THE ANTHROPOGLOSSOS.

A

FEW days since, when passing along Piccadilly, our eyes caught the strange word "Anthropoglossos" upon a poster, at the door of St. James's Hall. Naturally anxious to know what in these days of strange advertisements this compound Greek word was supposed to represent, we paid a shilling and entered the small hall, where we had formerly heard the amusing performance of that band of vocalists, known as "The Christy Minstrels."

On making our way into the exhibition-room, we found about sixty people staring at a large wax head, made up like those heads we see in hairdressers' shops. This head, however, was about twice the size of the human caput, and besides being adorned with flowing locks of a raven hue, was also blessed with a large beard and moustache; while in the orifice representing its mouth was placed a short trumpet. This head, we may add, was suspended by two pieces of chain to a board, fastened to the ceiling; while underneath it was some machinery, consisting of a bellows, and apparently the paraphernalia of a musical box, the whole of this being covered by a red cloth, fastened tightly round the neck of the figure. The programme of the songs contained the following classical airs:

1. Polly Perkins.

2. The Dark Girl dressed in Blue.

3. Annie Lisle.

4. God bless the Prince of Wales.

5. God save the Queen.

The prefatory remarks were couched in the following bombastic style:"Never, it is believed, since the very first sound of the human voice emanated from the earliest created of mankind, causing the oral mystery of sounded syllables to float upon the balmy airs of Paradise, until now, has aught been perfected which could approximate in any real degree to the divinely-bestowed music of speech.' Many and varied have been the efforts made, from time to time, to accomplish this apparently impossible purpose, but all have proved alike worse than futile. It has been reserved for Mr. Giacopo Saguish, of Constantinople, to become the wonderful and fortunate inventor of an automaton head, which (miracu

lous to relate) he has so contrived, by means of the nicest and most exquisitely-constructed mechanism, that it can rival Nature herself in its vocal and elocutionary powers. To say that this astonishing phenomenon is unique is to express the very least of the wonders which it exhibits, and to the witnessing of which the generous, talent-appreciating public of Great Britain is now most respectfully invited. While so doing, it is humbly, yet confidently hoped, however high the expectations respecting this real prodigy may be raised, that in no single instance shall any person with whose patronage the exhibitor may be favoured meet a disappointment, but rather that each and all shall be compelled to acknowledge the 'half has not been told them.""

Now, in connecting the programme with the introduction, the first idea that struck us was that it seemed rather strange that a Turk should have modelled his machinery for English songs, and not for ditties in his own language. We were also surprised that this selection consisted chiefly of modern songs, with all of which most of the Drury-lane costermongers are intimate.

At the time of our entrance the figure was singing " Annie Lisle," in a thick, vulgar voice, as easily and naturally, and as much out of tune, as a Cockney devoid of musical education could render it. As soon as the song was over, the usual piano which accompanies these exhibitions struck up a tune, and the apparent proprietor wound up the musicalbox machinery, which at the first movement of the key gave a low sound -probably the only one produced in the exhibition by mechanical means. As soon as this operation was completed, the piano was signalled to stop, and the figure commenced chanting "God bless the Prince of Wales," which it gave with all the vulgar turns and ridiculous shakes consistent with the usual style of Cockney vocalisation.

While it was singing, the musical-box machinery quietly unwound itself with a clicking motion. There seemed, however, a slight want of harmony between the voice and the apparent cause of it, for towards the end of this ditty or anthem, although the machinery came to a standstill, yet the voice went on singing, as if it had no connection with the bellows, and could get on just as well without it. After another rest, during which the proprietor again wound up the musical-box, which uttered its one note, and the pianiste played an accompaniment, the figure started off with "The National Anthem." Of the style we need say nothing; we only know that the greatest evil we wish our worst enemy is to be forced to listen for a couple of hours to the singing of this Anthropoglossos.

Shakes and turns hurried one after the other. The crowning point

of all, however, the blunder which convinced us that the voice of the singing figure belonged to a human form, occurred in the lines

"Happy and glorious,

Long to reign over us,"

which this mechanical figure-this automaton head, contrived by means of the nicest and most exquisitely constructed machinery, actually rendered

"Appy and glorious,

Long to reign hover us."

On

The National Anthem concluded the exhibition, and then (as we expected) the proprietor or inventor began to talk. He was an Armenian, not an American, oh no!--he had been fifteen years making this machine; he was a good man; ah, yes! he never broke the Sabbath, oh no! Sunday he did fast, and never lighted a fire to cook him meat by; oh no! but on the last Saturday, the first day that he had exhibited his wonderful figure, some gentleman did shake it, and break so much of the exquisitely-contrived mechanism, that in order to be able to open his exhibition on Monday, he was forced to work all the Sabbath. He did not eat, however, and he cried all the time. Ah! it was sad; but his task was not over yet. There remained in the figure fifteen hours' more work yet, and he must sit up all night and work at it, which was very sad.”

