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LONDO]^": WILLIAM COLLINS, SONS, AND COMPANY. e c c c f f c c c « /t r r ' ' r ' » ' . r c ' ' ' ' • rftt,tt' €•«€«« » epucm^iioNj uigiv^r* ADVERTISEMENT. In addition to extracts in prose and poetry, to be used as reading lessons, a few speeches have been introduced as exercises in Elocution. A number of lessons are intended as an introduction to the study of Physical Geograj)hy, Mechanics, Natural Science, Animal Physiology, &c., so much only being attempted as will lay a foundation of general principles in a simple form, without perplex- in o- the reader with technical terms, or entrenching on the ground more properly covered by special treatises on scientific subjects. Some of the illustrations accom- panying these lessons may appear to be in advance of the text; but much is purposely left to be filled in by the oral instruction of the teacher (after the outline in the lesson has been impressed upon the learner's mind), in which instruction the diagrams Avill assist him ; and it should be clearly kept in view, that these lessons aim only at imparting such a general knosvledge of natural laws, as may be of practical use to the scholar in the various occupations of life in which he is likely to be engaged. This book concludes with lessons especially interesting to girls. Chapters on cookery, clothing, nursing, and domestic management, are interspersed with poetical extracts, stimulating womanly feelings. To these have been added some simple receipts, likely to be useful in the management of a household; for, although not strictly belonging to a Eeading-Book, such knowledge will materially add to the comfort of a family ; and it is desirable that girls, before leaving school, should possess such elementary information on domestic matters as will fit them to enter on the practical duties of life belonging to their sex — prepared to minister to the comforts and happiness of " home." The thanks of the Editor are due to the publishers of the Cornhill Magazine, Boys Book of Industrial Information, Tracts for FarocJiial Use, to Dr. Munro, the representa- tives of Mrs. Browning and Miss Procter, and others, for their kind courtesy in allowing him to make extracts from their respective publications. Training College, *> ^ u *f ji vf CULUAM, OXON, CONTENTS. The Titles of Poetical Pieces are printed in lialics. Robert and William Chambers Part I. , . Do., Part 11.,. On the Pleasure arising from Vi cissitude, .... Javanese, .... The Battle of Pharsalia, (b.c. 48) Scene from "Julius Ccesar," Sumatraiis, .... The Waterfall at Puppanassum, Taking of Troy, ... Gardening;, .... Scene from "Romeo and Juliet,' The principal Garden Vegetables which serve for Food, Vegetable productions furnishin Drinks, .... Scene from " King Richard III.," ooap, . • • • . Leather, .... Jra2)ei, ..... Looking Glasses, ... King Henry V., . Do., (Chorus), Gold-leaf Beating, Scene from " The Lady of Lyons,' On Ink, .... Cleanliness of Plants and Animals Morning Song, ... Silver, .... Hand- Weaving, . The Times, The Times, Gray, Phillips^ Guide to the Crystal Palace. Goldsmith^ s History of Rome, . Shakespeare, Phillips' Guide to the Crystal Palace, S. M., . Dryden's Virgil, o. JSi., . . Shakespeare^ o. JSi., . • j S. M., , Shakespeare, j Boys' Book of Indus I trial Information, ( Boyi Book of Indus I trial Information, Shakespeare, , S. M., Lord Lytfon, Rev. J. Rldxjwayj S. JSI., . . Mrs. Hemans, . S. M, . S. M., . rAr.a 9 17 21 24 26 29 34 .37 38 43 47 49 51 53 55 57 59 63 64 65 67 70 72 77 79 80 S3 VI CONTENTS. King Henry tlie Eiglitli, The History of the Manufacture of Glass— Part I., Do., Partn., . Do., Part HI., . Manufacture of Horse J^fails, The Atmosphere and its Move ments, , ... Lord William, Water in a state of Vapour, . Tlie Cloud, .... Michael Angelo, . Familiar Illustrations of Natural Phenomena (Dew), . The Brighton Acjuarium, The great Current of the Atlantic called the Gulf Stream, Curiosities of Physical Geography Composed in the Valley near Dove on the Day of Landing, From the Pleasures of Memory, Changes in the Atmosphere, The Thermometer, The Barometer, Mechanical Effects of the Air, The Tides— Part L, . Do., Part 11. , . Lessons in Geology, The Varieties of Eocks, Fire-formed Eocks, Metamorphic Eocks, Fossils, . Yorkshire — Part I., Do., Part II., Saxon Words, The Tides of Elvers, Distribution of Plants and Animals The Lion, Cruelty to Animals, Man, . The Union of Labour and Intellec tual Attainments, . The Douglas, Development of the Intellect, Shalespeare, Saturday Magazine, and Shaiye's London Magazine, The Times, Soidhey, . S. M., Shelley, The Home Friend. — S. P. C. K., . I S. M., . The Times, S. M., . The Home Friend.- \ S. P. C. K., . j- Wordsworth, Samuel Pagers', • • • • • • • < • e 9 < k M.', '. Cornhill Magazine, Mrs. C. Tinsley, S. M., . . . • • {Library oj Entertain {^ ing Knowledge, Cowper, . • • • • Add)'ess of the late Earl of Carlisle, {Scott's ''Lady of th \ Lake,'' . \ Address of the late \ Earl of Carlisle, PAGE 86 (87 (90 98 103 107 110 115 117 122 12G 130 134 1.40 141 142 144 14C 148 151 155 160 163 166 167 168 ^69 1172 177 179 183 187 191 192 19G 198 204 CONTENTS. Vll On tlic Benefits conferred l>y Edu- cation, .... V\ tXTJcF. • • • • British Freedom, . The Level Surfaces of Liquids, The Flame of a Candle — Fart L. Farewell of the Duke of Buckin ham, .... Capillary Attraction, . The Flaine of a Candle— Part IL The Young Chemist, xieatj, ..... Matter, . . . . Centre of Gravity, The Philosophy of a Peg-Top, The Pump, .... The Steam Engine, Machinery at the Internationa Exhibition, 1872, " The Walter " Printing Press, The Experiments with H.M.S "Glatton," Charcoal, Illustrations of Light. Electricity, . The Electric Telegraph, The Body and its Parts On Digestion, , , Solidification, ,, Circidation, . ,, Eespiration. . ,, The Brain and Senses, . Wholesome Drink, On Stimulants in Sickness, . Haemorrhage ; or. Loss of Blood, Poisonous Gas in Wells, Rewards for Saving Life, Directions for Restoring the Appa ently Drowned, Suggestions in Cases of Fire, The Bear and the Honey-Guide, A Greek Wedding, Time's Takings and Leavings, The CJothes-Moth, T]ie Cater}iillar, the Chrysalis, and the Buttfrjiij.—A Fable, Vegetable Productions of Various Climates, . A Pic-Nic, . The Cuckoo, . } } Address of the late Earl of Carlisle, S. M., . Wordsworth, S. M., S. 31.,. Shakespeare's Henry the EUjhth, S. M., . S. M., S. M., S.M., Rev. J. Ridgioay, S. M., S. M., Rev. J. Ridgway, Rev. J. Ridgicay, The Times, The Times, The Times, Rev. J. Ridgicay, Rev. J. Ridgioay, Rev. J. Ridgway, Dr. ^larshall, . j Williams, . • • • • Sharpens Lon. Mag., M., . Quarterly Revieic, Wordsworth, Michael Bruce, PAGE 206 209 21.3 216 210 223 223 231 233 235 239 244 249 253 256 261 265 236 272 274 278 282 (289 1297 Rev. J. Ridgway, . ■{ .yr., I 312 1318 326 334 339 342 343 345 351 353 354 358 359 3G5 367 370 37:3 Vlll CONTENTS U PAGE The Art of Japanniui,^ . S. 31., . 373 The Church Belly .... F. 0. Lee, 378 Native Women Weeping over a Grave, S.M., . 379 The Traveller, the A elder, and the Fox, M., . . . . 381 Manufacture of Sago, . S. M., . 384 Chervil, . . . . . • • • • 385 Floivers, ..... Kehle, 387 Domestic Economy, Rev. J. Ridgioay, 389 The Ant, or Emmet, Dr. Watts, 392 Cookery, ..... • • • • . 393 Cruciferous and Umbelliferous Plants, • • • • . 401 Coffee, . . 408 J- Ggj^ • • • • » • • • • . 410 Cocoa, ...... • • • • . 411 Household Eeceipts, • • • • . 412 Things to be Eemembered, . • • • * . 413 Cleanliness, ..... • • • • . 415 On Thrift, • t « . 416 The Cottager, .... Wordsworth, . 418 Keej)ing Poultry no Loss — Part I., • • • • . 420 A Motheys Joy, .... Kehle, . 423 Keeping Poultry no Loss — Part II., • • • • . 424 To-Morrou\ • • • • . 428 Keeping Poultry no Loss — Part III. , • • • • . 429 Clothing, • • • • . 432 Best Time for Taking Exercise, • • • • . 435 Ood's Gifts, Adelaide A. Proctor^ 440 Care of Infants, .... • • • • . 441 The Mourninq Mother, . EUzaheth B. Brownli ig, 444 The Night Nurse— Part L, . 8. P. C. K, . . 446 The " Pride of the Morninr/;' Kehle, . 449 The Night Nurse -Part 11^. S. P. G. K., . . 451 Wo7'ds, ...... A. A. Proctor, . . 455 The Night Nurse— Part III., S. P. C. K, . . 456 Blind Old Milton, .... Aytoun, . . 4G0 Fi'actures, ..... • • • • . 461 Sprains, ..... • • • • . 462 Painting, ..... • • • • . 463 Bandages, ..... Munro, . 464 Dressing Sores, .... Miinro, . 467 Opening a Blister, Munro, . 467 Poultices, ..... Hints on Nursing, . 468 To Remove a Plaster, . • • » • . 471 Hot Applications, • • • • . 471 Washaig or Bathing Sores, . * . • • . 472 To Make Beef-Tea, ^ Pev. J. Ridgivay, . 472 Sick Cookery, .... Munro, . 473 Diseases of Children, . Hints on Nursing, . 476 NE\V^ CODE, PEOGRESSIYE READEE, SIXTH STANDARD. ROBERT AND WILLIAM CHAMBERS. Part I. This worthy pair of brothers were born in Peebles, of a family who had lived there from time immemorial. Latterly the heads of the family had been Avoollen manufacturers, substantial and respectable people, although living in a very plain way. The father of the brothers carried on the business of a cotton-spinner rather extensively, " having sometimes as many as 100 looms in his employment." " Peebles, in the early years of this century," says Robert Chambers, "was eminently a quiet place." "As quiet as the grave or Peebles" is a phrase used by Cockburn. It had an old town and a new town, and the inhabitants were a simple race, living in " buts and bens," and sleeping in " box-beds" so close as almost to stifle their inmates. It was in a small burcjh with such orio-inal inhabitants, • that the father of the brothers began housekeeping in 1799, having just married Miss Jean Gibson, a woman of whom it is the best praise to say " that both « « « ; 'X-O , V* : :.': 'jtiiioGRESsivE reader. t f f r ; .' in' ' SLj^p/^a'pahce; ari-d , maniiers she was by nature a lady, and that circumstances made her a heroine. Though delicate in frame and with generally poor health, such," says her son, " was her tact and dexterity as well as her determined resolution, that she bore and over- came trials under which other women would have sunk." As for their father, he can best be described as always waiting for something to " turn up," and ever finding it " turn up," through his own weak- ness, the wrong way. Like many other characters who bring ruin on themselves and others, he was not un- deserving of regard. He possessed numerous estimable qualities, but in association with these a pliancy of dis- position which renders a man his own worst enemy. He was " conscientious, but inconsiderate, easily misled, lacking fortitude, and constantly exposed to imposition." He was an untiring performer on the German flute, which divided his affections with a telescope. His con- vivial turn led him into such society as the burgh afforded, and it is hardly to be wondered at, that, between this and his flute and his telescope, his cotton business began to go to the dogs, and, once going, rapidly came to nothing. Besides these shortcomings of the man, there were other agencies at work suflicient to cause ruin ; the introduction of the power-loom revolutionized the cotton trade; down and down sank handloom weav- ing, and with it a lucrative commission business which the elder Chambers carried on. Ever sanguine, he alienated some house property, and set up as a draper, when the finishing blow to his success in Peebles was dealt by the departure of a large number of French prisoners, to whom he had given unjustifiable credit. On the eve of their return to their native country, those light-hearted sons of France swore that nothing could give them more pleasure than to pay their debts when they got home. We need scarcely say that they went, but not one of them ever paid a farthing. Then came a crisis in the affairs of Mr. Chambers ; his estate was wound up, to the small benefit of either his creditors or himself, tliQ lawyers getting, as usual, the neBERT AND WILLLUI CHAMBERS. 