bad conductors, occasioning sometimes the electric force to leave its traced course, and fly off in some other direction. It is probable that, in several well-authenticated instances in which this really did happen, the joints were eaten away by oxidation, as in the case of the chains; still, the effect of such occurrences was all the same. The joining of strips of lead together was a far easier task than that of handling iron in the same way, particularly for inexperienced workmen, and thus the employment of the metal continued for some time. However, it had to be abandoned gradually, on account of its manifest disadvantages. Its extreme softness, which made it liable to be broken by any accident, was one of them, and, still more so, its want of conducting power--only about one-half that of iron. Thus leaden conductors slowly went out of use, except in the form in which they still act often to great advantage, that of water-pipes. Among all the experiments made for producing the most perfect lightning conductors, the one which created the greatest attention, some fifty years ago, both on the Continent and in England, was the employment of ropes made of brass wire. They were first recommended about the year 1815 by a professor at the University of Munich, J. C. von Yelin, distinguished for his researches into the nature of thunderstorms. Through his influence most of the public edifices of Bavaria, more particularly the churches, were provided with conductors of brass ropes; and within a few years their employment became so popular, owing to the ease with which they could be attached to all buildings, that even the Roman Catholic clergy changed their attitude, and, from being opposed to ‘heretical rods,’ advocated their extension in every direction. But it was not long before the trust in brass ropes as protectors against lightning was rudely shaken. Several instances occurred in which buildings so protected were struck and damaged by lightning, and at last there came a case which attracted the widest attention, leading, on account of its supposed importance, to the institution of a Royal Commission to report thereon. The little town of Rosstall, in Franconia, Bavaria, had a church the steeple of which was 156 feet high; and, standing on the brow of a hill, it overlooked the country far and wide, visible for many miles. Necessarily much exposed to the influence of lightning clouds, it had been provided with one of the best brass-wire conductors, designed by Professor von Yelin himself, and made of unusual thickness, being over an inch in diameter. Nevertheless, on the evening of April 30, 1822, while a dark storm-cloud, of extraordinary thickness, was passing over Rosstall, a heavy flash of lightning was seen to fall vertically upon the church steeple, followed by a terrible peal of thunder, which seemed to shake the earth. When people looked up they beheld the church clock thrown