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diff --git a/old/62226-0.txt b/old/62226-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index e2f875d..0000000 --- a/old/62226-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,2176 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Chambers's Journal of Popular Literature, -Science, and Art, No. 739, February 23, 1, by Various - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Chambers's Journal of Popular Literature, Science, and Art, No. 739, February 23, 1878 - -Author: Various - -Editor: William Chambers - Robert Chambers - -Release Date: May 25, 2020 [EBook #62226] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHAMBERS'S JOURNAL, FEB 23, 1878 *** - - - - -Produced by Susan Skinner and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - - - - -[Illustration: CHAMBERS’S JOURNAL - -OF - -POPULAR - -LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART. - -Fourth Series - -CONDUCTED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS. - -NO. 739. SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 23, 1878. PRICE 1½_d._] - - - - -A WORD ABOUT BIRD-KEEPING. - - -We have never looked with perfect complacency on the keeping of birds -in cages; for it looks very much like an unnatural imprisonment. They -have not space to fly about, and there is something painful in seeing -them flitting up and down on two or three spars within very narrow -bounds, or looking through the wires of their cage as if wishful to get -out. It would, however, be of no use to remonstrate against a practice -that is common not only over all England but over the whole civilised -world. Besides, the keepers of pet birds are not without arguments in -their favour. Most of the birds to be seen in cages, such as canaries, -goldfinches, or siskins, have been bred in confinement. They never knew -what it was to be at liberty, and in their helpless inexperience, if -let loose, they would inevitably perish. There is much truth in this -species of excuse for bird-keeping. Some weight is also to be attached -to the plea that the little creatures are, generally speaking, so happy -in their captivity that many of them live to an old age—say twelve -or thirteen years, and keep on piping their ‘wood-notes wild’ to the -last. There may be the further apology, that the maintenance of birds -in cages communicates happiness to invalids, or to persons who do not -go much from home. There is cheerfulness in their song, and a degree -of amusement in witnessing their movements, as well as in attending -to their simple wants. Altogether, therefore, there is a good deal to -say for bird-keeping. It is not quite so inhumane a practice as it at -first appears. In short, birds, like dogs, may be viewed in the light -of domestic solacements kindly sent by Providence. Their society and -grateful attachment help to fill up many a melancholy gap. - -These ideas have been suggested to us by an accidental interview with -a Dealer in Birds, who in his own way was apt in the philosophy of the -subject. If people would have birds, it was his business to supply -them with what they wanted, and he did so with as great tenderness -of feeling as the fragile nature of the article dealt in demanded. He -had much to explain respecting the importation of song-birds, and the -breeding of them in cages. But on neither of these points shall we say -anything. What especially interested us were this intelligent dealer’s -observations on the proper method of keeping birds. Some folks, he -said, have a notion that all you have to do is to buy a bird, put it -into a cage, and give it food and water as directed. That is far from -being enough. The habits of the animal must be studied. The climate of -the room in which it lives, the amount of daylight it should enjoy, the -atmosphere it breathes, its freedom from sudden alarms—all have to be -thought of, if you wish the bird to be happy; and without that it has -little chance of being a pleasant companion. - -When the dealer began business many years ago, he was very unfortunate -as concerns his stock. He occupied as good a shop as any one in the -trade. The birds arranged all around in their respective cages, ready -for the inspection of customers, were as merry as birds could be. They -sung in full pipe, as if rivalling each other in their gaiety. Provided -with appropriate food, with pure water, and fresh air, they had not a -want unsupplied. Without any apparent reason, they began to droop and -to moult. This did not alone occur at the season when such might be -expected. Their moulting was often fatal. Vexed at cases of mortality -notwithstanding all his care, the dealer bethought himself that the use -of gas in his shop might be injurious, so for gas he substituted an -oil-lamp light. Still they drooped and died. He next in various ways -and at some expense improved the ventilation of his shop. Still they -drooped and died. - -What could be the matter? Puzzled to the last extent, the bird-dealer -at length conjectured what might be the cause of these numerous deaths. -Could it be that the birds wore themselves out singing? If so, the only -way to stop them was to shorten the time they were exposed to the -light, for if kept in the dark they are not inclined to sing. - -The supposition proved to be correct. He shut up his shop at an -early hour, and from that time the mortality of the birds ceased. -During the day they had just that amount of singing that suited their -constitutions, and in the evening they were left to their repose. This -bird-dealer’s ingenious discovery seems exceedingly rational. In a -state of nature, small birds flit about and sing only during daylight. -They retire to rest at sundown. This procedure requires to be imitated -in keeping birds artificially. If you let them sing all day and several -hours additional by lamp-light, you over-fatigue them. The labour is -too much. Of course the birds do not understand that they had better -be silent when the lamp or candles are lit. They instinctively keep -singing on, as if it were still daylight. The immediate effect of -this over-fatigue is that the poor birds are apt to moult, and become -attenuated; and suffering from premature exhaustion, they speedily -perish. - -The dealer mentions that few birds subject to the exhaustion of -singing beyond ordinary daylight survive more than two years. This -does not surprise us. How could any of our public vocalists, male or -female, and of even a robust constitution, endure the tear and wear of -singing under a mental strain for any great length of time, as much as -eighteen hours a day? If human beings would thus sink under the effort -of over-work, we need not wonder that the fragile creatures we are -speaking of should succumb and drop from their perch. - -As a means, therefore, of protecting the lives of pet birds, the -recommendation is, to remove the cages to a darkened apartment at -nightfall, or if they are not removed, to cover up every cage with a -dark cloth before lighting the gas or oil-lamps. In shifting birds from -one room to another, it is important to see that there be no change -in the temperature. If removed to a different temperature, there is a -chance of their moulting, which may be preliminary to something more -serious. Let it be always kept in mind that Nature supplies a coat to -suit the heat or cold in which the creatures are placed. By changing -a bird from a warm to a cold climate, birds change their coat and get -one that is heavier, and _vice versâ_, so, by repeated changes they are -kept continually moulting, instead of once a year, as they ought to do. - -We have referred principally to the treatment of small song-birds, the -delicacy of which calls for particular attention. But our observations -in the main apply to all birds whatsoever. If it be wrong to keep a -little bird singing beyond its constitutional capacity, so it would be -wrong to over-work a parrot by causing it to speak eighteen hours on a -stretch. It would seem that by this degree of loquacity, the parrot has -a tendency to take some kind of bronchial affection, analogous to the -ailment of preachers, usually known as ‘the minister’s sore throat,’ -and which, if not checked in time, may prove equally disastrous. - -We have thrown these interesting facts together not only in the -interest of bird-keepers, but for the sake of inculcating kindness to -animals. - - W. C. - - - - -MY KITMITGHAR ‘_SAM_.’ - - -For nearly three years my Kitmitghar, as that functionary is called, -was cook, butler, and factotum of my then small bachelor establishment -in India. A cunning concocter of mulligatawnies, curries, and -chutnies—as cunning a hand too in ‘cooking’ his daily bazaar accounts, -adding annas and pice, for his own particular benefit, to the prime -cost of as many articles as possible. Mildly remonstrated with, and -petty larceny hinted at, his honest indignation would be aroused. -‘Master tink I cheat,’ he would say; ‘master can inquire bazaar-mans;’ -well knowing, the rogue, the moral and almost physical impossibility of -‘master’—a swell in his way—going to the distant market in a broiling -sun, and finding out the ruling prices of flesh and fowl. - -This worthy, whose original cognomen of _Mootoosammy_ was shortened -into ‘_Sam_’ for convenience and euphony sakes, was a Tamil from -the Malabar Coast. _Au reste_, a dark, handsome, stoutly-built, -clean-looking native, on whose polished skin water and coarse country -soap were evidently no strangers. In his early youth, fated to earn his -own living, he had been ejected from the paternal hut and placed as a -_chokerah_ or dressing-boy to a fiery and impecunious lieutenant of -infantry; and under the fostering care of that impetuous and coinless -officer, his indoctrination into the art and mystery of a valet had -been advanced and improved by sundry ‘lickings,’ and by frequent -applications to his ebon person of boot-heels, backs of brushes, and -heavy lexicons of the English and Hindustani languages. This education -completed, and when he had learned to appreciate the difference between -uniform and mufti, mess-dress and parade-dress, and indeed to master -the intricacies of his employer’s scanty wardrobe—_non sine lacrymis_, -not without ‘howls’—then he emerged from dressing-boyhood, was promoted -_matie_ or under-butler, and got translated into more pretentious -bungalows than those of indigent subalterns. By-and-by further -preferment awaited him; he became _kitmitghar_ (major-domo) in the -households of unmarried civilian or military swells, and thenceforward -led a life free from kicks and cuffs, canes and whips, and impromptu -missiles snatched from toilet or study tables. I have said advisedly -‘unmarried,’ for except under financial difficulties, Sam would not -take service with the Benedicts of Indian society, and the actual -presence or possible advent of a wife was the signal for his departure. -‘Plenty too much bodder wid lady; too much want ebery day, ebery day -measure curry stuff, oil, ghee [butter]; too much make say always dis -ting too dear, dat ting too dear; too much trouble take count. Now, -Colonel Sahib he good man; he call, he say: “Sam! how much this week -you eespend? [spend].” He just look book; he give rupee; no one single -word _bobberee_ [fuss] make.’ And so, for a palpable reason, my worthy -cook-butler eschewed those households where a better-half took the -reckoning. - -English, after the rickety fashion of a Madrassee, Sam spoke fairly -enough; he also read and wrote the language, the latter accomplishment -phonetically, but yet sufficiently near to the rules of orthography to -make you fully understand and pay for ‘tirty seers wrice’ as thirty -seers (measures) of rice. What if he did elect to spell rice with a -_w_? Is it not recorded that an eminent member of a large mercantile -firm, in days long gone by, invariably included an _h_ in the word -sugar? And is it not also chronicled how he chastised almost to the -death his son and heir for omitting that letter when invoicing a cargo -of best Jamaica moist? If then Blank Blank, Esq. of the city of London -opined that sugar required an _h_, why not the same liberty as regards -the _w_ to Mootoosammy of the city of Madras? - -A sad waverer in religious opinions Master Sam, I fear. A very Pharisee -of a Hindu, a rigid stickler for the worship of Vishnu or Siva on the -high-days and holidays of those deities, when his forehead and arms -would be spotted and streaked with coloured ashes, his garments would -smell of saffron and sandal-wood, his English diminutive name would be -put aside for its more lengthy and sonorous native patronymic, and he -would be off to the temple to make _poojah_ (prayer) to his _swamis_ -(gods). But yet, somehow or other, all these symptoms and signs of -Hinduism would disappear at Christmas, Easter, or Whitsuntide. At those -seasons of the Christian year, Sam was no longer Mootoosammy, but Sam -pure and simple. No more the believer he in the Vedahs and Shastras, -but a pinner of faith on Aves and Credos; no _poojah_ for him now in -the temple, but crossings and genuflections in the little chapel of -the station. Not a trace in these days of idolatrous scents clinging -to cloths and turban, or of ‘caste’ marks disfiguring brow or limb. -Dole in hand—obtained either from pickings at master’s ’counts or from -bazaar-man’s _dustoor_ (custom)—he is off to join Father Chasuble’s -small flock, and to bow down and formalise with the best or worst of -that good priest’s congregation. I really think and believe, that to -secure a holiday and an ‘outing,’ Sam would have professed himself a -Mohammedan during the Ramadan, a Hebrew during the Passover, a Heathen -Chinee during the feast of Lanterns, and a Buddhist during the Perihara -or other high-jinks of the yellow-robed priests of Gautama Buddha. - -I never before or since met any man into whose household death was so -constantly making inroads, and strange to say, carrying away the same -individual. I suppose that, on a rough estimate, all Sam’s kith and kin -died at least twice during the thirty months or so that he was in my -service. - -‘Master please’—thus Sam howling and weeping after his kind—‘scuse -[excuse] me. Gib tree day leave go Madras; too much trouble my house. -My poor old mudder—booh! ooh!—plenty long time sick; master know well; -too much old got; die last night. Booh! ooh! o-o-g-h!’ - -‘Why, what tomfoolery is this?’ I reply. ‘Your mother dead! Dead -_again_! Why, man, how can that be? Four months ago you came and told -me your mother was dead; you got four rupees advance; you went off, -leaving the boy to do your work, and put me to no end of inconvenience. -How can the old woman be dead again?’ - -But the fellow is not the least put out, and is quite equal to the -‘fix.’ ‘Master Sahib,’ he says, ‘I beg you scuse me. Sahib quite wrong. -That time you speak I get leave, not _my_ mudder—my _wife’s_ mudder -die. Master can look book!’ - -This random shot anent the ‘book’ alludes to my diary, in which the -disbursement of the money has been entered, but not of course the -casualty in his family. But I don’t lose the hint nevertheless, and I -jot down a memorandum for future reference, should occasion require. - -Then Sam goes on: ‘I no tell lie, sar. Plenty true; too much bobberee -my house make. My fader gone Mysore’—— - -‘Why, bless my heart!’ I put in, ‘you told me ages ago your father died -of cholera in Masulipatam.’ - -‘No, sar,’ says Sam; ‘never, sar! My grand-fader, scuse me. My wife she -catch bad fever. No one single person my home got, make funeral-feast. -Please, my master, advance half-month’s pay; gib four days’ leave. I -too much hurry come back.’ Then he falls down, clasps my feet, calls me -his father, brother; gets my consent to be absent, handles the rupees, -and is off like a shot; not of course to his mother’s obsequies, for -the old harridan has either been buried or burned years ago, or even -now is all alive and kicking; but to some spun-out native theatricals, -nautch, or _tamasha_ (entertainment) in Black Town, where he feasts, -drinks, and sleeps, and for a week at least I see his face no more. - -History repeats itself; so does Sam. Months and months have passed; -I am away from the neighbourhood of the Presidency town, and on the -cool Neilgherry Hills. Enters one morning my man into my sitting-room, -a letter in his hand, written in Tamil, and which he asks me to -read, well knowing that I can’t, that except a very few of the -commonest words of the language, which I speak with an uncertain not -to say incorrect idea of their meaning, the tongue of his forebears, -scriptural and oral, is to me Chaldee or Arabic. - -‘Well! what’s up now?’ I say ‘_Ennah?_’ airing one of the expressions I -know. - -‘Master can see self. My uncle he send chit [note]; just now tappal-man -[postman] bring. He write, say: “Sam! you plenty quick come Madras.” -He put inside letter one five-rupee government note. Sahib can see. He -tell me no one minute lose; take fire-road [railway]; too soon come; -plenty, plenty trouble. _My mudder dead._’ - -‘You awful blackguard!’ I exclaim. ‘Your mother dead—dead again! Look -here—look here!’ And I turn up my diary and shew him, under date August -9, 186-, nearly two years past and gone: ‘Sam’s mother reported dead -for the second time by Sam, &c.’ - -Then he slinks away discomfited; and I hear him in his smoky kitchen -growling and grumbling, and no doubt anathematising me and mine past, -present, and future. - -My first introduction to Sam was after this wise. I had come down from -Bombay to Beypore with troops in a small steamer, and Mr Sam, who had -either deserted or been sent away from the Abyssinian Expedition, in -which he had been a camp-follower, was also a passenger in the same -ship. Of this craft a word _en passant_, for I have to this day a -lively and by no means pleasant olfactory recollection of her. She -was the dirtiest vessel in which I ever put foot; guiltless of paint -from keel to truck; all grime, coal-soot, and tar from stem to stern. -She had but recently taken a cargo of mules to Annesley Bay; and but -scant if any application of water and deodorants had followed the -disembarkation of the animals. The ‘muley’ flavour still therefore -clung closely to bulkhead and planking; it hung about cordage and -canvas; it penetrated saloon and sleeping-berth; it even overpowered -the smell of the rancid grease with which pistons and wheels were -lubricated. Worthy Captain B—— the skipper assured us that deck and -hold, sides and bulwarks, had been well scoured in Bombay; but as the -old salt’s views of scrubbing, judging from his personal appearance, -were infinitesimally limited, we opined that the ship’s ablution had -been as little as was that of its commander’s diurnal tub. - -But to return to Sam. The poor fellow was wandering about the streets -of Beypore coinless and curry-and-rice-less, when he stumbled upon -me. He was seeking, he told me, from some good Samaritan of an -officer, a free convoy to Madras as his servant; and as I happened -to be in a position entitled to passes for some three or four -followers at government expense, I was enabled to pour oil and wine -into Sam’s wounds, and without even the disbursement to mine host -the assistant-quartermaster-general, of the traditional ‘tuppence,’ -to get him across from terminus to terminus—some four hundred long -miles—and without once casting eyes on him. But at Lucifer’s hotel in -Madras where I stayed—— What a memory of mosquitoes, fleas, and other -nimble insects doth it bring! What a night-band of croaking frogs -and howling jackals it kept! What packs of prowling pariah dogs and -daringly thieving crows congregated about its yards and outhouses! -What repulsive nude mendicants and fakeers strolled almost into its -very verandahs! What a staff of lazy sweepers, slow-footed ‘boys,’ and -sleepy punkah-pullers crawled about it generally! And last, though not -least, what a wretched ‘coolie-cook’ superintended its flesh-pots, from -which not even the every-day stereotyped prawn curry, boiled seer-fish, -and grilled _morghee_ (fowl) could creditably and palatably issue. At -this Stygian caravanserai then, Sam, whom I thought I had bid adieu -to for ever and a day on the railway platform, turns up again clean -and smirk, salaams, asks for permanent employment, produces a thick -packet of highly laudatory characters (mostly, I had no doubt, either -fabricated by a native scribe in the Thieves’ Bazaar at Black Town, -or borrowed for the occasion from some other brother-butler), gets -engaged; and from that moment, both figuratively and literally, begins -to eat my salt. Nor did the saline feasting fail to give him a taste -for liquor—for alcoholic, decidedly alcoholic were Sam’s proclivities. -He drank at all times and in all places; but his favourite day and -locality was Tuesday, at the weekly market of the cantonment. Then and -there he imbibed right royally, and staggering home—the coolies with -the supplies following him as tipsy as himself—went straight to his -mat-spread _charpoy_ (bedstead). - -‘Hollo, Sam!’ I exclaim; ‘at it again; drunk as usual from _shandy_ -[market].’ - -‘No, shar! Dis time no shrunk! Shun too mush hot! Splenshy head pain -gib! Too mush make shake, sthagger, shar! No, mash-err, no! Sham not -shrunk! Plenty shick! Shmall glass brandy—all right, shar!’ - -But I decline to add ‘the sum of more to that which hath too much,’ and -I leave Sam to sober himself as he best can, and which, truth to say, -he quickly does. - -In the way of intoxicants nothing came amiss to my man’s unfastidious -palate. He had no particular ‘wanity,’ like Old Weller’s friend the -red-nosed Shepherd: Henneysey’s brandy, Kinahan’s whisky, Boord’s gin, -Bass’s ale, Guinness’s stout, champagne, sherry, claret—all and each -were equally acceptable; and failing these European liquors, then the -vile palm-toddy and killing mango-spirit of the neighbouring native -stills supplied their place. Bar the toddy and mango stuff, which -were cheap and easily obtained, Sam did not disburse much for his -wine-cellar; master’s sideboard and stores, guard them as he would, -came cheaper and handier. Every bottle, somehow or other, got ‘other -lips’ than mine and my friends’ applied to it, and its contents went -into and warmed other ‘hollow hearts’ than ours. Sam laid an embargo -on and helped himself from all. He it is, I fancy, to whom Aliph Cheem -alludes in his Lay of Ind entitled _The Faithful Abboo_, that trusty -servant who, habitually stealing his master’s liquor, and accusing his -brother-domestics, got caught and half-poisoned by mistaking in his -prowls Kerosine for Old Tom. A misadventure not unlike befell Sam; -but in that instance he did not ‘strike oil,’ but came upon a very -nauseating dose of tartar emetic, and was ‘plenty sick’ and ‘plenty -shame’ for some hours after. - -Another predilection of my factotum’s was tobacco, which he smoked -without ceasing, and without the least regard to quality or fabric. -‘Long-cut or short-cut’ to him ‘were all the same.’ But as I did not -happen to be addicted to the ‘nicotian weed’ Sam could not draw on any -resources of mine, but had to depend on his own means, supplemented by -the surreptitious abstraction of Trichys and Manillas, of Latakia and -Bird’s-eye, from the boxes and pouches of my chum and visitors. - -Every native gambles; so it could hardly be expected that Sam should -differ from his brethren in this respect. In the words of the old ditty -anent Ally Croker: - - He’d game till he lost the coat from his shoulder. - -I don’t think he cared much for cards or dice; but the game that he -delighted in was played with a red and white checkered square of cloth, -and with round pieces like draughtsmen. Whenever the advent of a friend -and opportunity served, down the two squatted with this board between -their legs, and a pile of copper pieces of money by their sides; and -so intent would they be on their play, that nothing short of a gentle -kick, or tap on the head, would arouse them to master’s wants and -needings. - -My readers will naturally inquire why, with all these delinquencies, -Sam so long remained my henchman. Well, first, had I discharged him, -another and probably greater robber would have stepped into his -shoes, and bazaar accounts and inroads on alcohol and tobacco would -have remained undiminished. ‘They all do it;’ so better the de’il I -knew, than the de’il whose acquaintance I would have to make. Again, -Sam had his redeeming points; he was, as I have said before, clean, -handy, and deft at the creature comforts, which, having appetisingly -compounded, he could serve up with taste and elegance. Then he was -a good nurse; and during a serious illness that befell me at one of -the vilest stations in Madras, he tended me closely and carefully, -keeping a watchful eye and a ready stick on punkah-pullers and wetters -of kus-kus tatties (scented grass mats), without the cooling aid of -which the heat of that grilling July would have been my death on that -fever-bed. Once more, on those military inspections which fell to -my lot, and which had to be undertaken partly over the Nizam’s very -sandy and rough highways, and in those close comfortless bone-breaking -vehicles called _byle-nibbs_ (bullock-carts), my man became invaluable. -Seated on the narrow perch alongside the almost garmentless and highly -odoriferous native driver, he urged him on by promises of ‘backsheesh’ -and cheroots; he helped to whip and tail-twist the slow-footed oxen; he -roused up lazy _byle-wallahs_ (bullock-men) sleeping in their hovels, -and assisted them in driving from the fields and in yoking to the cart -refractory and kicking cattle. He stirred up with the long pole the -_peons_ (keepers) in charge of the road-side travellers’ bungalows at -which we halted, aiding these officials in chasing, slaughtering, and -‘spatch-cocking’ the ever-waiting-to-be-killed-and-cooked gaunt and -fleshless _morghee_ (fowl); he saw that the chatties for the bath were -not filled with the very dirtiest of tank water; that the numerous -and hard-biting insects, out and taking the air from their thickly -populated homes in the crevices of cane-bottomed chair and bedstead, -met with sudden and violent death; and lastly, that no man’s hand but -his own should be put into master’s money-bag and stores. - -But as all things come to an end more or less, so did Sam’s career with -me actually terminate. My wife and family came ‘out’ from England. -The ‘Mem Saab,’ sometimes even the ‘Missee Saab,’ took bazaar ’count; -the current bachelor rates for chillies, cocoa-nuts, first and second -sorts _wrice_, gram, and such-like necessaries underwent a fall. Sam’s -occupation and gain were gone. He quitted my homestead under this new -and unprofitable régime. ‘I discharge you, sar!’ said he; and away he -went, I know not where. - - - - -HELENA, LADY HARROGATE. - - -CHAPTER XI.—AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. - -The _De Vere Arms_ at Pebworth, fourth-rate hotel though it necessarily -was in a place where any hotel of the first or even of the second -magnitude would have been as an oak in a flower-pot, was well and -neatly kept. There was the commercial connection, and there was the -county connection, both dear to the landlord, but on grounds wholly -dissimilar. Biggles had been butler to the present, under-butler and -knife-boy to the late Earl of Wolverhampton; and had he but had his own -way, the _De Vere Arms_ would have been strictly the family hotel which -its address-cards proclaimed it, and the obnoxious word ‘commercial’ -would have found no place there. - -Mr Biggles, however, was in the position of one of those unfortunate -managers of English country theatres who tell their friends, perhaps -truly, that they would play nothing, save the legitimate drama, if they -could help it. They cannot help it, and scared by the dismal spectre -of Insolvency, they shelve Shakspeare in favour of newer idols of the -public. So did Biggles and worthy Mrs B. to boot lay themselves out in -practice to secure the lucrative custom of the ready-money, constantly -moving, commercial gentlemen, while in theory devoting all their -loyalty to those of their patrons who came in their own carriages, -with armorial bearings on their panels and liveried servants on the -driving-seat. - -To this hostelry was borne, in Sir Gruntley Pigbury’s carriage, the -insensible form of Jasper Denzil, supported by the sturdy arm of -Captain Prodgers, while little Dr Aulfus, on the opposite seat, kept -the patient’s nerveless wrist between his own thin fingers all the way -from the race-course to the inn. Then Jasper, amidst spasmodic gaspings -from the landlady and sympathetic exclamations from the chambermaids, -was carried into the _De Vere Arms_ and established in one of the best -rooms, whence were summarily dislodged the effects of some well-to-do -customer who had had a horse in the race, but who was unlikely under -the circumstances to resent the invasion of his apartment. Jack -Prodgers and the doctor seemed to have taken joint possession of the -invalid; the former as _prochain ami_ (and it is to the credit of such -ne’er-do-wells as Captain Prodgers that the very wildest of them never -do leave a friend untended in a scrape), and the other professionally. - -Other friends came not. Lord Harrogate did indeed tap at the door, and -so did four or five officers of the Lancer regiment, but contented -themselves with an assurance that Jasper was in no immediate danger. -And when Blanche Denzil’s tearful entreaties induced the Earl to -solicit admittance to the sick-room for her at least, the surgeon went -out and politely deprecated her entrance. Anything which might excite -the patient should, he truly said, be as far as possible avoided. It -was not exactly possible just yet to ascertain the amount of damage -done; but he, the doctor, anticipated no serious consequences. And -with this assurance the poor sister was compelled to be content. They -say that every educated man of fifty is a fool or a physician. Jack -Prodgers had seen the light some half-century since, and his worst -enemies—the men whose cash he pouched at play—would not have taxed him -with folly. - -‘Now, doctor,’ he said quietly, ‘don’t you think the best we can do -for the poor fellow is to get his left shoulder into the socket again -before the muscles stiffen?’ - -The surgeon winced. He knew by the cursory examination he had made -that no bones—unless it might be the collar-bone, an injury to which -is not always promptly ascertained—were broken; but here, annoying -circumstance! was a dislocation which he had left to be discovered by -an outsider to the profession. - -‘Bless my soul!’ he exclaimed, adjusting his spectacles, ‘so it is. We -have no time to lose.’ - -As it was, time enough had been lost to bring about a contraction of -the muscles, that rendered it necessary to call in the aid of James the -waiter and Joe the boots, before the hurt shoulder could be reinstated -in its normal position. - -The pain of the operation roused Jasper from his stupor. He moaned -several times and stirred feebly to and fro, and when the wrench was -over, opened his eyes and gazed with a bewildered stare about him. Very -pale and ghastly he looked, lying thus, with the blood slowly oozing -from a cut on his right temple, and his hair stained and matted. They -sprinkled water on his face and put brandy to his lips; but he merely -groaned again, and his eyes closed. - -‘That’s a very ugly knock on the temple; I hope there’s no more -mischief,’ said the doctor in a whisper, but speaking more openly than -medicine-men, beside a patient’s bed, often speak to the laity. - -Jack Prodgers shook his head. He was a man of experience, and had in -his time seen some prompt and easy recoveries, and other cases in which -there was no recovery at all. It was with some remorse that he looked -down at the bruised and helpless form lying on the bed. His heart had -been case-hardened by the rubs of a worldly career, but there was a -soft spot in it after all, and it was with sincere joy that he saw at -length the sick man’s eyes open with a glance of evident recognition, -while a wan smile played about his lips. - -‘I say, Jack,’ said Jasper feebly, ‘we’re in a hole, old man, after -all’—— Then he fainted. - -‘Nothing the matter with his reason, thank goodness! It was the shock -to the brain I feared the most for him,’ said the doctor, as again -brandy was administered. - -The regular clock-work routine of social machinery must go on in -despite of accidents, and accordingly the down-train reached Pebworth -at 3.40 (or, to tell the truth, a few minutes behind time) with its -usual punctuality. There was no omnibus, whether from the _De Vere -Arms_ or from the opposition or _White Hart_ hotel, in waiting at the -station, wherefore the few arrivals had to consign their bales and bags -and boxes of samples to the wheelbarrows of porters, for conveyance -to whichever house of entertainment they designed to patronise. -Amongst these was a thickset middle-aged man, with trim whiskers, a -dust-coloured overcoat, a slim umbrella, and a plump black bag, which -he preferred to carry as he trudged from the station to the hotel. - -There was nothing very noteworthy about the new-comer, who was neatly -dressed in black, and wore a hat that was just old enough to have lost -its first tell-tale gloss, except that he had evidently striven to -look some years younger than the parish register would have proclaimed -him. Thus the purplish tint of his thick whiskers and thinned hair, -heedfully brushed and parted so as to make the most of it, savoured of -art rather than nature. His cravat too, instead of being black, was -what haberdashers call a scarf of blue silk, of a dark shade certainly, -but still blue, and was secured by a massive golden horse-shoe. -Glittering trinkets rattled at his watch-chain, and his boots were -tighter and brighter than the boots of men of business usually are. -There is or ought to be a sort of fitness between clothes and their -wearer, but in the case of this traveller, obviously bound for the -_De Vere Arms_, no such fitness existed. That cold gray eye, those -deeply marked crow’s-feet, the coarse mouth, and mottled complexion, -consorted ill with the pretensions to dandyism indicated by a portion -of their owner’s attire. Altogether, the man might have been set down -as a corn-doctor, a quack, a projector of bubble companies, or possibly -an auctioneer whose hammer seldom fell to a purely legitimate bid in a -fair market. - -As the stranger drew near to the hotel, having inquired his way once -or twice from such of the natives as the great attraction of the day -had not allured to the race-course, a carriage dashed past him at a -very fast pace indeed, and drew up with a jerk in front of the _De -Vere Arms_. The gentleman who alighted from it, tall, and of a goodly -presence, lingered for an instant in the doorway to give some order to -his servants. As he did so, his eyes encountered those of the traveller -freshly arrived by the train, and who by this time was beneath the -pillars of the porch. Sir Sykes Denzil, for it was he whose carriage -had just brought him in hot haste to the place where his son lay ill, -started perceptibly and hesitated, then turned abruptly on his heel -and disappeared within the hotel, greeted by the obsequious Mr and Mrs -Biggles. - -Recognition, as we can all avouch, is in the immense majority of cases -simultaneous, one memory seeming as it were to take fire at the spark -of recollection kindled in the other. In this instance such was not -exactly what occurred. Yet the traveller with the bag was perfectly -certain that he had seen before the tall gentleman who had started at -the sight of him, and that a diligent searching of the mental archives -would elicit the answer to the riddle. - -‘Have I written or telegraphed to order rooms here?’ repeated the new -arrival testily, after the flippant waiter who came, flourishing his -napkin, to see what the stranger wanted. ‘No, I have not. And to judge -by the size of your town, my friend, and the general look of affairs, I -should say that on any other day of the year but this such a precaution -would be wholly superfluous.’ - -The waiter, who had been slightly puffed up by the ephemeral vogue -of Pebworth and its chief hotel, took the rebuke meekly. ‘Would you -step into the coffee-room, sir?’ he said. ‘I’ll ask Mrs Biggles about -accommodation likely to be vacant. Any name I could mention, sir?’ - -‘Name—yes, Wilkins,’ returned the traveller, pushing open the door -of the coffee-room, in which, at various tables, some dozen of -sporting-men were making a scrambling meal. One or two of these -looking up from their plates, nodded a greeting, with a ‘How d’ ye do, -Wilkins?’ or ‘How goes it, old fellow?’ salutations which the recipient -of them returned in kind. Then the waiter bustled in to say, more -respectfully than before, that so soon as No. 28 should be vacated by -a gentleman leaving by the 6.25 train, it would be at the disposal -of Mr Wilkins. Further, here was a note for Mr Wilkins; into whose -hand he proceeded to thrust a half-sheet of letter-paper, roughly -folded in four, and containing but some two or three lines of blotted -handwriting. ‘If you will so far oblige me’—thus ran the words, shaky -and blurred as to their caligraphy, but tolerably legible—‘I shall be -glad of a few moments’ interview with you, at once if not inconvenient, -in No. 11. I will not detain you.’ - -There was no signature, but no reasonable doubt could exist in the mind -of Mr Wilkins as to the note having been penned by the owner of the -carriage that had so lately driven up to the door of the _De Vere Arms_. - -‘Why, this is taking the bull by the horns,’ said Mr Wilkins, as he -rose to obey the summons. - - -CHAPTER XII.