11 lion's sliare. With drooping heads the family left Peebles, and took rCfnge in Edinburgh, " my mother/' says lier eldest son, " with but a few shillings in her pocket; there was not a half-penny in mine." It was while their father's business in Peebles was flourishing, that William and Robert Chambers were born; the first in 1800, the other in 1802. William, the elder, was sent to different schools, first to a dame's, next to a man named Gray, wdiere the fee was 2s. Gd. per quarter for reading and writing, and 6d. additional for arithmetic. After that he went to the Grammar School, under a Mr. Sloan, where the fee for learning Latin was 5s. a quarter, and where his progress was very indifi*erent. At both these schools Robert had followed his brother's steps, with this difference, that he had better abilities, or at any rate more applica- tion, and soon became a favourite pupil. We need hardly say, that those were the days when boys were flogged unmercifully, in return for which they kicked each other, harried birds' nests, and pelted cats. " I've brought you our Jock, mind ye lick him weel," were the words of a Spartan Peebles mother, dragging forward a j^oung savage to be entered. While the boys were pursuing their education in this way it was greatly helped, so far as Robert wa.s concerned, by a copy of the Enci/clojxedia Britannica, which an enterprising book- seller at Peebles had bought, and, finding no one cared to read it, had parted with it to Mr. Chambers, the father, who stowed it away in an attic. To that book, more than anything else, Robert attributes his taste for reading, and he relates the thankfulness which he felt when he discovered such a treasure stowed away in a lumber room. So promising was Robert considered at the Grammar School, that he was left behind at Peebles to pursue his studies when the family went to Edinburgh in 1813. With their arrival in the Scotch capital, the Dark Ages of the house of Chambers began, as the brothers afterwards jestingly called them. They lived in a poor way in a floor opening on a common stair in West 12 PROGRESSIVE READER. Nicolson Street, and their neighbours as well as them- selves were "hard up," as "William says. The elder Chambers tried with small success to continue his commission business, and privations ensued, for which his old German flute, preserved as a precious relic, Avas his chief consolation. William was now in his 14tli year, and something must be done with him. At first his taste inclined to being an apprentice in a bookseller's shop, but, not succeeding at once in that, he was very nearly serving a grocer in the same capacity; but most fortunately, on presenting himself at the shop, he was pronounced by the grocer, after a competitive ex- amination confined to his muscular powers, to be physically unfit for the ofiice. On his way back, rather down-hearted, the boy saw in the shop of Mr. John Sutherland, Calton Street, the welcome announcement " An Apprentice Wanted." He presented himself, and was at once accepted. As for his duties, he was only to light the fire, take off" and put on the shutters, clean and trim the oil lamps, sweep and dust the shop, and go all the errands. " When I had nothing to do," Mr. Sutherland said, " I v/as to stand behind the counter and help in anything that was wanted; and, talking of that, it would be quite contrary to rule for me ever to sit down or put off time in reading." The boy consoled himself on being told that " Constable and all the great booksellers had begun in that way;" and so, with the consent of his brave mother, who conducted the negotiation, William Chambers began life as John Sutherland's apprentice for five years, at 4s. a week. This was on the 8th of May, 1814. About a year and a half after this event something turned up for the father. He was appointed commercial manager of the Joppa Pans, a salt manufactory between Portobello and Musselburgh, and thither they all went except William, for Robert had now left Peebles, and was at an Academy in Edinburgh, the arrangement being, so far as he was concerned, that he should walk to and from town daily. William was now left to his own resources, and at a little over fifteen had to make ROBERT AND WILLIAM CHAMBERS. 13 4s. a week serve for everything. He says he never had the smallest despondency on the subject. He was much assisted in his plans by an honest widow, a Peebles woman, who consented to let him have a bed, cook for him, and allow him to sit at her fireside for Is. 6d. a week; the fire, as he remarks, being " not much to speak of." With regard to his food, he tells us, " as a final achievement in the art of cheap living, I was able to make an outlay of Is. 9d. suffice for the week." He thus had 9d. left out of his Avages for other demands, chiefly for shoes, which were a heavy item. Thus the lad lived, and lie can now write with honest pride, '' On no occasion did I look to my parents for the slightest pecuniary subsidy." As for his work, John Sutherland was a stern disci- plinarian, and seemed to have no regard to the number of miles that his apprentices walked in the day. Besides his regular business, he kept a circulating library and was agent for a State Lottery. The duties of young William, therefore, besides the regular errands of a shop, combined that of carrying large parcels of books, and delivering the letters containing lottery tickets, so that in this latter respect he was little better than a postman. Still he had to bear it, and he consoled himself by an inscription which he passed daily over the doorway of an old house in the West Bow — ** He that tholes overcomes." One would have tliought the boy had work enough, but in the bitter winter of 1815-16 he was so fortunate as to hear of a literary baker, who, passionately fond of reading, had no leisure to read himself, l^ut svouid give him a penny roll from his oven every baking morning if he would go early, say at five a.m., and read aloud to him and his two sons, Avhile they were preparing their batch of bread. He accepted the offer, and long read for two hours and a half every morning to the baker, who allowed him to choose his subject, only stii)ulating that it should be somethinc: comic and laus^hable. On Saturday nights, between nine and ten o'clock, for 14 PnOGPvESSIVE READER. \ several years, the hard-worked apprentice walked down to Portobello to see his family, and spend Sunday with them. On that holy day the noxious salt pans ceased to smoke and poison the face of the country, and, after church, the brothers had long walks over the neighbour- hood. On Monday morning he was up and away to take down the shutters, cheered by admonitory hints from his mother to avoid low company and ''aye to hand forrit," while his father Avas full of wise maxims to his son on the great good of self-denial, and the absolute necessity of independence in life. It so happened that the views of Mr. Chambers did not comport with his duties as manager of the salt-works. The business was really a contraband one, arising out of the profit made by smuggling salt into England. This did not suit the manager's views of j^ropriety, and for some reason or other a quarrel arose between him and his employers, which was heightened when Mr. Cham- bers was waylaid and robbed of some money which he had collected in Edinburgh, knocked down, and bruised about the head. He was found lying helpless on the road, and, in the words of his son, " the painful circum- stances connected with this untoward affair led to his being discharged." With her husband in this helpless state, everything fell on his wife. All the son could do was to press into his mother's hand half a sovereign, which some lucky holder of a lottery-ticket had given him, and to hasten back to work. Mrs. Chambers set up a small business on the road to Musselburgh, where she, by great exertions, maintained herself, her husband, and her young children, Avhile her sons, now at the very darkest period of those dark ages, fought the battle of life for themselves in Edinburgh. In the meantime, Eobert's education had come to an end, leaving him a good Latin and general scholar, with a turn for those antiquarian and toi^ographical pursuits which stood him in such good stead in after life. But now the time had come when he, too, must do some- thing for himself. For a while he tried tuition, and walked ten miles a day to and from his work with poor ROBERT AND WILLLDI CHAMBERS. 