But then, in this
matter, I am pretty much in the position of that philosophic sceptic
who, when he was asked by a lady whether he believed in ghosts, answered
wisely, 'No, madam, I have seen by far too many of them.'
One of the finest accounts ever given of the nature of thunderbolts is
that mentioned by Adrianus Tollius in his edition of 'Boethius on Gems.'
He gives illustrations of some neolithic axes and hammers, and then
proceeds to state that in the opinion of philosophers they are generated
in the sky by a fulgureous exhalation (whatever that may look like)
conglobed in a cloud by a circumfixed humour, and baked hard, as it
were, by intense heat. The weapon, it seems, then becomes pointed by the
damp mixed with it flying from the dry part, and leaving the other end
denser; while the exhalations press it so hard that it breaks out
through the cloud, and makes thunder and lightning. A very lucid
explanation certainly, but rendered a little difficult of apprehension
by the effort necessary for realising in a mental picture the
conglobation of a fulgureous exhalation by a circumfixed humour.
One would like to see a drawing of the process, though the sketch would
probably much resemble the picture of a muchness, so admirably described
by the mock turtle. The excellent Tollius himself, however, while
demurring on the whole to this hypothesis of the philosophers, bases his
objection mainly on the ground that, if this were so, then it is odd the
thunderbolts are not round, but wedge-shaped, and that they have holes
in them, and those holes not equal throughout, but widest at the ends.
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