—IN NO. XI. - -No. 11 was a sitting-room of a class peculiar to those old-fashioned -inns which are rapidly being improved off the length and breadth of -Britain, large, low-ceiled, with a sloping floor that attained its -highest elevation beside the broad bay-window. A dark room, it must be -confessed, and an airless, but snug and warm on winter-nights, when -the glow of the firelight combined with the lustre of many wax-candles -to defy the storm and blackness without. There had been jovial dinners -in that room, and drawing together of arm-chairs around the huge -fireplace, and tapping of dusty magnums of rare old port, and calling -for more punch as the night waned, in those hard-living days of which -so many of us innocent, pay the penalty in neuralgia and dyspepsia. - -In No. 11 stood Sir Sykes, pale but resolute. The traveller with the -black bag came in, and for the second time their eyes met. ‘You wished -to see me, sir,’ began Mr Wilkins, with a slight bow. ‘Ah! I remember -you now, sir, as it happens,’ he added in a different tone; ‘remember -you very distinctly indeed, Mr’—— - -‘Hush!’ interrupted Sir Sykes, with uplifted fore-finger. ‘A place -like this is the very last in which to mention anything best left -unspoken—the very walls, I believe, have ears to hear and tongues to -tattle. I am Sir Sykes Denzil, of Carbery Chase, within a very few -miles of this, at your service, Mr Wilkins.’ - -‘Sir Sykes Denzil! Well, this _is_ a surprise,’ exclaimed the owner -of the name of Wilkins wonderingly, and yet with a sort of dry humour -mingling with his evidently genuine astonishment. ‘Dear me, dear me! -They say the world is very little, and people constantly meeting and -jostling in it; but I never so thoroughly realised the truth of the -saying as I do now. So I’ve the honour of talking to Sir Sykes Denzil, -when I thought I was addressing’—— - -‘Be cautious, sir,’ interposed the baronet, with an energy that -impressed the other in spite of himself. ‘Let us have no reference, if -you please, to a past that is dead and buried. I sent for you, certain -as I was that sooner or later your memory must recall me to your -remembrance, and well aware too how easily you could learn who I was -here.’ - -‘No great trouble about that, Mr—I mean Sir Sykes,’ rejoined the -traveller smirkingly. ‘The people seem to know you well enough, and any -fellow in the stable-yard would have told me whose was the carriage -with the brown liveries.’ - -‘And having met and recognised one another,’ said Sir Sykes, ‘on what -footing is our future intercourse to be conducted? We are not as we -once were, lawyer and client, and’—— - -‘No, Sir Sykes, I grant you that; but we might be,’ returned Mr -Wilkins, rubbing his fleshy hands together, as though they had been -two millstones between which the bones of suitors might be ground to -make his bread. ‘You can’t, a man of your landed property—I’ve heard -something as to your acreage, and could give a shrewd guess as to your -rent-roll—be without law business. Devonshire isn’t Arcadia, I suppose. -Are there not leases to draw, inclosure bills to promote, poachers to -prosecute, paths to stop up, bills to file, actions to bring, defend, -compromise? Ten to one, some of your best farms are let on leases of -lives, and—— But no matter! You’ve your own legal advisers; hey, Sir -Sykes?’ - -The baronet bowed coldly by way of assent. - -‘Pounce and Pontifex, of Lincoln’s Inn—_I_ know,’ pursued the unabashed -lawyer. ‘A brace of respectable twaddling old stagers. There was a -saying, soon after I got my articles, as to that firm, to the effect -that Pounce and Pontifex were fit for a marriage settlement, a will, -and a Chancery suit, and that was about all. If you care about raising -your rents, crushing an enemy, or gratifying a whim—and most rich men -have a hankering after one or other of these fancies—why, you’ll need a -brisker counsellor at your elbow than the jog-trots of Lincoln’s Inn.’ - -Again the baronet bent his head, and his eyes moved towards the door. -Mr Wilkins noted their movement. - -‘You hardly derived a fair judgment of my capabilities,’ he said, ‘by -the little I had to do in that Sandston business’—— - -‘Again I ask you, sir, to make no mention of that subject. It—it is -naturally painful to me—and—and’—— Sir Sykes here fairly broke down. - -The lawyer’s eyes twinkled as he saw his advantage. ‘So long as _you_ -remember it, Sir Sykes,’ he made haste to say, ‘I shall be only too -happy to forget the whole concern. What was that story about the -organ-blower and Handel? “Shan’t it be ‘we,’ then?” said the fellow, -when the great organist couldn’t get a note out of his instrument -for want of the necessary but humble bellows. And the musician was -compelled to acknowledge that there was a sort of partnership between -the man who fingered the stops and the man who raised the wind. I’m -in no hurry. Think it over. I have a client to see here to-day; but -perhaps you will let me have a word with you before you drive back to -Carbery Chase.’ - -A long deep line, which might have been mistaken for the furrow of some -old sword-cut, running from the angle of the mouth obliquely upwards, -became visible in the baronet’s comely face as he listened. He was one -of those men who can better endure misfortune than disrespect, and to -whom the bitterest sting of ruin is the withdrawal of the deference and -lip-service which environ them. But it was in an amicable tone that he -made answer: ‘I shall be happy to pursue our conversation, Mr Wilkins, -to-day or at any time which you may deem suitable. At present, however, -you will excuse me if I leave you. My son, Captain Denzil, has been -hurt—badly hurt, I fear, in the steeplechase to-day, and I have been -called here to see him, where he lies, in this very hotel.’ And the -baronet moved towards the door. - -‘Hurt, is he?’ exclaimed Mr Wilkins, with inconsiderate roughness. ‘Ah, -then, I shall look to you, Sir Sykes, to indemnify me in case’—— - -Then came an awkward pause. The solicitor was a remarkably plain-spoken -man, but he did not quite like to say, ‘in case your son’s accident -prove fatal,’ and so stopped, and left his eloquent silence to complete -his words. Sir Sykes, with his hand on the door, turned, astonished, -upon the attorney. - -‘What, pray, have you to do with the illness or the recovery of Captain -Denzil?’ he asked in evident ill-humour. He had borne up to this with -Mr Wilkins, but the lawyer’s interference with regard to his son -appeared to him in the light of a gratuitous piece of insolence. - -‘Simply,’ returned Mr Wilkins, thrusting his hand into an inner pocket -of his coat, ‘because I am the holder of certain acceptances, renewed, -renewed afresh, and finally dishonoured; acceptances amounting, with -expenses, to a gross amount of—shall we say some eleven or twelve -thousand, Sir Sykes? Nearer the twelve than the eleven, I suspect. -A flea-bite of course to a gentleman of your fortune, but a very -important sum to a plain man like yours truly.’ - -‘I have been put to heavy expense, very heavy, for my son’s debts,’ -said Sir Sykes, almost piteously. ‘I have paid every’—— - -‘Now, my very good sir,’ interrupted the attorney, ‘don’t, I beg you, -don’t fall into the common error of fathers, and imagine that your -own particular son is either a miracle of ingenuous candour or a -prodigal worse than his neighbours. You think that you’ve paid all his -liabilities, Sir Sykes, and no doubt you have paid all you knew of. But -as a man of the world, if not as a parent, you ought to be aware that -nobody ever did tell all that he owed—excess of modesty, perhaps! They -always leave a margin, these interesting penitents; and in this case, -as you will see by these documents’ (and Mr Wilkins produced several -pieces of stamped paper), ‘the margin is tolerably ample.’ - -The baronet was now thoroughly roused to wrath. He strode to and fro -with frowning brow and hands that were fast clenched together, then -walked to the window and stood still, idly tapping the panes with one -white finger, on which there glistened a great diamond that had been an -heirloom at Carbery Chase before ever a Denzil crossed its threshold. - -‘I’ll not give him a shilling or leave him a shilling!’ he said in a -voice that quivered with anger. ‘Carbery Chase is my very own, and I -can deal with it as I please. My daughters at anyrate have deserved -better of me than that thankless graceless boy.’ - -Sir Sykes, under the influence of this new emotion, seemed to have -forgotten the lawyer’s presence, or merely to regard Mr Wilkins in the -light of the impartial Chorus in a Greek tragedy; but the attorney, -who was by no means pleased by the turn which the affair seemed to be -taking, intervened. - -‘Come, come, Sir Sykes. It’s natural that you should be annoyed at -having such a heavy bill presented, when you thought it settled. But -between ourselves, boys will be boys. The captain has turned over a -new leaf, and rely on it he will be a credit to you yet. I’ve a pretty -wide acquaintance amongst wild young gentlemen of his kind, and I give -you my word I don’t know one who is more wide-awake. He had paid his -’prentice fees, and that smartly; but I expect before I die to hear of -him as an ornament to the bench of magistrates and perhaps a county -member. As for these bills and notes of hand’—— - -‘I’m not liable for a sixpence!’ exclaimed Sir Sykes petulantly. ‘My -son may go through the Court if he chooses, and perhaps will learn a -wholesome lesson from the exposure, which’—— - -‘Fie, fie, Sir Sykes!’ broke in the lawyer. ‘A coat of whitewash, -believe me, sticks to a youngster’s back to that extent that no amount -of scrubbing can get rid of it. Fume and fret as you please, you -know, and I know, that you mean Captain Jasper to have Carbery after -you, and to keep the place in the Denzil line. Better so, than to -have so fine an estate sold or cut in two for division between your -daughters’ husbands. And the captain won’t bear the ‘bloody hand’ in -his escutcheon the better because he has been made an insolvent in his -youth. As for these claims, I don’t press for an immediate settlement; -not I; I don’t exact my pound of flesh down on the nail, Sir Sykes.’ - -There was a hard struggle in the baronet’s breast. Time had been -given him for reflection, and he had used it. To hear of his son’s -extravagance, of his son’s deceit, and from such lips, was bad enough. -To be compelled to endure the familiarity of the lawyer’s manner was -to have to swallow a still more bitter pill. He could remember Mr -Wilkins of old, blunt and jocose certainly, but by no means so jaunty -in his bearing as he now was, although Sir Sykes had not then been -the rich county magnate he had blossomed. He felt, and writhed as he -felt, that it was the attorney’s sense of his hold upon him by reason -of his knowledge of his past life, which had emboldened Mr Wilkins to -deal with him as he had done. But the most provoking feature of the -affair was that Sir Sykes felt that this man’s advice, coarsely and -offensively administered as it was, yet contained a solid kernel of -truth. Jasper was by no means a model son. He had committed fearful -follies, and incurred debts which even the Master of Carbery had -thought twice before discharging. His profligacy was redeemed by no -brilliant talents, softened by no affectionate qualities. There are -spendthrifts who remain lovable to the last, as there are others who -dazzle the world by the glitter of their wit or valour. To neither -category did the graceless offspring of Sir Sykes belong. And yet, in -spite of his occasional menaces on the subject of his will, the baronet -felt that national manners and family pride combined to constitute a -sort of moral entail, of which Jasper was to reap the benefit. - -‘I must see my son,’ said Sir Sykes smoothly, after a pause; ‘and when -I have time to think over the matter, Mr Wilkins, I will write to you -appointing as early an interview as possible. In the meantime I feel -assured that you will see the propriety of not urging personally your -claims on Captain Denzil in his present condition.’ - -Mr Wilkins was amenity itself. He would but eat a morsel in the -coffee-room, he said, and would then go back to London by the next -train, confident that he could not leave his interests in better hands -than those of Sir Sykes. - -‘The old address, sir! You used to know it well enough!’ said the -lawyer with a leer, as he took the hand which the baronet did not dare -to refuse in sign of friendship; and so they parted. - - - - -COAL AND ITS PRODUCTS. - - -In an article which appeared in this _Journal_ in August 1876, entitled -_The Age of the World_, we endeavoured to explain how coal was -produced, and how it might be regarded simply as stored-up heat and -light, derived from the sun ages ago. - -Apart from the varied uses of coal in its ordinary state, we owe an -immense deal to the products which by chemical means we obtain from it; -and it is our purpose in this paper to briefly review these products, -and to shew how we have adapted them to our several wants. - -The manufacture of gas is undoubtedly the most important feature in -the modern history of coal. Natural reservoirs of inflammable air -exist in many parts of the world, and have in many cases been turned -to profitable account. In China, for instance, the evaporation of -salt has for many years been carried on by the heat obtained by the -combustion of gas which issues from the ground. Streets and buildings -there have also been lighted by the same means. In our own country -too, such eruptions of natural gas—which have generally manifested -themselves during the operation of well-boring—have not been uncommon. -But the gas so obtained is not the same as that which we get from the -distillation of coal, although it forms one of its chief constituents. -It is commonly called marsh-gas, from its constant presence in bogs -and places where decaying vegetable matter abounds. The treacherous -Will o’ the Wisp owes its origin to this gas. It also issues in large -quantities from coal-beds, and diluted with air forms the dreadful -compound called ‘fire-damp.’ - -The first recorded experiment relating to the production of true -coal-gas was as early as the year 1660, when a country clergyman -distilled some coal, collected the gas in bladders, and burnt it from -a jet, for the amusement of his friends. Although this very suggestive -experiment was communicated to the Royal Society, no action seems to -have been taken upon it until the beginning of the present century, -when the matter seems to have attained a more practical form. At this -time one or two factories in Manchester and Birmingham were for the -first time lighted with gas. The idea of illuminating an entire town -by means of a chemical vapour seems to have met with much ridicule, -and it was found necessary to employ lecturers to go about the country -to shew people how such an apparent impossibility could be carried -out. However, in spite of much opposition, part of London was lighted -by gas in 1812; and three years later, Paris adopted the same system. -The delay in the acceptance of gas-making among the industrial arts -was no doubt largely due to the expressed opinion of several eminent -chemists and others, who considered that such a mode of lighting our -towns could never be realised, because of the supposed danger which it -involved. Modern experience teaches us that it is at once the cheapest -as well as the safest mode of illumination that we can as yet command. -In the manufacture of gas, the coal is placed in iron retorts, which -are subjected to a high temperature for about six hours, when the -operation is finished, and the retorts are ready for a fresh charge. -A residue of nearly pure carbon, in the form of coke, remains in the -retort, whilst the varied products of the distillation are carried off -by pipes into suitable receptacles. For the sake of convenience, we -will at present name only three of these products—ammoniacal liquor, -tar, and the gas itself. The first is the principal source of ammonia, -one of the most useful substances known. It may be almost said of -ammonia, as it has been remarked of sulphuric acid, that the prosperity -of a country may be known by the quantity which it consumes. It is used -by colour-makers, calico-printers, and in the manufacture of most of -the textile fabrics; in cleansing and extracting grease from various -kinds of cloth, in the preparation of leather, in galvanising iron, and -in pewtering. The chemist would be almost helpless without its aid; -whilst in medicine it is used in about twenty different forms as a -most valuable stimulant. It is almost needless to say that ammonia was -in general use long before the era of gas-manufacture, for life could -hardly go on without it. In fact its very name is derived from its -manufacture hundreds of years ago from animal refuse in a district of -Libya where the deity Jupiter Ammon was worshipped. The old alchemists -too obtained it from the distillation of deer’s horns; hence one -preparation of it is still called spirit of hartshorn. There are many -other sources of ammonia, for its presence in nature is universal; but -all have sunk into insignificance since the gas-works have yielded such -plentiful supplies. - -Coal-tar in its crude state is not of very great importance, its use -being confined to such rough work as the water-proofing of boats and -the painting of outhouses and the like. But in the hands of the chemist -its applications cannot be lightly regarded, in fact its distillation -is of sufficient importance to form a distinct branch of trade. In this -process coal-tar is separated into three different products—naphtha -(which in a rectified state is the benzol of commerce); heavy or -creosote oil, which is used almost exclusively for the preservation of -railway sleepers; and the residue pitch. The last is of great use to -shipbuilders, and has more recently found employment in the preparation -of asphalt roofing and paving. But naphtha is by far the most important -of the three substances, if it were only for its use as a solvent for -both india-rubber and gutta-percha. No doubt, failing this, other -solvents for caoutchouc would have been found; but naphtha is a -particularly cheap and effective menstruum for the purpose; and when we -consider the varied uses to which india-rubber and gutta-percha are now -applied—from elastic hosiery to submarine cables—we must acknowledge -that naphtha is a valuable addition to our manufacturing resources. -It is a significant circumstance that the date of the introduction -of manufactured india-rubber (by Mr Mackintosh) follows the general -adoption of gas-lighting by only a few years. Previous to this, -india-rubber was imported merely as a curiosity, its first use being to -obliterate pencil-marks, for which purpose it was once advertised in -London at the modest price of six shillings per square inch. - -Besides its use as a solvent, benzol is of particular importance in -yielding, when treated with nitric acid, a substance called aniline. -The discovery of aniline is one of the most remarkable triumphs of -chemistry, as applied to the advancement of a manufacturing industry. -(Before the date of coal-tar it was obtained from indigo, and the -name it bears is the Portuguese for that colour.) The production of -aniline caused quite a revolution in the various trades which are -dependent in any way upon the colour-manufacturer; for lithographers, -paper-stainers, calico-printers, and especially dyers, owe their most -brilliant tints to its aid. The various dyes which are now commonly -retailed for household use are also derived from the same source. -Aniline is an almost colourless liquid, of a peculiar vinous odour, -which after exposure to the air, changes to a dark resinous matter. -The treatment which it undergoes in producing the various colours (and -nearly every colour of the rainbow can now be obtained from it), is of -too complicated a nature to be of any interest to the general reader. -Magenta, the advent of which some years back many of our readers -will remember, was the first aniline dye which appeared. The other -colours have followed in quick succession, nearly all of them being -the subjects of one or more patents. It is questionable whether all -these colours are strictly permanent; but it is a pleasing thought that -the hues which in one form or another existed at a period long before -mankind had a place in nature, are now reproduced for man’s delight and -benefit. - -Another very important product of gas-tar is carbolic acid, which is -also largely employed for dyeing purposes. Its value as a disinfectant -is too well known to need recapitulation here; but we may mention -that its use as a preventive of disease was most abundantly proved -during the last epidemic among our cattle. It is in general use in -our hospitals, not only as a disinfectant, but also as an antiseptic -both in the dressing of wounds and in the treatment of various skin -diseases. Carbolic acid also yields a substance called picric acid, -which, on account of its explosive properties when combined with -potassium, has been proposed as a substitute for gunpowder. There are -many other substances derived from the distillation of coal-tar, but at -present they are only of interest to the experimental chemist. - -A ton of coals will produce a chaldron of coke, twelve gallons of tar, -ten gallons of ammoniacal liquor, and nearly ten thousand feet of gas. -A consideration of these figures, with a due regard to what we have -said as to the value of the various chemical products obtained by -distillation, will enable our readers to understand why gas companies -can shew such good balance-sheets. Much has been written as to the -possible exhaustion, after one or two centuries, of the British -coal-fields. This is a question upon which it is next to impossible -to form any reliable opinion. Should the coal-supply actually fail, -it is more than probable that as science is extended, a new source of -light and heat may be developed. A cheap and ready means of producing -electricity, as we have in a former article endeavoured to shew, would -at once solve the problem, and it is within the bounds of reason that -to this agency the future races of the earth will look for the two most -common necessaries of existence. - - - - -MALAPROPOS. - - -Charles Dickens once wrote to a friend: ‘I have distinguished myself in -two respects lately. I took a young lady unknown down to dinner, and -talked to her about the Bishop of Durham’s nepotism in the matter of -Mr Cheese. I found she was Mrs Cheese. And I expatiated to the member -for Marylebone, Lord Fermoy—generally conceiving him to be an Irish -member—on the contemptible character of the Marylebone constituency -and Marylebone representatives.’ Two such mishaps in one evening were -enough to reduce the most brilliant talker to the condition of the -three ‘insides’ of the London-bound coach, who beguiled the tedium of -the journey from Southampton by discussing the demerits of William -Cobbett, until one of the party went so far as to assert that the -object of their denunciations was a domestic tyrant, given to beating -his wife; when, much to his dismay, the solitary lady passenger, who -had hitherto sat a silent listener, remarked: ‘Pardon me, sir; a kinder -husband and father never breathed; and I ought to know, for I am -William Cobbett’s wife!’ - -Mr Giles of Virginia and Judge Duval of Maryland, members of Congress -during Washington’s administration, boarded at the house of a Mrs -Gibbon, whose daughters were well on in years, and remarkable for -talkativeness. When Jefferson became President, Duval was Comptroller -of the Treasury, and Giles a senator. Meeting one day in Washington, -they fell to chatting over old times, and the senator asked the -Comptroller if he knew what had become of ‘that cackling old maid, -Jenny Gibbon.’ ‘She is Mrs Duval, sir,’ was the unexpected reply. -Giles did not attempt to mend matters, as a certain Mr Tuberville -unwisely did. This unhappy blunderer resembled the Irish gentleman who -complained that he could not open his mouth without putting his foot -in it. Happening to observe to a fellow-guest at Dunraven Castle, that -the lady who had sat at his right hand at dinner was the ugliest woman -he had ever beheld; the person addressed expressed his regret that he -should think his wife so ill-looking. ‘I have made a mistake,’ said the -horrified Tuberville; ‘I meant the lady who sat on my left.’ ‘Well, -sir, she is my sister,’ was the response to the well-intentioned fib; -bringing from the desperate connoisseur of beauty the frank avowal: ‘It -can’t be helped, sir, then; for if what you say be true, I confess I -never saw such an ugly family in the course of my life!’ - -An honest expression of opinion perhaps not so easily forgiven by the -individual concerned, as that wrung from Mark Twain, who, standing -right before a young lady in a Parisian public garden, cried out to -his friend: ‘Dan, just look at this girl; how beautiful she is!’ to -be rebuked by ‘this girl’ saying in excellent English: ‘I thank you -more for the evident sincerity of the compliment, sir, than for the -extraordinary publicity you have given it!’ Mark took a walk, but did -not feel just comfortable for some time afterward. - -One of the humorist’s countrymen made a much more serious blunder. -He was a married man. Going into the kitchen one day, a pair of soft -hands were thrown over his eyes, a kiss was imprinted on his cheek. -He returned the salute with interest, and as he gently disengaged -the hands of his fair assailant, asked: ‘Mary, darling, where is the -mistress?’ and found his answer in an indignant wife’s face. ‘Mary -darling’ had gone out for the day, and the lady of the house intended -by her affectionate greeting to give her lord a pleasant surprise. -He got his surprise; whether he thought it a pleasant one he never -divulged, but that kitchen knew Mary no more. - -A stout hearty-looking gentleman one day made his way from the -dock-side at Plymouth to the deck of a man-of-war newly arrived from -abroad, and desired to be shewn over the ship. Most of the officers -were on shore, and the duty of playing cicerone devolved upon a young -midshipman. He made the most of his opportunity, and to have a lark -at the expense of the elderly gentleman as he shewed him round, he -told him how the capstan was used to grind the ship’s coffee, the -eighteen-ton guns for cooling the officers’ champagne, the main-yards -for drying the Admiral’s Sunday shirts, and many other things not -generally known. When the gentleman had seen all he wanted to see, he -handed a card to his kind instructor, saying: ‘Young gentleman, you -are a very smart youth indeed, and full of very curious information; -and I trust that you will see there is no mistake in this card of mine -finding its way to your captain.’ The middy glanced at the bit of -pasteboard and read thereon the name ‘Ward Hunt;’ but before he could -thoroughly realise the situation, the First Lord of the Admiralty, with -a parting nod and pleasant smile, had gone. - -Another story, illustrating the awkward results that come of letting -the tongue wag freely under a misapprehension regarding other folk’s -identity, is told of a London tailor. An aristocratic customer noted -for dressing in anything but aristocratic fashion, called to pay his -bill. The tailor’s new manager, after receipting the account, handed -it back with a sovereign, saying: ‘There’s a sovereign for yourself, -and it’s your own fault it isn’t two. You don’t wear out your master’s -clothes half quick enough. He ought to have had double the amount in -the time; it would be worth your while to use a harder brush.’ - -‘Well, I don’t know,’ said his lordship, smiling; ‘I think my brush is -a pretty hard one too; his lordship complains of it anyhow.’ - -‘Pooh! Hard! Not a bit of it! Now I’ll put you up to a dodge that’ll -put many a pound in your pocket. You see this piece of wood—now that’s -roughened on purpose. You take that, and give your master’s coat a good -scrubbing with it about the elbows and shoulders every day; and give -the trousers a touch about the knees, and it will be a good five pounds -a year in your pocket. We shan’t forget you.’ - -‘You are very kind,’ quoth the enlightened gentleman. ‘I will impart -your instructions to my valet, though I fear while he remains in my -service he will not be able to profit by them, as I shall not trouble -you with my custom. I wish you good-day.’ - -We read in Lord Eldon’s Journal: ‘The most awkward thing that ever -occurred to me was this. Immediately after I was married I was -appointed Deputy Professor of Law at Oxford, and the Law Professor sent -me the first lecture, which I had to read immediately to the students, -and which I began without knowing a single word that was in it. It was -upon the statute applying to young men running away with maidens. Fancy -me reading with about one hundred and fifty boys and young men all -giggling at the Professor! Such a tittering audience no one ever had.’ -The comical coincidence may have been an accidental one; but as the Law -Professor must, like the students, have known that his deputy ran away -with his Bessie, the chances are against it. The great lawyer was fated -to be reminded of the romantic episode of his life. A client whose -daughter had been stolen from him, insisted upon the jury being told -that a man who could run away with another man’s daughter was a rascal -and a villain, and deserved to be hanged. ‘I cannot say that,’ said -Scott. ‘And why not, Lawyer Scott—why not?’ inquired the irate father. -‘Because I did it myself!’ was the unanswerable reply. - -After doing his office for a young couple, a clergyman was inveigled -into proposing the health of bride and bridegroom at the wedding -breakfast. He wound up a neat little speech by expressing the hope -that the result of the union of the happy pair might prove strictly -analogous to that of the bride’s honoured parents. The groom looked -angry, the bride went into hysterics, the bridesmaids blushed and -became interested in the pattern of the carpet, the master of the -house blew his nose with extraordinary violence, and the speaker sat -down wondering at the effect he had created; till his better-informed -neighbour whispered that the lady was not the daughter of the host and -hostess, but a niece who came to live with them when her mother and -father were divorced. - -During Mr Gladstone’s Premiership, Sir George Pollock called one -morning in Downing Street to thank the Prime-minister for making him -governor of the Tower. A cabinet council had just assembled; but -rather than keep the veteran waiting, Mr Gladstone invited him into -the council-chamber and introduced him to his colleagues. Sir George -entertained his new acquaintances with a tedious story about a nobleman -who had been detected cheating at cards, ending his narration with: -‘They turned him out of all the clubs he belonged to; even the Reform -would have nothing more to say to him!’ A way of proving the enormity -of the card-player’s offence that must have pleased his hearers -amazingly, since all or nearly all of them were members of that famous -Liberal club. - -The old governor sincerely meant what his words implied. Such is not -always the case with utterers of malapropos things. When a note was -handed to Dr Fletcher in his pulpit intimating that the presence of a -medical gentleman, supposed to be in the church, was urgently required -elsewhere, the preacher read the letter out, and as the doctor was -making for the door, fervently ejaculated: ‘May the Lord have mercy -on his patient!’ A Scotch minister exchanging pulpits with a friend -one Sunday, was accosted after service by an old woman anxious to know -what had become of her ‘ain minister.’ ‘Oh,’ said he, ‘he is with my -people to-day.’ ‘Indeed, indeed,’ said the dame; ‘they’ll be getting -a treat the day!’ As flattering a remark as that of the wife of a -popular lecturer, who on her lord telling her he was going to lecture -at Sheffield, exclaimed: ‘I’m so glad; I always hated those Sheffield -people.’ - -Epitaph writers sometimes display a talent for this kind of -_double-entendre_. A couple of specimens will suffice. The first -from Arbroath, running: ‘Here lie the bodies of John, William, -Robert, and David Matthews, who all died in the hope of a glorious -resurrection—excepting David.’ The other from an American -burying-ground: - - Here lies the mother of children five; - Two are dead and three are alive; - The two that are dead preferring rather - To die with their mother than live with their father. - -Although a high authority insists that the lunatic and the lover are of -imagination all compact, it would not enter an ordinary lover’s head -to tell his mistress that loving her was synonymous with madness, as -Steele did when he wrote to his dear lovely Prue: ‘It is the hardest -thing in the world to be in love and yet attend business. As for me, -all who speak to me found me out, and I must lock myself up, or other -people will do it for me;’ but fair Mistress Scurlock doubtless took -the dubious flattery in as good part as the great animal painter took -the king of Portugal’s odd greeting: ‘Ah, Sir Edwin, I am glad to see -you; I’m so fond of beasts.’ An unpleasant way of putting the thing was -innocently adopted by the New York car-driver, who, blissfully ignorant -that his interlocutor was Mr Beecher, replied to that gentleman’s query -whether he did not think it possible to dispense with running the cars -all day on Sunday: ‘Yes, sir, I do; but there’s no hope for it so long -as they keep that Beecher theatre open in Brooklyn; the cars have to -run to accommodate that.’ - -An American newspaper says: ‘The enthusiastic choir-master who adopted -_Hold the Fort_ as a processional hymn, has been dismissed by the -minister, who considered it personal when the choir burst forth: - - See the mighty host advancing, - Satan leading on! - -A similar objection might have been raised to the Maine county -commissioners quoting Watts’s lines: - - Ye sinners round, come view the ground - Where you will shortly lie, - -when inviting certain lawyers to inspect the new court-house; although -they had less reason to complain than Lord Kenyon and Justice Rooke, -who while on circuit, came one Sunday to a little village just as the -good folks were going to church; an example the two judges followed. -Anxious to shew his appreciation of the unexpected honour, the parish -clerk searched for a suitable psalm to sing before the service; and -at the proper time gave out the first two verses of the fifty-eighth -psalm, and the congregation sang: - - Speak, O ye judges of the earth, - If just your sentence be; - Or must not innocence appeal - To heaven from your decree. - Your wicked hearts and judgments are - Alike by malice swayed; - Your griping hands, by mighty bribes, - To violence betrayed. - -Here the congregation awoke to the meaning of what they were singing, -and left the clerk and the children to offend the ears of the legal -dignitaries with: - - To virtue, strangers from the womb, - Their infant steps went wrong; - They prattled slander, and in lies - Employed their lisping tongue. - No serpent of parched Afric’s breed - Does ranker poison bear; - The drowsy adder will as soon - Unlock his sullen ear. - -The performance unlocked the tongues of the astonished judges at any -rate; and the churchwardens had some difficulty in convincing them that -the apparent insult arose out of the stupidity of the well-meaning -clerk. - - - - -THEODOR MINTROP. - - -‘The poor world is almost six thousand years old, and in all this time -there was not any man died in his own person, namely, in a love-cause.’ - -I cannot help recalling Rosalind’s words as I look at the photograph -before me; the history of its original so completely disproves her -saucy speech. In my hand I hold the likeness of a man of forty or -thereabouts, with a noble square forehead arching above deep thoughtful -eyes, a large beardless face surrounded by a heavy growth of long hair, -and a thickset form denoting great personal strength. A superficial -observer might call the homely portrait commonplace, and turn to -gaze on the more aristocratic faces of his fellow-artists in the -photographic album; but a careful scrutiny of the coarse irregular -features and the broad brow impresses one with the feeling that this -was no ordinary man; that a spirit dwelt within these steady eyes -purer and mightier than usually falls to the lot of mortal man. But -the closest inspection would still leave much untold. The indomitable -energy, the heaven-sent genius, may be traced in his strong features -and deep eyes; but the exquisite sensibility, the single-heartedness, -the uncomplaining patience, would never be guessed. - -But a short time has elapsed since he was one of us, and his story is -still ringing in the hearts of his countrymen—a story so pathetic in -its poverty and its triumph, so touching in its untimely close. - -Theodor Mintrop, the original of the photograph, was born near -the village of Werden in Westphalia. From his childhood he had an -uncontrollable desire to draw, which brought nothing but censure from -his elders, substantial _bauers_ and petty farmers, who considered -drawing an unpardonable waste of time. But the talent was not to be -crushed out. In spite of opposition and discouragement, in spite -of his daily hard work on his father’s farm, he practised his art -whenever he had an opportunity; at first sketching rough outlines on -whitewashed walls, and when he could afford it, buying pencils and -paper. In time his fame as an artist spread among the simple peasantry, -and even beyond his own limited circle. ‘The country Raphael,’ he was -popularly called; and made a little money occasionally by painting -signs for country inns, and pictures of the Virgin and Child for the -Catholics. All this time he wrought in the fields at a labourer’s usual -avocations; and it was a hard horny hand that in his leisure moments -wielded the pencil with such surprising genius. He was waiting—waiting -patiently till the tide would turn—waiting till the time would come -when he could study his art and devote himself wholly to it. And thus -he might have spent his entire life, his genius, like an imprisoned -bird, hemmed in by sordid cares and toils, if one of these strange -coincidences that so often bring the unexpected, had not