15 requital, but at the end of six months this came to an end, and after a few weeks he was " discharged " from a simihir situation as " too stupid." At this moment a brilliant idea came over his brother William. Nothinoj less than that Hobert should set up as a bookseller, using for his stock-in-trade a number of old books which the family had dragged about with them from place to place. So, with their father's consent, all the old books, except one old family Bible, were handed over to Robert, and with them, at the age of sixteen, in the year 1818, he set up a bookstall in Leith Walk. He hired a poor shop, at a yearly rent of £6, with space for a stall in front, and there William went to live with him and keep him company. It was in May, 1819, that William's apprenticeship came to an end, and then with five shillings in his pocket, his last week's wages, he was, at nineteen years of age, left to his devices. The success which had attended Robert's venture was such as to encourage William to try the same lin-e, but then Robert had carried off all the family books, and there were none left for William as his stock-in-trade. But here fortune favoured him by bringing an active London publisher, who dealt in remainders, to Edinburgh, where he held a sale, at which William was useful to him. Taking a fancy to the young man, the publisher allowed him to choose on credit a sufficient stock to set up a stall, and from that moment the Dark Ages began to grow lighter with both the brothers, and their career afterwards was one of constant success. Of course, as Rome was not built in a day, they found it hard work; and they even made their own stalls, William being especially handy in this way. On the first day William cleared a profit of 9s. 3d., Avhich put him in higli spirits. As the contents of his stall disappeared, day by day, he bought fresh parcels of books at auctions, and both the brothers were soon regularly recognized as belonging to the trade, which they eked out in various ways by selling flutes and other things saleable in Leith Walk, then, as now, the great thoroughfare between Edin- burgh and her seaport. '' Within six months," says 16 PROGRESSIVE READER. William, " tlie most critical part of my struggle was over." At that time the vmited daily expenses in house- keeping of the brothers did not exceed a shilling. For years after beginning business the cost of "William's own living was limited to sixpence a day, and all that was over of his profits he laid out in adding to his stock. He saved in every way, buying his books in sheets and putting them into boards himself, saving on an average 3d. or 4d. a volume. His leisure time he spent in writing pieces of poetry in a fine hand, and selling them for albums; then he bought an old printing-press and types, in order to unite printing with his other business. The outlay was only £3, and with this miserable fount he actually printed a pocket edition of Burns, and after months of toil, which he considered cost nothing as he had time on his hands, in the interval of minding his stall, he sold off the whole edition, and cleared £9, by the transaction. Next he added a circulating library to his stall, and painted a sign, which he set up over his stall announcing that he was " bookseller and printer." So he went on, now printing " rules for friendly and burial societies," now striking off pawnbroker's tickets, now executing an order for 10,000 shop-bills, and at last buying a new fount of type, and starting a per- iodical called the Kaleidoscope, from the optical toy just invented by David Brewster. It was to appear once a fortnight; the price was to be 3d. ; Bobert was to be editor and principal writer, and William to be printer and publisher, contributing occasional articles. It was on the 1st of October, 1821, that the Kaleidoscope first api)eared, and, though it did not last, it paid its expenses, and was a trial of the brothers' wings, and encouraged them to higher flights. The last number appeared on the 12th of January, 1822. From about this time the brothers began to have larger views. Those three or four years of hard work had fulfilled every reasonable expectation. Bobert's small stock had increased to be worth about £200, and William's posi- tion was as prosperous. Leith Walk had served its turn. The brothers were made for better things than ROBERT AND WILLIAIVI CHAMBERS. 17 keepers of bookstalls, and printers of shop-bills and pawnbrokers' tickets, although they migrated from the Walk and their stalls with a feelincj akin to regret. Kobert removed to India Place, Edinburgh, in 1822, and William to Broughton Street in 1823; both places being stepping-stones to something better. Part II. If the period between 1818 and 1822 were the Dark Ages of the brothers, the ten years between 1822 and 1832 may be called their Mediaeval Period. In them Robert shewed literary power of a higher kind than was to be seen in the Kaleidoscope, and began by publishing his Illustrations of the Author of Waverley, a book made up of short sketches of persons in the south of Scotland, popularly believed to have been the originals of charac- ters in the earlier novels of Sir Walter Scott. It would have been strange if, in these guesses, the writer had not sometimes gone a little wide of the mark, but on the whole these speculations were wonderfully correct. The book appeared in 1822, William, of course, being the printer, and was well received at the time, and repub- lished in 1824. After being settled in India Place, Robert designed and, in 1824, brought out, (William being again printer and publisher,) his Traditions of Edinburgh, in which he collected all the old stories about the Scottish metropolis which he could either gather from books or from the memories of old and remarkable inhabitants. It appeared in parts, and after the first, materials almost unbounded came to the young author, chiefly, as he says, " from aged professional and mercantile gentlemen," and among the rest, from the well-known Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe, now best re- membered, perhaps, by the caricature portrait which he drew and published of Queen Elizabeth dancing before the Scotch Ambassadors. As soon as the first part came out, it attracted the attention of Sir Walter Scott, wdio told Mr. Constable he wondered " whence the boy got all that information." He came from Tweedside, too, S. YI. B 18 PROGRESSIVE READER. / and that was a sure way into Sir "Walter's heart. It was not, however, till the first volume was completed, that Sir Walter overwhelmed the bashful author by calling on him in company with Mr. Lockhart. A very few days after this visit Robert Chambers received from the great novelist, along with a very kind letter, sixteen folio pages of manuscript, containing all the reminiscences, which he could summon up at the time, of old persons and things in Edinburgh. This was the beginning of a constant intercourse between the two, which only came to an end with Sir Walter's death; and when, later on, Kobert Chambers was preparing his Popular'' Rhymes of Scotland Sir Walter lent him " whole sheets of his recol- lections, with appropriate explanations." Before the Traditions were finished, Robert Chambers was well and favourably known as arising young author of antiquarian tastes to the literary world of Edinburgh, and the book was shortly followed by a sequel or companion, called Walks in Edinburgh, and published in 1825. Then, in 1826, came the Popidar Rhymes, the Picture of Scotland, and numerous other works which appeared between 1826 and 1830 in Constahle^s Miscellany. In December, 1829, he took a still more important step, and was married to Miss Anne Kirkwood. While Robert was thus busy, William was as active in his particular line as printer and publisher, not only of his brother's books, but of whatever other books were confided to him. Shortly after the Traditions of Edin- burgh were completed, he'gave up the mechanical occupa- tion of a general printer and adhered rather to publishing and more distinctly literary undertakings. Thus he compiled, with great trouble and much personal research, a work which he called the Book of Scotland. When it was completed he sold it to a publisher for £30. This was a poor reward, but the immediate result was an order from another publisher to prepare the Gazetteer of Scotland, for which the price was to be £100. To do this propei'ly William Chambers made several long pedestrian journeys through Scotland, in which, by exercising l^ia old rigorous economy, his expenses did ROBERT AND WILLIAM CHAMBERS. 19 not exceed a few shillings a day. The Gazetteer, as it finally appeared in a thick octavo volume, in double columns and small type, was almost entirely the work of William Chambers, whose share of the sum paid for the copyright was £70. Thus the two brothers spent the interval between 1822 and 1832, the only drawback to their prosperity being an absurd scheme of their sanguine father, who entered into a laAvsuit to recover some property to which he had an imaginary claim. It need not be said that he lost it, and that his sons, to save him from prison, had to pay the costs. Thus Kobert lost a large part of the money he had realized by his Traditions, and "William was crippled in his resources for two or three years. At last, in November, 1824, their father died, a wreck, sinking under misfor- tunes which he had brought upon himself by his want of foresight. His wife lived the rest of her days with her sons, and William and Robert were freed from demaiLds, which had been a drag upon their rising fortunes. In 1832 began the cheap Literature movement in the British Isles into which the two brothers threw them- selves with characteristic energy. Their early struggles were over, their heroic age past, and their career became more prosperous but less interesting. In January, 1832, they issued the prospectus'^of Chambers' Edinburgh Journal, a weekly sheet at three-halfpence. Of this William was editor and publisher and printer, while Hobert by his leading articles, which took the shape of moral, familiar, and humorous Essays, obtained for the new speculation a wide circulation. The success of the undertaking was far beyond the expectations of those who started it. In a few days the sale rose to 56,000, and at the third number, when the sale extended to England, 80,000 copies were sold. From that day forth Chambers^ Journal continued a lasting success. The secret of its deseiwed popularity was no doubt owing to the energy and enterprise with which it was conducted, and to the great and varied ability displayed by Robert as a writei'. In the words of William, '* Robert and I 20 PROGRESSIVE READER. had come through too many tribulations and seen too vividly the consequences of lost chances of well-doing among those about us, now to trifle with the opportunity of honourable advancement which had been fortunately placed in our way." The brothers continued the career so steadily and seriously begun with the same resolution and forbearance to the end. It is known to all, how the house of W. and R,. Chambers of Edinburgh, became publishers in London also, and have always maintained a commanding position in the trade. It is known at least to many how Robert extended his literary labours into wider fields, and by turns enlightened and delighted his readers by his geological, scientific, and topographical writings. In 1863 he brought out his Book of Days, which proved a great success, but a great injury to his health. " That book has been my death blow," he was heard to say. Though he lived on and worked on he was never the same, and at last, on the 14th of March, 1871, in the 69th year of his age, he died very gently at St. Andrews, a victim as it seemed to himself and his family of that excessive literary labour which often proves so fatal by over- taxing the nervous system. Such is a very brief sketch of the life of one of the most genial and industrious men whom Scotland, rich in such characters, has ever produced. — TJiq Times, ON THE PLEASURlii ARISING FROM VICISSITUDE. 