An immense coverlet, of such gigantic dimensions as to cover the whole dormitory, was made, and in the day-time suspended from the ceiling like a great canopy. When everybody had gone to bed—that is to say, had lain down upon the feathers—the counterpane was let down by pulleys, the precaution having been previously taken to make a number of holes in it for the sleepers to put their heads through in order to escape the danger of suffocation. As soon as it is daylight the phalansterian coverlet is hoisted up again, after a signal has been made on the tam-tam to awaken those who are asleep, and invite them to draw their heads back into the feathers in order not to be caught by the neck.
St. George's Cavern.
Near the town of Moldavia, on the Danube, is shown the cavern where St. George slew the dragon, from which, at certain periods, issue myriads of small flies, which tradition reports to proceed from the carcass of the dragon. It is thought when the Danube rises, as it does in the early part of the summer, the caverns are flooded, and the water which remains in them becomes putrid, and produces the noxious fly. But this supposition appears to be at fault, for the people closed up the caverns, and still they were annoyed with the flies. The latter resemble mosquitoes, and appear in such swarms as to look like a volume of smoke, sometimes covering a space of six to seven miles. Covered with these insects, horses not unfrequently gallop about until death puts an end to their sufferings. Shepherds anoint their hands with a decoction of wormwood, and keep large fires burning to protect themselves from them.
Remarkable Echoes.
In the gardens of Les Rochas, which was the residence of Madame de Sevigne, is a remarkable echo which finely illustrates the conducting and reverberating powers of a flat surface. The chateau is situated near the old town of Vitre. A broad gravel walk on a dead flat conducts through the garden to the house. In the centre of this, on a particular spot, the listener is placed at the distance of about ten or twelve yards from another person, who, similarly placed addresses him in a low and, in the common acceptation of the term, inaudible whisper, when, "Lo! what myriads rise!" for immediately, from thousands and tens of thousands of invisible tongues, starting from the earth beneath, or as if every pebble was gifted with powers of speech, the sentence is repeated with a slight hissing sound, not unlike the whirling of small shot through the air. On removing from this spot, however trifling the distance, the intensity of the repetition is sensibly diminished, and within a few feet ceases to be heard. Under the idea that the ground was hollow beneath, the soil has been dug up to a considerable depth, but without discovering any clue to the solution of the mystery.
An echo in Woodstock Park, Oxfordshire, repeats seventeen syllables by day and twenty by night. One on the bank of the Lago del Lupo, above the fall of Terni, repeats fifteen. The most remarkable echo known is one on the north side of Shipley church, in Sussex, which distinctly repeats twenty-one syllables. In the Abbey church at St. Albans is a curious echo. The tick of a watch may be heard from one end of the church to the other. In Gloucester Cathedral a gallery of an octagonal form conveys a whisper seventy-five feet across the nave.
In the Cathedral of Girgenti, in Sicily, the slightest whisper is borne with perfect distinctness from the great door to the cornice behind the high altar, a distance of two hundred and fifty feet. In the whispering gallery of St. Paul's, London, the faintest sound is faithfully conveyed from one side of the dome to another, but is not heard at any intermediate point.
In the Manfroni Palace at Venice is a square room, about twenty-five feet high, with a concave roof, in which a person standing in the centre and stamping gently with his foot on the floor, hears the sound repeated a great many times; but as his position deviates from the centre, the reflected sounds grow fainter, and at a short distance wholly cease. The same phenomenon occurs in a large room of the library of the Museum at Naples.
Moving Gods.
The Italian temples were celebrated for their moving gods. In the fane of the two fortunes at Antium, the goddess moved her arms and head when that solemnity was required. So at Præneste, the figures of the youthful Jupiter and Juno, lying in the lap of Fortune, moved, and thereby excited awe. The marble Servius Tullius is said to have shaded his eyes with his hand whenever that remarkably strong-minded woman, his daughter and murderess, passed before him. When the Athenians were tardy in deserting their capital, and taking to the ships for flight, it is said that the sacred wooden dragon of Minerva rolled himself out of the temple and down into the sea, as though to indicate to the people the direction in which safety was to be secured.—Dr. Doran.