafts, one within the other, the inner one a screw; the set of paddles, as they rise out of the water, turning so as to find no resistance, and presenting their edge to the air. Miniature engines of every form, are in motion, and the machinery so bright as to reflect, in itself, its own motion. A steam engine with a moveable cylinder seemed a singular piece of adaptedness of means to end. Needle machines were at work, washing and drying machines, hydraulic pumps, machines for dressing stone, (from Bosting!) diving-bells, already in the bottom of the mock sea, and, last, printing-machines of many kinds, all in operation. The "Illustrated News" is struck off at the rate of over 5,000 to the hour. From four points the paper issues. The exhibition is thus rapidly illustrating itself to the wide world. But to my unpractised eye, the looms and mules and the other machinery for weaving, are the most wonderful. Large laces and splendid -table-linen, costly cloths and cheap cottons, alike come forth from the swift-flying shuttle, amid a maze of rotation, driving
and springing, the machinery performing every motion and intricacy from which power is evolved and comforts multiplied. This, amid the roar of water-falls, the buzz and hum, the click and clatter, the throbbing, glittering and dancing of wheels, is all dependent upon steam power, which is hidden from the eye. Is there not here a magic beside which Aladdin was a dunce, and the old enchanter, Merlin, a booby? Hurrah! for the age steam wonder! Pyramids and Pantheons, Gothic buildings and Babylon gates, should sink into oblivion beside this steam-century, with its palace of Industry.
The west end, in the gallery, to which, with the help of fancy, you are transported, is now filled with prisms flung by the colored glass between you and the setting sun. You have passed royal couches, with Aurora and Somnus carved and painted, all golden and glittering. You have passed intricate mazes of food, seeds, woods, and fabrics, from Scotland and other parts of Great Britain. You glance at the naval glory of Britain, represented by her innumerable models, with the Battle of Trafalgar to top the group. You observe that centrifugal machine, illustrating the planetary motions completely. At last, relieved, you stand upon the threshold of start not! It is only the organ, near which you are unconsciously standing. It strikes up, with four men to blow, and three to play. As I am a living soul, its thundering sound made the-yes, believe it, Rochesterknocking credulity-it made the UNIVERSE tremble!! I have told some things which unsophisticated Buckeyes rarely see, and can hardly imagine; but I was not under oath then. Now I am. I distinctly swear that I saw Jupiter quake amid his satellites, Venus tremble in her sandals, and Mars in his boots, Saturn shake in his ring, and the Sun itself start from his sphere, as the flood of sound rolled out of the organ and upon the orrery!
While observing this phenomenon, which Herschel must explain, the organist struck up Yankee Doodle! My heart beat hot and queer. I felt the Declaration of Independence and a