21 ON THE PLEASURE ARISING FROM VICISSITUDE. Left unfinished by Gray. The additions by Mason, a poet, and friend of Gray, are distinguished by inverted commas. Now the golden morn aloft Waves her dew-bespangled wing, "With blushing cheek and whisper soft She woos the tardy spring : Till April starts, and calls around The sleeping fragrance from the ground ; Ajid lightly o'er the living scene Scatters his freshest, tenderest green. New-born flocks, in rustic dance. Frisking ply their feeble feet; Forgetful of their wintry trance The birds his presence greet : But chief, the sky -lark warbles high His trembling thrilling ecstasy; And, lessening from the dazzled sight. Melts into air and liquid light. Rise, my soul ! on wings of fire. Rise the rapturous choir among; Hark ! 'tis nature strikes the lyre, And leads the general song : *' Warm let the lyric transport flow. Warm as the ray that bids it glow, And animates the vernal grove With health, with harmony, and love." Yesterday the sullen year Saw the snowy whirlwind fly; Mute was the music of the air. The herd stood drooping by; 22 PROGRESSIVE READER. Their raptures now that wildly flow, No yesterday nor morrow knowj 'Tis man alone that joy descries With forward, and reverted eyes. Smiles on past misfortune's brow Soft reflection's hand can trace; And o'er the cheek of sorrow throw A melancholy grace; "While hope prolongs our happier hour, Or deepest shades, that dimly lower And blacken round our weary way, Gilds with a gleam of distant day. Still, where rosy pleasure leads, See a kindred grief pursue ; Behind the steps that misery treads, Approaching comfort view ; The hues of bliss more brightly glow, Chastised by sabler tints of woe ; And blended form, with artful strife, The strength and harmony of life. See the wretch, that long has tost On the thorny bed of pain. At length repair his vigour lost, And breathe and walk again : The meanest flow'ret of the vale, The simplest note that swells the gale. The common sun, the air, the skies. To him are opening paradise. Humble Quiet builds her cell, Near the source whence pleasure flows ; She eyes the clear crystalline well, And tastes it as it goes. '' While " far below the " madding " crowd *^ Rush headlong to the dangerous flood," Where broad and turbulent it sweeps, " And " perish in the boundless deeps. ON THE PLEASURE ARISING FROM VICISSITUDE. 23 Mark where Indolence and Pride, " Soothed by flattery's tinkling sound," Go, softly rolling, side by side. Their dull but daily round : " To these, if Hebe's self sliould bring, The purest cup from pleasure's sjDring, Say, can they taste the flavour high Of sober, simple, genuine joy ? " Mark Ambition's march sublime Up to power's meridian height ; While pale-eyed Envy sees him climb, And sickens at the sight. Phantoms of danger, death, and dread, Float hourly round Ambition's head ; While spleen, within his rival's breast. Sits brooding on her scorpion nest. " Happier he, the peasant, far Prom the pangs of passion free, That breathes the keen yet wholesome air Of rugged penury. He, when his morning task is done, Can slumber in the noontide sun ; And hie him home, at evening's close, To sweet repast, and calm repose. " He, unconscious whence the bliss, Feels, and owns in carols rude. That all the circling joys are his. Of dear Vicissitude. From toil he wins his spirits light, From busy day the peaceful night ; Eich, from the very want of wealth. In heaven's best treasures, peace and health." 2^ MOGliiSSSIVE READER. JAVANESE. These people occupy about forty villages, scatterecl along the range of hills in the neighbourhood of what is termed the Sunda Sea. The site of their villages, as well as the construction of their houses, is peculiar, and differs entirely from what is elsewhere observed in Java. They are not shaded by trees, but built on spacious open terraces, rising one above the other, each house occupy- ing a terrace, and being in length from thirty to forty, and even eighty feet. The door is invariably in one corner, at the end of the building opposite to that in which the fireplace is built. The building appears to be constructed Avith the ordinary roof, having along the front an enclosed verandah or gallery, about eight feet broad. The fireplace is built of brick, and is so highly venerated that it is considered a sacrilege for any stranger to touch it. Across the upper part of the building rafters are run, so as to form a kind of attic story, in which are deposited the most valuable property and implements of husbandry. The head of the village takes the title of Peting'gi, as in the lowlands, and is generally assisted by a Kabdyan, both elected by the people from their own village. There are four priests who are here termed D(ikans, having charge of the State records and the sacred books. These DAkans, who are in general intelligent men, can give no account of the era when they were first established on these hills; they can produce no traditional history of their origin, whence they came, or who entrusted them with the sacred books, to the faith contained in which they still adhere. These, they concur in stating, were handed down to them by their fathers, to whose hereditary office of preserving them they have succeeded. The solo duty required of them is again to hand them down in safety to their children, and to perform the " praisegiving " according to the directions they contain. These records consist of three compositions, JAVANESE. 25 Written on tlie lantar-leaf, detailing the origin of the world, disclosing the attributes of the Deity, and des- cribing the form of worship to be observed on different occasions. When a marriage is agreed upon, the bride and bridegroom, being brought before the Dukan within the house, in the first place bow with respect towards the south, then to the fireplace, then to the eartli, and lastly, on looking up, to the upper story of the house where the implements are placed j the parties then submissively bowing to the Dukan, he repeats a jDrayer, while the bride washes the feet of the bridegroom. At the con- clusion of this ceremony, the friends and family of the parties make presents to each, of buffaloes, implements of husbandry, &c. ; in return for which the bride and bridegroom respectfully present them with Betel leaf At the interment of an inhabitant of Teng'ger, the corpse is lowered into the grave with the head placed towards the south (contrary to the direction observed by the Mahometans), and is guarded from immediate contact with the earth by a covering of bamboos and planks. When the grave is closed, two posts are planted over the body: one erected perpendicularly over the breast, the other on the lower part of the belly ; and between them is placed a hollow bamboo in an inverted position, into which during successive days they daily empty a vessel of pure water, laying beside the bamboo two dishes, also daily replenished with eatables. At the expiration of the seventh day, the feast of the dead is announced, and the relations and friends of the deceased assemble to be present at the ceremony, and to partake of entertainments conducted in the following manner: — A figure of about half a cubit high, representing the human form, made of leaves and ornamented with variegated flowers, is prepared and placed in a con- spicuous situation, supported round the body by the clothes of the deceased. The Diikan then places in front of the garland an incense-pot with burning ashes, together with a vessel containing water, and rej^eats the two "praisegivings" to fire and water. 26 PROGRESSIVE READER. The clothes of the deceased are then divided among the relatives and friends ; the garland is burned, another "praisegiving" is repeated; while the remains of the sacred water are sprinkled over the feast. The parties now sit down to the enjoyment of the feast, invoking a blessing from the Almighty on themselves, their houses, and their lands. No more solemnities are observed till the expiration of a thousand days ; when, if the memory of the deceased is loved and cherished, the ceremony and feast are repeated, if otherwise, no further notice is taken of him; and having thus obtained what the Romans called his " Justa," he is allowed to be forgotten. — Phillips' Guide to the Crystal Palace. THE BATTLE OF PHAESALIA, (b.c. 48). C^SAR had employed all his art for some time in sounding the inclinations of his men; and finding them once more resolute and vigorous, he advanced towards the plains of Pharsalia, where Pompey was encamped. The approach of the two armies, composed of the best and bravest troops in the world, together with the greatness of the prize for which they contended, filled every mind with anxiety, though with different expec- tations. Pompey's army being most numerous, turned all their thoughts to the enjoyment of victory; Caesar's, with better aim, considered only the means of obtaining it. Pompey's army depended upon their numbers and their many generals ; Csesar's upon their discipline and the conduct of their single commander. Pompey's parti- zans hoped much from the justice of their cause; Caesar's alleged the frequent proposals, which they had made for peace without effect. Thus the views, hopes, and motives of both seemed different, while their hatred and ambition were the same. Caesar, who was ever fore- most in offering battle, led out his army to meet the enemy; but Pompey, either suspecting the troops or THE BATTLE OF PHARSALIA. 