occurred. - -A celebrated artist, seeing some of Mintrop’s drawings, was so struck -by their merit, that he immediately set out for Werden, found Mintrop -at the plough, and carried him back to his house in Düsseldorf, -offering him every facility for studying thoroughly his beloved art. - -The opportunity had come; but how long the country Raphael had waited -for it! Thirty years had he repressed his ambition, and performed -the duties of farm-labourer for his father and brother. No wonder a -sad weariness can be traced on his features. In Düsseldorf, Mintrop -went through the regular course of instruction, beginning at the very -lowest class, where he, a man of thirty, sat on the same bench with -young lads; but his great genius and intense application soon carried -him through the class-rooms. His art had an amount of originality -and freshness that seemed to breathe of his free country life at -Werden. From his boyhood a great lover of fairy tales, there was a -strain of grotesqueness in his works. His father, a man of an original -turn of mind, had fostered his passion for the weird homely legends -of the German peasantry; and to Theodor, in his imaginative youth, -_kobolds_ had peeped out of the earth, _nixies_ had sung in the -rivers. The fame of the country Raphael soon spread in Düsseldorf; -art critics acknowledged his wonderful genius, and vied with one -another in pointing out the grand simplicity and admirable power of -his compositions. How did the untrained peasant, fresh from his rural -life, bear all this homage? Simply and meekly. With reverence he -regarded the wonderful new life around him, so much more polished, -so much pleasanter than his old one; but the dignity of his art and -his own self-respect saved him from being overborne by it. But no one -guessed that under his homely and somewhat uncouth exterior such an -appreciation for all that was fair and good in life existed, as the -sequel of his life proved. - -Behold him now at perhaps the zenith of his career; having attained the -object of his desires, an artistic education; having in a few short -years established a fame that many academical pupils of many years’ -standing had failed to win; surrounded by many friends, living in the -home-circle of his first patron and dearest friend in that pleasant -city on the Rhine. His future lay fair and unclouded before him, -leading him on from triumph to still greater triumph. But inscrutable -are the ways of Providence; God’s ways are not man’s ways; and the tree -that promised such glorious fruit was never to reach maturity. - -To the house of Geselschap (the name of the artist who had befriended -Mintrop, and in whose house he lived) came one fine summer a young -lady-friend. In the free unrestrained home society, Mintrop had much -opportunity of becoming intimately acquainted with this young girl. -He had been learning much of life as well as art since he came to -Düsseldorf; but women in a higher rank than the peasants he had for -thirty years been familiar with, were ever an object of peculiar -interest and intense admiration to him; and the grace and amiability -of this stranger soon made a powerful impression on him. For a whole -long happy summer this fair young creature lived under the same -roof with him, and treated the grave shy man with the playfulness -and friendliness of a sister, wholly unaware of the passion she had -unwittingly kindled. In short he, the hard-working country Raphael, -engrossed in his art, which he pursued for itself, not for money -(about which he was one of the most careless of mortals)—he, the rough -Westphalian peasant, with hard hands and uncouth figure, had learned -to love this gentle maiden, with all the strength of his noble patient -heart. - -That long happy summer passed, and the young lady returned to her -friends. Shortly after, the announcement of her engagement to be -married reached Düsseldorf, piercing the true heart that loved her so -well. To commemorate her marriage, Mintrop composed a wonderful series -of pictures, that will always link her name to his. - -The ‘Love of King Heinzelmann’ they were called; seventy scenes in all, -in which he, in the guise of King Heinzelmann, following his beloved -Johanna through every incident in daily life, protects and helps her -as he would fain have done in reality. True to the traditions of his -youth, numbers of quaint dwarfs with long beards, pointed caps, and -trunk-hose, attend on the commands of their king; who is himself a -strange weird vision with a wizened face, pointed cap, and magic wand, -tipped by a burning eye. In a burgher household, these droll figures -sweep and wash, bake and brew, throwing themselves into many strange -contortions, in the service of Anna; the king ever with them, looking -sadder and sadder; for as time goes on, a stranger from America falls -in love with Johanna and carries her away across the sea. The poor -gnome-king loves in vain; and when the day comes that Johanna and her -lover sail away, he and his dwarfs stand sadly on the shore (for they -may not cross the sea) watching the vessel till it fades from sight. - -The fantastic legend is imbued with a strange humanity; and the ugly -figure of the gnome-king touches our inmost sensibility with a thrill -of pathos. Such was the love of Mintrop—intense, undying, and hopeless! -Some things are almost too sad to bear speaking of, and the waste of -affection that goes on in this world is one of them. Doubtless there -were many girls in Düsseldorf equal to Johanna in every respect; but -for Mintrop she was the only one, and yet she was another’s. - -Three years had passed since Mintrop worked his love into his -art—throwing but a thin veil of grotesqueness over his real feelings; -and Johanna returned from afar with her husband. They settled in -Westphalia; and Johanna, moved by the memories of old days, proposed -that Mintrop should be godfather to their infant daughter. Three years -were gone, and Mintrop thought he had conquered his hopeless love; but -yet the request startles him, and he requires to struggle for composure -before he can determine whether he shall agree to it or not. He goes, -finds the comfortable home where his lost love resides, meets her and -her husband and the various guests present at the ceremony. The priest -comes, and the little soft baby is placed in his arms. He looks at his -sleeping god-daughter as he somewhat awkwardly receives her, and the -child slowly opens her large eyes, so like her mother’s. A thrill runs -through Mintrop’s veins; all the old feelings, the old hopes and fears, -rush through his mind with a force too cruel to be borne. He hastily -places the child in its mother’s arms, and hurries away from the scene. - -Not long after, and Mintrop is dying. Some physical cause, the doctor -assigns; but his friends know well what it is. His patient loving heart -has borne too much. The intensity of his feelings has snapped the cord -of life. As his breath leaves him, he thinks of his other love, his -Art, and he sighs: ‘Would I might live long enough to finish my work; -otherwise, I am ready to die!’ And thus the brave gentle spirit went -forth to meet its Maker, regretting only that the promise of its youth -was not fulfilled—the work not yet completed. Alas, alas, for human -love, for human hopes and wishes! My eyes are wet as I trace these -concluding lines; and the face in the photograph is hallowed by a -strange sad interest. - -Theodor Mintrop died at Düsseldorf in July 1870; and his sad story, -as given above, speedily found its way into the German newspapers. In -autumn 1871, a bronze bust erected to his memory was unveiled in the -presence of thousands of spectators; and the poet Emil Rittershaus -composed and recited a beautiful poem—a requiem to one who died of a -broken heart. - - - - -THE MONTH: - -SCIENCE AND ARTS. - - -The rumour mentioned in our last _Month_ has been verified, and we -now know that hydrogen and nitrogen have yielded to the power of the -physicist, and that there is no longer, in our part of the universe, -any such thing as a permanent gas. After Pictet in Geneva had led -the way by liquefying oxygen, Cailletet followed in Paris with the -other two; but Pictet has since gone farther, and has obtained liquid -hydrogen in considerable quantity, and has produced solid particles of -oxygen. In communicating these facts to a scientific body in Paris, -Mr Dumas, the eminent chemist, stated to his hearers they might take -it for granted that in swallowing a glass of water they were really -drinking a metallic oxide. - -Dr Angus Smith says in a paper ‘On the Examination of Air,’ read before -the Royal Society, that there ought to be observatories for Chemical -Climatology and Meteorology, in which the air should be systematically -examined, ‘so as to obtain decidedly those bodies which have from the -earliest times been supposed to exist in it, bringing with them, on -certain occasions, the worst results.’ But the process of examination, -as at present carried on, is slow and troublesome; when a sure and easy -way is found, then its adoption may become general. Dr Angus Smith is -perhaps the first who has taken the subject in hand from this point of -view. ‘It is the more interesting,’ he remarks, ‘as he has sufficiently -shewn that in the places examined, the organic ammonia has been in -intimate relation with the gross death-rate.... It may be true that -oxygen is the prime mover—producing in man animal life—a favourite -idea for a chemist; but it may also be true that minute organisms -cause a peculiar class of decomposition connected with mental or other -activity, diseased or otherwise.’ - -Before the telephone has ceased to be a scientific novelty, America -sends us news of another novelty called a phonograph. This instrument, -the invention of Mr T. A. Edison, makes sound visible, and records it -in a permanent form. You speak into a tube, and while doing so you -work a handle which causes a cylinder to revolve; the sound of the -voice causes a thin disk or diaphragm of metal to vibrate, as in the -telephone; the vibrations actuate a steel point which, as it advances -and recedes, makes impressions more or less deep in a band of tinfoil -wound round the cylinder, and this band of tinfoil becomes the record -of what has been spoken. Now comes the wonderful part of the process; -for we are told that if the tinfoil so indented be applied to another -instrument, called the ‘transmitter,’ consisting of a hollow tube with -a paper diaphragm, then the original sounds will be reproduced, though -with somewhat of a metallic tone. Turn the handle of the cylinder and -you may have repetitions of the discourse until, in fact, the tinfoil -is quite worn out. Casts of the indented tinfoil may, it is said, be -taken in plaster of Paris, so that copies of spoken words could be sent -to as many persons as may be desired. - -This invention seems too questionable to allow of any one, even the -inventor, forming an opinion as to its practical value. Fanciful -conjectures may of course be made. A fugitive swindler, for example, -may be arrested in a foreign city, and held fast until a foil of -evidence spoken by one of his confederates might be sent out to convict -him. Or a hardy young sheep-farmer in Australia might sing into his -tube, puncturing his song on the sheet of foil, fold it neatly up, and -send the graven song home to the girl he left behind him; and she, by -applying the sheet to her own phonograph might, by proper manipulation, -hear the tender ditty as often as she pleased. - -While waiting for further developments, we venture to suggest that what -is wanted by numbers of intellectual people who find the mechanical -action of writing slow and irksome, is, some kind of ‘graphy’ which -will enable them at once to print their thoughts on paper without aid -from pen or fingers. - -Some months ago we mentioned the little torpedo boat _Lightning_, and -her swift steaming, nineteen knots an hour. Her length is eighty-four -feet, her width ten feet ten inches: and now we hear that fifteen -similar vessels are to be built, and that the builders promise a speed -of twenty-five knots. Experiments have been made which prove that -swiftness is an element of safety, for on firing a rifle-bullet through -the bottom it was found that the water did not enter. In future it is -thought that torpedoes will play an important part in naval warfare; -and as has already been mentioned in recent papers in this _Journal_, a -School has been established at Portsmouth in which their use is taught -theoretically and practically. A further improvement is whispered in -certain quarters—a torpedo boat which shall carry on her evolutions -under water, and hook on torpedoes to the bottom of an enemy’s ship -without being discovered. Are we about to see in this a realisation -of what has long been a dream among speculative inventors? Is naval -warfare, from its hopelessly fatal nature to those engaged, to become -an impossibility? - -Communications addressed to the Société d’Encouragement pour -l’Industrie Nationale, Paris, describe a method for preventing the -deposit of soot in chimneys; but as yet no details are published: also -an apparatus for stopping runaway horses (in harness), by completely -closing the winkers; and a way to deaden the blows of a hammer moved -by machinery. In this case, the anvil is supported on a float in -a reservoir of water. Another subject is a tramway car in which -compressed air is the motive-power, as proved during some months on -the line between Courbevoie and Puteaux, and the Round Point in the -Champs-Elysées. This car has room for thirty passengers, is served by -a conductor, and a mechanician who has entire charge of the machinery, -which with a number of iron tubes is all placed between the wheels, -under the floor, where it occasions no inconvenience to any one. A -powerful air-pump at the starting station, forces air enough into the -iron tubes for the journey to and fro, and the car travels smoothly and -without noise or smoke, and can be stopped and started more readily -than a horse-car. Mr Mékarski, the inventor of this car, has been -thanked by the Société for having solved the problem of a locomotive -which can be used with safety in crowded streets. Of course there are -appliances for regulating the pressure of the air, and for preventing -the deposit of hoar-frost in the tubes, consequent on rapid expansion -of air; but for a description of these and other particulars we must -refer to the _Bulletin_ published by the Society. - -Mr Coret has invented what he calls a self-acting thermo-signal which -by ringing a bell makes known to all within hearing when an axle or any -other part of an engine is over-heated. It is a small brass cylinder, -containing a system of flexible metal disks, and a dilatable liquid, -which is to be fixed to the part liable to over-heating. While all -goes well the instrument makes no sign; but as the temperature rises -the liquid dilates, forces out a small metal pin at the end of the -cylinder, which, as the wheel revolves, strikes a bell, and thereby -warns the attendants. Thus the necessity for constantly watching an -indicator is avoided. - -Other subjects brought before the same Society are—A description of -a chimney which does not occasion loss of heat, by Mr Toulet, 38 -Avenue de l’Observatoire, Paris—Specimens of harmless colours which -may be used with varnish, oil, or water, and are described as durable -and remarkably brilliant. They are available for many purposes of -decoration, but are specially intended, as they contain no poisonous -element, for the colouring of children’s toys. These new colours -are derived from the substances known to chemists as eosin and -fluorescin—And certain manufacturers who have carefully studied the -material give an account of the capabilities of jute, from which we -gather that by proper preparation of the yarns, remarkable effects of -colour, of mottling, of light and shade, and also a velvety appearance -can be produced. The process is described as very simple and moderate -in cost; so that applications of jute to decorative purposes hitherto -not thought of may ere long become available. - -It has been found by experiment that aniline black can be made to yield -different colours: treated in one way it is a light violet, in another -way it is a bluish pink, and in a third way it becomes blue. - -Pure butter, as is stated in the _Journal_ of the Chemical Society, -contains from ninety to ninety-eight per cent. of pure butter fat and -a small quantity of water. Its colour should be from yellowish white -to reddish yellow, but this depends on the kind of fodder given to -the cows, and may be produced by means of beetroot or other plants -possessed of colouring properties. The colouring matter may be detected -by treating the butter with strong alcohol. The melting-point of pure -butter is from thirty to thirty-seven degrees, while artificial butter -melts at from twenty-seven to thirty-one degrees. Substances used to -increase the bulk and weight of butter are chalk, gypsum, oxide of -zinc, starch, and so forth. These neither improve its flavour nor -its wholesomeness. The agreeable smell of pure butter, with a slight -suggestion of milk, is not easy to imitate by artificial means. - -Now that chemists can avail themselves of the spectroscope in their -researches, falsifications have but little chance of escaping -detection. We learn from the same _Journal_ that the colouring -matters generally used in the adulteration of wine are—fuchsine, the -preparations termed caramels, ammoniacal cochineal, sulphindigotic -acid, logwood, the lichen reds, rosaniline, bilberries, cherries, -mallows, and the berries of the privet. Most if not all of these -matters can be precipitated by chemical treatment, or they may be -detected by dialysis. If a cube of gelatine less than an inch square -be placed in the wine under experiment, it will be found, after -twenty-four or forty-eight hours, stained all through, if artificial -colouring matters are present; but if the wine is quite pure, then -the natural colouring matter will not have penetrated deeper into -the gelatine than one-eighth of an inch. It is worth notice that the -natural colour soaks in slowly; the artificial colour quickly. - -The _Comptes Rendus_ of the Académie des Sciences, Paris, give an -account of a patient who, through entire closure of the esophagus or -gullet, could get neither food nor liquid into his stomach, and had -to undergo the operation of gastrotomy. Through the opening thus made -the operator passed different substances and took note of the time -they remained in the stomach. Starch, fat, and flesh disappear in -from three to four hours; milk is digested in an hour and a half or -two hours, and alcohol and water are absorbed in from thirty-five to -forty-five minutes. One day a small quantity of pure gastric juice was -taken from the stomach for experiment: it is described as colourless, -viscid, yet easily filterable, having little odour, and not putrefying -spontaneously. The acidity of the gastric juice varies but slightly -whether mixed with food or not, the mean being 1.7 gram of hydrochloric -acid to one thousand grams of liquid. ‘The quantity of liquid,’ we -are informed, ‘found in the stomach has no influence on its acidity; -the latter is almost invariable whether the stomach be nearly empty -or very full. Wine and alcohol increase the acidity, while cane-sugar -diminishes it. If acid or alkaline liquids are injected into the -stomach, the gastric juice reassumes its normal acidity in about one -hour. It is more acid during digestion than when digestion is not going -on, and the acidity increases towards the end of the process. Since the -stomach is generally empty at the end of four hours, and hunger does -not supervene till about six hours after a meal, it would seem that -hunger does not result solely from emptiness of the stomach.’ This last -remark is not in accordance with the opinions of other physiologists; -but we venture to suggest that in common with the limbs, the stomach -needs rest, and finds it in the two hours of quiet above mentioned. We -would further remark, that the theory that sugar does not create acid -in the stomach is contrary to all ordinary medical teaching, and even -of daily experience. - -A surgeon in a provincial town in Scotland has achieved a remarkable -operation. He cut out from the neck of a patient a diseased portion of -the larynx, and inserted an artificial larynx through which the man can -speak articulately. This is one of the triumphs of surgery. - -We mentioned some time ago that certain practitioners in the United -States had succeeded in removing tumours by the application of a -current of electricity. Recently the same method has been employed, -and with the same success, for the removal of those blemishes from the -skin popularly described as ‘port-wine stains,’ and other excrescences. -Care is required in regulating the strength and duration of the current -according to the nature of the case; if this be insured, the operation -can hardly fail of a successful result. Particulars of cases and their -treatment are published in the _New York Medical Journal_. - -Pursuing his contributions to meteorology, Professor Loomis of Yale -College, Newhaven, U.S., finds that the areas of rainfall in the -United States generally assume an oval form, and the oval is not -unfrequently a thousand miles long and five hundred broad. He finds -too that falls of rain often have great influence in checking the -progress of a storm; and that they appear to be subject to some law -of duration. For example, some rains last eight hours, some sixteen, -some twenty-four; but beyond twenty-four hours the instances are very -rare. ‘This fact,’ he remarks, ‘seems to indicate that the causes which -produce rain, instead of deriving increased force from the rainfall, -rapidly expend themselves and become exhausted. It cannot be explained -by supposing that the vapour of the air has all been precipitated, -because these cases chiefly occur near the Atlantic coast, where the -supply of vapour is inexhaustible. Is there not here an indication that -the forces which impart that movement to the air which is requisite -to a precipitation of its vapour, become exhausted after a few hours’ -exercise?’ By further research it is found that during the six months -from November to April, violent winds are more than five times as -frequent as during the other six months of the year; and that they come -from a northern quarter two-and-a-half times more frequently than from -a southern quarter. Though Professor Loomis’ observations apply to the -climate of America, they may be considered with advantage by our own -meteorologists. - -The President of the Institution of Civil Engineers in his inaugural -address took occasion to say, as evidence of the advantages which -accrue to a country through the labours of the civil engineer, that the -sum authorised to be expended on British railways up to the end of 1876 -amounted to seven hundred and forty-two millions; a sum pretty nearly -as large as our huge national debt. And from this Mr J. F. Bateman -argued, that as in engineering special qualifications, and some of a -high order, were required, it would be well if advantage were taken of -the numerous public schools in which instruction bearing on engineering -is given, whereby young men would have at least some qualification on -entering the profession. At the same time it would be a mistake to -regard that training as other than preparatory and incomplete. It is -by actual outdoor work only, that a man can become an engineer; and -engineering work is not to be found at school or college. - -Mr Bateman—who by the way will long be remembered for his water-supply -of Glasgow—instead of travelling over many topics, confined himself -to the great and important question of rainfall and water-supply for -the whole kingdom, with a view to proper economy. It is a question -which becomes more and more important with the increase of population -and consequent multiplication of machinery. When the Metropolitan -Board of Works are about to ask parliament for leave to undertake the -water-supply of London, the proportions of the question may be assumed -to be at their largest; and storage of rainfall and of flood-waters, -prevention of pollution, and the best way of obtaining absolutely pure -water, together with other topics, will have to be treated with serious -consideration. - - - - -SPRING. - - - Oft let me wander hand in hand with Thought - In woodland paths and lone sequestered shades, - What time the sunny banks and mossy glades - With dewy wreaths of early violets wrought, - Into the air their fragrant incense fling, - To greet the triumph of the youthful Spring. - Lo! where she comes! ’scaped from the icy lair - Of hoary Winter; wanton free and fair! - Now smile the heavens again upon the earth, - Bright hill and bosky dell resound with mirth, - And voices full of laughter and wild glee - Shout through the air, pregnant with harmony, - And wake poor sobbing Echo, who replies - With sleeping voice that softly, slowly dies. - - - - -ERRATUM. - - -[The verses which appeared in last month’s issue, entitled _The -Well-known Spot_, were signed by mistake ASTLEY H. BALDWIN instead of -F. G. ELLIOTT. We take this opportunity of rectifying the error.] - - * * * * * - -Printed and Published by W. & R. 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