"Yes, sir," said the attendant who handed round the programmes, "you see, some gentleman give it such a shake on Saturday, that we had to put these barriers up, to keep the people off!"

Barriers indeed! First there was a thick balustrade or railing, which reached as high as the figure's mouth, and then, beyond that, was a row of seats, to prevent us approaching nearer than a yard to the figure.

After listening to the inventor's speech, we certainly thought that he must have had—before this occasion-very little temptation to break the Sabbath, if he did not mind working during that sacred day, in order that his exhibition might be opened on the Monday morning.

"I tell you what, sir," said a red-faced gentleman next to us, "It's all gammon, about a man smashing his figure. He only says that as an excuse to keep us off the figure. It's a regular do, sir, that's what it is, and I shall write to the Times about it." So saying, he strode indignantly out of the Hall, and we soon followed his example.

Let us now see if we cannot explain (according to our idea) the manner in which this singing voice is arranged.

Automaton figures, as well as androides, or human figures, which, by certain springs or other movements, are capable of performing some of

the natural movements of a living man, are very ancient indeed. It is supposed that the old Egyptian priests constantly imposed upon the credulity of the people, by causing statues to speak, through the means of a tube placed in the figure's body, and communicating with another apartment. Of course as the statues stood against a wall the deception could not be discovered.

In the year 1738, a Frenchman, Jacques Vaucanson, invented an automaton brazen duck, which performed all the motions of a living duck, and actually swallowed and passed food in a regular manner. He also made a Provençal piper, and a flute-player, which played different pieces of music on the German flute. Even as far back as the commencement of the 16th century, an automaton flute-player is mentioned. There is surely nothing new under the sun. Most of us have heard of M. de Kempelen's automaton chess-player, which was exhibited in this country in 1783, and which created so great a sensation that several pamphlets and books were written upon it. It was at length explained that the supposed automaton was worked by a human being, concealed in the table.

Within our own time an automaton figure, constructed (we believe) on the same principle as the Anthropoglossos, was exhibited under the title of The Invisible Girl; we shall therefore content ourselves with enunciating our theory about this singing figure.

We have already said that in front of the head is a thick balustrade, one of its pillars is hollow, and through this passes a speaking trumpet into an adjoining room.

The head, which is unusually large, contains, we imagine, a hollow ball. Where the neck of the figure would be is a trumpet, one end of which opens into the ball, whilst at the other, the sound of the voice is received from the speaking-tube. Thus the sound enters the ball under the neck, and travels out at the orifice formed by the mouth. The sound of the voice is thus reflected through the trumpet, and comes out almost as clearly as in the room where the singer really is. Such at least is our conviction, based upon the exposures of former similar exhibitions. If, however, Mr. Giacopo Saguish, of Constantinople, can prove that our theory is incorrect, we shall be glad to confess our But if he is unable to do so, we must rank him and his employers as impostors, who degrade the noble name of science to palm off their mountebank juggleries upon a generous, talent-appreciating, and unsuspecting public.

error.

August 12th, 1864.

BEES.

BY THE REV. J. G. WOOD, M.A. F.L.S.

IN

N the article upon Poultry, which has already appeared in the "Every Boy's Magazine," I began by warning my readers, that if they kept poultry, they could only look upon their feathered pets as pets, and not as means towards obtaining profit. In the present article, on Bees and Bee-keeping, I hope to show that both profit and pleasure may be the result of a little care and forethought in the management of the hive.

Bees may be procured in the spring or in the autumn, either plan being equally good, and each being adopted by experienced apiarians. If the former, a new swarm should be purchased, and it will be better if the buyer sees the swarm himself, so that he can judge of its strength. Should he not be able to see it, he should weigh it, and unless it weighs five pounds, or at least four, it is too weak to be of much use. A weak swarm never works well. It eats an abundance of food, but seems to be disheartened, and the only method of getting it to do its duty is to join it to another swarm.

A good swarm will cost about ten shillings, exclusive of the hive, and is well worth the money.

If the bees are purchased in the autumn, twice the sum must be given for them; but then, they have made plenty of comb, and filled the cells with honey for winter consumption, so that the bees and their comb ought to weigh nearly thirty pounds. Of course the reader will understand that the bees are weighed together with the hive, and that the weight of the latter is subtracted.

Moving the hive is not a very easy operation.

The best plan is to purchase the hive and footboard together with the bees, and to sling it on a pole borne by two men, as brewers carry their beer-casks, the only precaution needed being to fasten up the entrance of the hive so as to prevent the inmates from escaping and stinging the bearers. If that cannot be done, the next best plan is to furnish the bee-keeper with a hive, and let him put the swarm into it.