27 dreading tlie event, kept his advantageous position at the foot of the hill near which he was posted. Csesar, unwilling to attack him at a disadvantage, resolved to decamp the next day, hoping to weary out his antago- nist, who was not a match for him in sustaining the fatigues of duty. Accordingly, the order for marching was given, and the tents struck, when word was brought him that Pompey's army had now quitted their entrenchments, and advanced farther into the plain than usual; so that he might engage them at less disadvantage. Upon this, he caused his troops to halt, and with a countenance of joy informed them, that the happy time was at last come, for which they had so long wished, and which was to crown their glory and terminate their fatigues. He drew up his troops in order, and advanced towards the place of battle. His forces did not amount to half those of Pompey: the army of the one was about forty-five thousand foot and seven thousand horse; that of the other, not exceeding twenty-two thousand foot, and about a thousand horse. This proportion, particularly in the cavalry, had filled Caesar with apprehensions : he therefore had, some days before, picked out the strongest and nimblest of his foot-soldiers, and accustomed them to fight between the ranks of his cavalry. By their assistance, his thousand horse was a match for Pompey's seven thousand, and had actually got the better in a skirmish that happened between them some days before. Pompey, on the other hand, had a strong expectation of success; he boasted that he could put Caesar's legions to flight without striking a single blow; presuming that, as soon as the armies formed, his cavalry, on which he placed his greatest expectations, would outflank and surround the enemy. In this disposition Pompey led his troops to battle. As the armies approached, the two generals went from rank to rank encouraging the men, warming their hopes, and lessening their api3rehensions. There was no more space between both armies than to give room for fighting. Pompey, therefore; ordered 28 PROGRK^isiVE READER. his men to receive the first shock without moving from their places, expecting the enemy's ranks to be put into disorder. Caesar's soldiers were now rushing on with their usual impetuosity, when, perceiving the enemy motionless, they all stopped short, as if by general consent, and halted in the midsfc of their career. A terrible pause ensued, in which both armies con- tinued to gaze upon each other with mutual terror and dreadful serenity. At length, Caesar's men having taken breath, ran furiously upon the enemy, first dis- charging their javelins, and then drawing their swords. The same method was observed by Pompey's troops, who as firmly had sustained the attack. His cavalry also were ordered to charge at the very onset; which, with the multitude of archers and slingers, soon obliged Caesar's men to give ground. Caesar instantly ordered the six cohorts, that were placed as a re-inforcement, to advance, and to strike at the enemy's faces. This had its desired effect. Pompey's cavalry, that were just before sure of victory, received an imme- diate check. The unusual method of fighting pursued by the cohorts, their aiming entirely at the visages of the assailants, and the horrible disfiguring wounds they made, all contributed to intimidate them so much, that, instead of defending their persons, they endeavoured only to save their faces. A total rout ensued: they fled to the neighbouring mountains, while the archers and slingers, who were thus abandoned, were cut to pieces. Caesar now commanded the cohorts to pursue their success, and charge Pompey's troops upon the flank: this charge the enemy withstood for some time, till Caesar brought up his third line, which had not yet engaged. Pompey's infantry being thus doubly at- tacked, — in front by fresh troops, and in rear by the victorious cohorts, — could no longer resist, but fled to their camp. The flight began among the strangers. Pompey's right wing still valiantly maintained its ground. Caesar, however, convinced that the victory was certain, SCENE FROM "JULIUS C^SAR." 29 with his usual clemency cried out to pursue the strangers, but to spare tlie Romans; upon -which they all laid down tlieir arms and received quarter. The greatest slaughter was among the auxiliaries, who fled on all sides. The battle had now lasted from break of day till noon: the weather was extremely hot; nevertheless, the conquerors remitted not their ardour, being encouraged by the example of a general, who thought his victory incomplete till he should become master of the enemy's camp. Accordingly, marching on foot at their head, he called upon them to follow and strike the decisive blow. The cohorts, which were left to defend the camp, for some time made a formidable resistance, particularly a great number of Thracians and other barbarians, who were appointed for that purpose; but nothing could resist the ardour of Csesar's victorious army; the enemy were at last driven from the trenches, and the}'' all fled to the mountains. Csesar, seeing the field and camp strewn with his fallen countrymen, was strongly afiected at the melancholy prospect, and cried out to one that stood near, " They would have it so." — GoldsmitKs History of Rome. SCENE FROM '^JULIUS C^SAR." By Shakespeare. Brutus. Mark Antony. Citizens. Brutus. Romans, countrymen, and lovers ! hear me for my cause ; and be silent, that you may hear : believe me for mine honour; and have respect to mine honour, that you may believe : censure me in your wisdom ; and awake your senses, that you may the better judge. If there be any in this assembly, any dear friend of Csesar's, to him I say, that Brutus' love to Caesar was no less than his. If then that friend demand why Brutus ro^e against Ciesar, this is my answer, — Not 30 PROGRESSIVE READER. that I loved Csesar less, but that I loved Rome more. Had you rather Csesar were living, and die all slaves; than that Caesar were dead, to live all free-men? As Csesar loved me, I weep for him; as he was fortunate, I rejoice at it; as he was valiant, I honour him: but, as he was ambitious, I slew him • there are tears, for his love; joy, for his fortune; honour, for his valour; and death, for his ambition. Who is here so base that would be a bondman? If any, speak; for him have I offended. Who is here so rude that would not be a Roman? If any, speak; for him have I offended. Who is here so vile that will not love his country? If any, speak; for him have I offended. I pause for a reply. Citizens. None, Brutus, none. [Several speaking at once. Bru. Then none have I offended. I have done no more to Csesar than you shall do to Brutus. The ques- tion of his death is enrolled in the Capitol: his glory not extenuated, wherein he was worthy; nor his offences enforced, for which he suffered death. Enter Antony and others, with Cesar's hody. Here comes his body, mourned by Mark Antony; who, though he had no hand in his death, shall receive the benefit of his dying, a place in the commonwealth. As which of you shall not? With this I depart: that, as I slew my best lover for the good of Rome, I have the same dagger for myself, when it shall please my country to need my death. Cits. Live, Brutus, live! live! 1st. Cit. Bring him with triumph home unto his house, 2nd. Cit. Give him a statue with his ancestors. 3rd. Cit. Let him be Csesar, Antony's yi^wera? oration over the hody o/* Julius Caesar. Ant. Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your earsj I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him. The evil that men do lives after them; i The good is oft interred with their bones; SCENE FROM "JULIUS C^SAR." 31 So let it be with Csesar. The noble Brutus Hath told you, Csesar was ambitious; If it were so, it was a grievous fault; And grievously hath Czesar answer'd it. Here, under leave of Brutus, and the rest, (For Brutus is an honourable man; So are they ail, all honourable men;) Come I to speak in Caesar's funeral. He was my friend, faithful and just to me : But Brutus says he was ambitious; And Brutus is an honourable man. He hath brought many captives home to Bome, Whose ransoms did the general coflfers fill : Did this in Caesar seem ambitious? When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept : Ambition should be made of sterner stuff: Yet Brutus says he was ambitious; And Brutus is an honourable man. You all did see that on the Lupercal I thrice presented him a kingly crown. Yet he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition? Yet Brutus says he was ambitious; And, sure, he is an honourable man. I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke, But here I am to speak what I do know. You all did love him once, not without cause; What cause withholds you then to mourn for him? O, judgment, thou art fled to brutish beasts. And men have lost their reason ! — Bear with me ; My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar, And I must pause till it come back to me. But yesterday the word of Caesar might Have stood against the world : now lies he there, And none so poor to do him reverence. masters, if I were dispos'd to stir Your heai'ts and minds to mutiny and rage, 1 should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong, Who, you all know, are honourable men : I will not do them wrong; I rather choose To wrong the dead, to wrong myself, and you, 32 PROGRESSIVE READER. Than I will wrong such honourable men. But here's a parchment, with the seal of Ceesar, I found it in his closet, 'tis his will : Let but the commons hear this testament, (Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read,) And they would go and kiss dead Caesar's wounds. And dip their napkins in his sacred blood; Yea, beg a hair of him for memory, And, dying, mention it within their wills, Bequeathing it as a rich legacy, Unto their issue. 4th. Cit. We'll hear the will : Read it, Mark Antony. Cits. The will, the will ! we will hear Caesar's will. Ant. Have patience, gentle friends, I must not read It is not meet you know how Caesar loved you. You are not wood, you are not stones, but men; And, being men, hearing the will of Csesar, It will inflame you, it will make you mad: 'Tis good you know not that you are his heirs; Por if you should, 0, what would come of it ! 4th. Cit. Read the will; we'll hear it, Antony; you shall read us the will; Caesar's will! A7it. Will you be patient? Will you stay awhile? I have o'ershot myself to tell you of it. I fear I wrong the honourable men Whose dao^gers have stabb'd Caesar : I do fear it. 4th. Cit. They were traitors : Honourable men ! Cits. The will ! the testament ! 2nd. Cit. They were villians, murderers: The will! read the will ' Ant. You will compel me, then, to read the will? Then make a ring about the corpse of Caesar, And let mo shew you him that made the will. Shall I descend? and will you give me leave? Cits. Come down. Ant. If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. You all do know this mantle : I remember The first time ever Caesar put it on; 'Twas on a summer's evening, in his tent, SCENE FROM ''JULIUS CAESAR." 33 That day he overcame the Nervii : — Look ! in tliis place ran Cassius' dagger through : See, what a rent the envious Casca made : Tlirough this, the well-beloved Brutus stabb'd; And, as he pluck'd his cursed steel away, Mark how the blood of Caesar follow'd it, As rushing out of doors, to be resolv'd If Brutus so unkindly knock'd or no; For Brutus, as you know, was Csesar's angel : Judge, you gods, how dearly Caesar lov'd him ! This was the most unkindest cut of all : For when the noble Ctesar saw him stab, Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms. Quite vanquish'd him : then burst his mighty heart. And, in his mantle muffling up his face. Even at the base of Pompey's statue. Which all the while ran blood, great Caesar fell. O what a fall was there, my countrymen ! Then I, and you, and all of us fell down, Whilst bloody treason flourish'd over us. O, now you weep; and, I perceive, you feel The dint of pity: these are gracious drops. Kind souls, what weep you, when you but behold Our Caesar's vesture wounded? Look you here. Here is himself, marr'd, as you see, with traitors. 1st. Cit. O piteous spectacle ! 2nd. Cit. noble Caesar! 3rd. Cit. O woeful day ! 4th. Cit. O traitors, villians! 1st. Cit. O most bloody sight ! Cits. We will be revenged; revenge; about, — seek, — burn, — fire, — kill, — slay ! — let not a traitor live. Ant. Stay, countrymen. 1st. Cit. Peace there: — Hear the noble Antony. 2nd. Cit. We'll hear him, we'll follow him, we'll die with him. Ant. Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you up To such a sudden flood of mutiny. They that have done this deed are honourable; S. YI. a 34 PROGRESSIVE READER. What private griefs tliey have, alas ! I know not, That made them clo it; they are wise and honourable, And will, no doubt, with reasons answer you. I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts; I am no orator, as Brutus is; But as you know me all, a plain, blunt man, That love my friend; and that they know full well, That gave me public leave to speak of him. For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth. Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech, To stir men's blood : I only speak right on; I tell you that which you yourselves do know; Shew you sweet Csesar's wounds, poor, poor dumb mouths, And bid them speak for me : But were I Brutus, And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony Would ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue In every wound of Cnesar, that should move The stones of Home to rise and mutiny. SUMATBANS. The populations of Sumatra exliibit different degrees of civilization to an extent found in few areas of equal size: the difference in their religious creeds being proportionately broad. There are the extreme forms of rude paganism; there are traces of the Indian forms of religion; and there is Mahometanism. There are the Lubus, one of the wildest, rudest, and weakest of all the populations. The position of the Lubus in Sumatra is that of the Bushmen of South Africa, for they are a fragmentary population, driven into the more inaccessible districts by tribes stronger than themselves ; without arts and without settled habitations. The next are Battas, whose civilization is some degrees above that of the Lubu. A great part of their present SUMATRANS. 35 area belonged to this last naiuod population, who are, j^robahly, Battas in the very lowest stage of develop- ment. These require further notice. They belong to the northern half of Sumatra, though without reaching the northern extremity of the island. The rivers in the Batta country are inconsiderable, so are the forests, for the country is an elevated plat- form — dry, exposed, and parched. The luxuriant vegetation of so many regions in this part of the world, finds no place here; and instead of it, we have sand, hardened clay, bare rocks swept by strong currents of wind and exposed to an equatorial sun. The Battas are cannibals; they are also a lettered population. It is believed that this combination of rudeness and civilization occurs nowhere else, a com- bination which, however, is beyond doubt. On the Batta cannibalism, hear so competent an authority as Marsden. " They," the Battas, " do not eat human flesh as the means of satisfying the cravings of nature, for there can be no want of sustenance to the inhabitants of such a country and climate, who reject no animal food of any kind; nor is it sought after as a gluttonous delicacy. " The Battas eat it as a species of ceremony, as a mode of shewing their detestation of certain crimes by an ignominious punishment, and as a savage display of revenge and insult to their unfortvmate enemies. The objects of this barbarous repast are prisoners taken in war, (especially if badly wounded,) the bodies of the slain, and offenders condemned for certain capital crimes, especially for adultery. Prisoners unwounded (but they are not much disposed to give quarter) may be ransomed or sold as slaves, where the quarrel is not inveterate; and the convicts, there is reason to believe, rarely suffer when their friends are in cir- cumstances to redeem them by the customary eq^ii- valent of eighty dollars. These are tried by the jteople of the tribe wliere the offence was committed, but cannot be executed until their own particular rajah 36 PROGRESSIVE READER. has been made acquainted with the sentence, who, when he acknowledges the justice of the intended punishment, sends a cloth to cover the head of the delinquent, to- gether with a large dish of salt and lemons. The unhappy victim is then delivered into the hands of the injured party (if it be a private wrong, or, in the case of a prisoner, to the warriors) by whom he is tied to a stake, lances are thrown at him from a certain distance by this person, his relatives, and friends; and when mortally wounded, they run up to him, as if in a trans- port of passion, cut pieces from the body with their knives, dip them in the dish of salt, lemon juice, and red pepper, slightly broil them over a fire prepared for the purpose, and swallow the morsels with a degree of savage enthusiasm. Sometimes the whole is devoured by the bystanders; and instances have been known where, with barbarity still more aggravated, they tear the flesh from the carcase with their teeth. To such a depth of depravity may man be plunged, when neither religion nor philosophy enlighten his steps." All that can be said in extenuation of the horror of this diabolical ceremony is, that no view appears to be entertained of torturing the sufferers, of increasing or lengthening out the pains of death; the whole fury is directed against the corpse, warm, indeed, with the remains of life, but past the sensation of pain. A difference of opinion has existed with regard to the practice of eating the bodies of their enemies actually slain in war; but subsequent enquiry has proved the fact, especially in the case of distinguished persons, or those who have been accessories to the quarrel. It should be mentioned that their campaigns often terminate with the loss of not more than half-a-dozen men on both sides. The skulls of the victims are hung up as trophies in the open buildings in front of their houses, and are occasionally ransomed by their surviv- ing relations for a sum of money. — Phill'qi's Guide to the Crystal Palace. THE WATERFAtL AT PtrPANASStlM. 37 THE WATERFALL AT PUPPANASSTJM. Before we left Tinevelly, we took the opportunity of visiting the waterfall at Pup-pa-nas-siim, which is per- haps, upon the whole, the most stupendous object of its kind in the Car-na-tic. The approach to it lay through a long narrow valley, at the termination of which the fall deposits its waters in an unfathomable pool, whence a new river seems to issue, Avinding its placid course through a plain nearly level with the sea. Upon our approach to the fall through this valley, confined on either side by lofty hills, the view of it was frequently obstructed by the intersections of the mountain round which we occasionally had to wind. We followed the winding course of the stream, along the banks of which we saw a sjreat number of devotees on their wav to bathe in those sacred waters, and to offer their genu- flexions and prostrations upon a spot consecrated at once by extreme antiquity and very awful local traditions. These slaves of the most besotted superstitions upon earth, did not appear to be at all pleased with the idea of seeing the place profaned by the unhallowed feet of Christians, whom they hold in absolute abhorrence. They passed us in dogged silence, and there was an expression of malignant scorn upon the curl of those lips, which were about to offer up their devotions to gods more abominable than themselves, that satisfied us they wanted not the will, though they lacked the daring, to do us a mischief. Alas ! that devotion should have such votaries ! No one, who has witnessed the stern ferocity of feeling encouraged by the deluded supporters of a most extra- vagant idolatry towards all of a different creed, can well sliut oiit the reflection of his own moral advantages, and fail to bless his God, with most earnest sincerity of purpose, that he was born a member of a Christian com- munity. Upon turning the angle of a hill Avhich rose abruptly from the valley, the fall burst suddenly upon our sight. 38 PROGRESSIVE READER. It was indeed a magnificent spectacle. The impression excited was so uncommon, that I was obliged to close my eyes for a moment, in order to recover from the sudden and almost astounding surprise. Though the roar of the cataract had been heard long before we reached it, so that we were not unprepared for some- thing more than commonly imposing, the reality far surpassed our expectations. It is precipitated from a height of 150 feet, pouring over the steep a prodigious body of water which, foi'cing its way among the intervening rocks, among which it boils and hisses with tremendous fury, falls into the deep, dark pool beneath, with a din and tur- bulence that are almost deafening. The sound of the cataract may be heard at the distance of several miles, even in the dry season; but during the monsoons, when swelled by mountain torrents, the roar is augmented tenfold. There is a tremeiidous vortex just below the fall, caused by its sudden and violent pressure upon the surface below, so that no one can safely approach within reach of the spray. The waters of this spot are highly sacred. Puppanassum, the name which the place bears, signifies the "washing away of sins;" and a great niimber of devotees are to be seen at all times bathing in this consecrated river. — Saturday Magazine. TAKING OF TROY. BURNING THE CITY. Now peals of shouts come thundering from afar. Cries, threats, and loud laments, and mingled war: The noise approaches, though our palace stood Aloof from streets, encompassed with a wood. Louder, and yet more loud, I hear the alarms Of human cries distinct, and clashing arras. Fear broke my slumbers; I no longer stay. But mount tbe terrace, thence the town survey, And hearken what the frightful sounds convey. TAKING OF TROY. 39 Thus, when a flood of fire by wind is borne, Crackling it rolls, and mows the standing corn; Or deluges, descending on the plains. Sweep o'er the yellow year, destroy the pains Of labouring oxen and the peasant's gains; Unroot the forest oaks, and bear away Flocks, folds, and trees, an undistinguished prey: The shepherd climbs the cliffs, and sees from far Tlie wasteful ravage of the watery war. Then Hector's faith was manifestly cleared ; And Grecian frauds in open light appeared. The palace of DeTphobus ascends In smoky flames and catches on his friends. Ucalegon burns next; the seas are bright With splendour not their own, and shine with Trojan light. Kew clamours and new clangors now arise, The sound of trumpets mixed with fighting-cries. With frenzy seized, I run to meet the alarms, Resolved on death, resolved to die in arms, But first to gather friends, with them t' oppose (If fortune favoured) and repel the foes — Spurred by my courage, by my country fired, With sense of honour and revenge inspired. THE SLAUGHTER. '' Brave souls," said I, " but brave, alas ! in vain, Come, finish what our cruel fates ordain. You see the desperate state of our affairs : And heaven's protecting powers are deaf to prayers. The passive gods behold the Greeks defile Their temples, and abandon to the spoil Their own abodes; we, feeble few, conspire To save a sinking town, involved in fire. Then let us fall, but fall amidst our foes; Despair of life the means of living shews." So bold a speech encouraged their desire Of death, and added fuel to their fire. 40 PROGRESSIVE READER. As hungry wolves, -with rasing appetite, Scour tlirough the fields, nor fear the stormy night; Their whelps at home expect the promised food, And long to temper their dry chaps in hlood: So rushed we forth at once, resolved to die, Resolved in death the last extremes to try. We leave the narrow lanes behind, and dare The unequal combat in the public square; Night was our friend, our leader Avas despair. What tono^ue can tell the slausrhter of that nicrht? What eyes can weep the sorrows and affright? An ancient and imperial city falls; The streets are filled with frequent funerals; Houses and holy temples float in blood; And hostile nations make a common flood. Not only Trojans fell, but in their turn The vanquished triumph, and the victors mourn. Ours take new courage from despair and night; Confused the fortune is, confused the fight. All parts resound with tumults, plaints, and fears, And grisly death in sundry sha])es appears. STORMING THE PALACE OF PRIAM. Pyrrhus, among the foremost, deals his blows, And with his axe repeated strokes bestows On the strong doors : then all their shoulders ply, Till from the posts the brazen hinges fly. He hews apace: the double bars at length Yield to his axe, and unresisted strength. A mighty breach is made; the rooms concealed Appear, and all the palace is revealed, The halls of audience, and of public state, A.nd where the lonely queen in secret sate. A.rmed soldiers now by trembling maids are seen, With not a door, and scarce a space between. The house is filled with loud laments and cries; And shrieks of women rend the vaulted skies. The fearful matrons run from place to place, TAKING OF TROY. 41 And kiss the tliresholds, and the posts embrace. The fatal work inhuman Pyrrhiis plies; And all his father* sparkles in his eyes. Nor bars nor fighting guards his force sustain : The bars are broken, and the guards are slain. In rush the Greeks, and all the apartments fill; Those few defendants whom they find, they kill. Not with so fierce a rage the foaming flood Koars, when he finds his rapid course Avithstood, Bears down the dams with unresisted sway, And sweeps the cattle and the cots away. Perhaps you may of Priam's fate inquire. He, when he saw his regal town on fire. His ruined palace, and his entering foes, — On every side inevitable woes; In arms disused invests his limbs, decayed Like them with age; a late and useless aid. His feeble shoulders scarce the weight sustain; Loaded, not armed, he creeps along with pain. Despairing of success, ambitious to be slain ! Uncovered but by heaven, there stood in view An altar; near the hearth a laurel grew, Dodder'd with age, whose boughs encompass round The household gods, and shade the holy ground. Here Hecuba, with all her helpless train Of dames, for shelter sought, but sought in vain. Driven like a flock of doves along the sky, Their images they hug, and to their altars fly. The queen, when she beheld her trembling lord, And hanging by his side a heavy sword, '' What rage," she cried, " has seized my husband's mind ? What arms are these, and to what use designed? These times want other aids ! Were Hector here. Even Hector now, in vain like Priam, would appear. With us one common shelter thou shalt find, Or in one common fate with us be joined." * His father was the celebrated Achilles. 42 PROGRESSIVE READER. DEPARTURE OF ^NEAS. Armed once again, my glittering sword I wield, While my other hand sustains my weighty shield; And forth I rush to seek the abandoned field. I went : but sad Creiisa stopped my way, And 'cross the threshold in my passage lay, Embraced my knees, and, when I would have gone, Shewed me my feeble sire, and tender son. " If death be your design, at least," said she, " Take us along, to share your destiny. If any farther hopes in arms remain. This place, these pledges of your love, maintain. To whom do you expose your father's life. Your son's, and mine, your now forgotten wife? " While thus she fills the house with clamorous cries. Our hearing is diverted by our eyes: For, while I held my son, in the short space Betwixt our kisses and our last embrace, (Strange to relate !) from young lulus' head, A lambent flame arose, which gently spread Around his brows, and on his temples fed. Amazed, with running water we prepare To quench the sacred fire, and slake his hair; But old Anchises, versed in omens, reared His hands to heaven, and this request preferred : " If any vows, almighty Jove, can bend Thy will, if piety can prayers commend; Confirm the glad presage which thou art pleased to send." Scarce had he said, when on our left we hear A peal of rattling thunder roll in air : There shot a streaming lamp along the sky, Which on the winged lightning seemed to fly: From o'er the roof the blaze began to move, And, trailing, vanished in the Ida^an grove. It swept a path in heaven, and shone a guide. Then in a steaming stench of sulphur died. Dryden^s Virgil. GARDENING. 43 GARDENING. It must not be supposed that the employment of hand- labour in gardening is solely determined by the circum- stance of the size of the ground not admitting the use of the plough; for an easy remedy would instantly suggest itself in this case- — that of increasing the area of land cultivated for gardens, or what is equivalent, uniting several small gardens into one large one. The true cause of the necessity for digging with a spade, instead of ploughing, is, that the plough is inadequate to bring the soil into such a state as is necessary for raising the proper produce of a garden with the least quantity of subsequent labour. The greater part of the vegetables raised in gardens are either exotics from warmer climates, or indigenous plants improved by careful tillage bestowed on successive generations of them for many centuries ; and if this care were not constantly employed, the plants in their im- proved state would not be able to bear the comparative rigour of our climate, but would speedily degenerate to their original or natural state. The chief object of all tillage is to supply the growing plants with constant nourishment by the fre- quent moving of the soil about them, and also to prevent their being robbed of that food by weeds growing among them. The operations required to efiect these objects can only be carried on when the plants are placed with great regularity in straight lines; and that each plant may be accessible, they must be planted in small patches, or beds, of earth, with walks between them. Instead of sowing the seed of many vegetables in drills, and afterwards rooting up the superabundant plants, (the mode of cultivating turnips in fields,) it is productive of more economy both of seed and time, as Avell as of more benefit to their subsequent growth, to sow the seed closely in a small patch of ground, and to transplant the young plants when arrived 44 PROGRESSIVE READER. at a certain age. By this means they may not only be planted in their proper beds with the utmost regularity, but there is also another motive for adopting this plan. Every plant has particular seasons, at which, when growing in its native soil or in its native climate, tlie various stages of its development take place, and if transferred to a less genial situation, it must be sheltered during its infancy from the severity of the air; added to which, these successive stages of growth in all plants may be accelerated within certain limits by the applica- tion of artificial heat, in order to promote the germina- tion of the seed and its early and rapid growth. This is a desirable object, in order to meet the demands of those who, having the means of purchasing luxuries, furnish the remiineration due to those who employ their care and skill in raising early produce by forced cultivation. The artificial heat is applied in various manners, according to the vegetable, and to the mode of its growth, but the premature germination of the seed is eflfected by sowing it on a hot-bed, which is prepared in the following manner. Stable-litter (or straw which has been saturated with the dung, &c., of horses and cattle) is piled with care and regularity into a square heap flat at the top. The fermentation, which speedily ensues in such a mixture of animal and vegetable matter, evolves a quantity of heat, which is maintained and confined by the magnitude of the mass : on this heap fine mould is strewed, to the depth of seven or eight inches, and on the whole a frame is put, which is covered over with matting, or, if intended to be permanent, with glass lights. The seed being sown in this mould, the heat confined by the frame excites germination and produces rapid growth in the plant. When strong enough to bear the open air, to which they must be gradually habituated, the young plants are taken up with every care, that the fine fibres of their roots may not be injured, and they are then planted in the bed in the following manner : — Tlie earth being broken fine by digging and raking, a line is set out by means of a string stretched between GARDENING. 45 two pegs or iron pins, and the gardener, taking tlie plant in his left hand, with the dibble in his right, lie makes a perpendicular hole about six or eight inches deep; into this hole he lets the root of the plant descend, till the junction of the stem and root, or the neck of the plant, is level with the ground. He then pushes in the fine earth to fill up the hole again, and putting the dibble in obliquely at a small distance from the plant, by a twist of the tool presses the mould close up to the root. Without this precaution the plant would die, if the fine fibres of the root, instead of being in close contact with the earth, were left in the gaps of the loose" pieces. The plants, after this removal, will languish for a day or two, particularly it the weather be hot and dry ; but they will then revive and grow with increased vigour, in consequence of the greater space from which their roots can derive nourishment. Plants should never be 2)lanted out in wet weather, or when the earth is wet from recently fallen rain, for the mould in this state would, after being worked, harden into a mortar which the fibres of the roots could never penetrate. When it is practicable, the operation should be performed just before rain when the earth is too dry for it to adhere at all in clods under the hoe or spade. As soon as possible after the transplanting, when the recently moved plants begin to grow again, the earth should be hoed or dug between them, and, if necessary, a little should be drawn up the stems. Weeds must always be eradicated, or hoed down by the Dutch or thrust-hoe as soon as they appear; and once or twice at least during the growth of the plants the earth between them should be dug deeply, except the plants are vegetables cultivated for their tap-roots, as carrots, parsnips, beet, tfcc, or are bulb-bearing, as onions, leeks, (fcc. If the earth were dug deeply between the former class of plants, the roots would fork, or throw out side shoots, instead of growing straight or undivided; and the last-named kind of plants would, in such a case, not form large and full bulbs, but would run to neck. 46 PROGRESSIVE READER. Many kinds of vegetables will not admit of trans- planting, but the seed must be sown thinly, in straight and equidistant drills; and when the young plants are fairly out of the ground, they must be thinned out by the hoe or by hand, leaving single plants only at such distances apart as they will require to be at when they are fully grown. It should be mentioned here, that nothing is so bad for plants as allowing them to be too close together; more produce, whether it be in roots, leaves, or fruit, is obtained from fine healthy plants that have had sufficient room to grow in, than from twice their number grown in the same space, and, consequently, crowded together. Peas, scarlet-heans, and other climbing-plants, require sticks to be put to them to climb up, the sticks used for this purpose are the loppings of young trees, cuttings of underwood, &c., with the smaller branches and twigs left on; these sticks are set on each side of the row of peas, and are set sloping in contrary directions, thus forming a lattice-work, which furnishes support for every shoot to mount up by means of its tendrils. Celery is blanched by planting the young plants at the bottom of trenches, dug twelve or eighteen inches deep; in proportion as the celery grows, the earth, whi<3li was taken out of the trenches, is put back again with care that it may not get into the heart of the plants. The stems growing thus underground, or kept from the light and air, remain white, or do not acquire the green hue of plants exposed to the light of the sun. In consequence of this mode of proceeding, when the celery has finished growing, and is ready for use, it will be found buried in the centre of elevated ridges, the intermediate furrows being caused by the removal of the earth to form these. The plants are dug out as wanted. Sea Kale is blanched by remaining constantly covered during its growth by earthenware pots, made tall expressly for this purpose. The pots have a small cover which takes off", to allow of the progress of the kale being examined, SCENE FROM " ROMEO AND JULIET." 47 Plants that grow early in the spring, or which are prematurely brought forward by forcing on hot beds, require to be sheltered on the approach of frost. A very slight covering is sufficient in many cases, straw litter or fern leaves even being enough to prevent the radiation of heat from the earth, and when, in addition to these, mats of bass are spread over them, the frost must be severe that can penetrate to the plants beneath. Single plants are sheltered by covering them over with garden pots, or with hand-glasses, small frames made of lead or iron, in which panes of glass are inserted, as the casements of cottages are glazed. — Saturday Magazine. SCENE FROM '' EOMEO AND JULIET." Mercutio. Romeo. MerciUio. 0, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with She is the fairies' midwife; and she comes In shape no bigger than an agate stone On the fore-finger of an alderman, Drawn with a team of little atomies Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep: Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners' legs, The cover, of the Avings of grasshoppers ; The traces of the smallest spider's web ; The collars of the moonshine's watery beams; Her wdiip of cricket's bone; the iash of film : Her waggoner a small grey- coated gnat, Not half so big as a round little w^orm Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid : Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut. Made by the joiner squirrel, or old grub, Time out o' mind the fairies' coach-makers. And in this state she gallops night by night Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love : 48 PROGRESSIVE READER. O'er courtiers* knees, that dream on court'sies straight : O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees: O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream : Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues, Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are. Sometime she gallops o'er a courtier's nose, And then dreams he of smelling out a suit : And sometime comes she with a tithe-pig's tail, Tickling a parson's nose as 'a lies asleep, Then dreams he of another benefice : Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck, And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats. Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades. Of healths five fathom deep; and then anon Drums in his ear: at which he starts, and wakes; And, being thus frighted, swears a prayer or two. And sleeps again. This is that very Mab, That plats the manes of horses in the night; And bakes the elf-locks in foul sluttish hairs. Which, once untangled, much misfortune bodes — Romeo. Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace, Thou talk'st of nothing. Mer. True, I talk of dreams, Which are the children of an idle brain. Begot of nothing but vain fantasy; Which is as thin of substance as the air; And more inconstant than the wind who wooes Even now the frozen bosom of the north. And, being anger'd, puffs away from thence, Turning his face to the dew-dropping south. — Shakespeare. GARDEN VEGETABLES. 49 THE PRINCIPAL GARDEN VEGETABLES WHICH SERVE FOR FOOD. The great varie^ty of vegetable productions, which serve as food to man, speaking specially of those which he cultivates, may be classed imder a few great divisions, conformably both with their botanical characters, and with the part of the plant which is consumed. Though there is no part of a plant which, in different species, is not eaten, yet, as forming a considerable portion of his diet, it will be found that it is either the root, the stem, the leaves, or the fruit, that man makes use of, while the bark, the seed, the flowers, the bud, &c., of other species, are commonly used as condiments or sauces. Next to the Cerealia, the seeds of that order of plants, called from their fruit, Leguminous, contain the greatest proportion of farina. The pea and the bean are the principal kinds of this order, employed by man as food in Europe. The Pea is a climbing annual plant with a white flower; the seed in its green or unripe state, constitutes a favourite dish, but for this purpose it is cultivated as a garden vegetable, while agriculture can alone fur- nish the ripe seed in sufficient quantities to supply the demand for dry peas in the navy, in hospitals, &c. The pea requires warm soil, the crop is gathered when the pod is quite ripe and dry, the seed is thrashed out, the stalks and leaves (or the haulm) is sometimes given to the cattle as fodder. The seed of the pea tribe divides into two more readilv than most seeds, containing two seed leaves. Split peas are jjroduced by grinding the seed tightly between millstones or plates of iron, in mills constructed for the purpose; this operation frees the germ of the seeds from the skin or coats, and also separates the former into the two portions, each of which consists of an undeveloped seed. The Bean. — This name is given to difl'erent species of S. YI. D 50 PROGREf=rocess various colours are mixed with the pulp, such as ultramarine^ 60 PROGRESSIVE READER. chrome, and the " aniline dyes." These are seen in blue '' foolscap," " cream-laid," " toned," and other varieties. Paper is now nearly all made by machinery, in pieces of any width up to 120 inches, but of an indefinite length, and is afterwards cut up into sheets by a " cutting machine." The paper-making machine consists of a reservoir for the fine pulp, prepared as before described, and fitted with regulating valves for limiting the flow ©f "stuff." This, largely diluted with water, passes through finely- cut strainers, which stop all knots and portions badly prepared, and it is then delivered to an endless revolving sheet of wire-gauze, with from 3,000 to 5,000 perforations in each square inch — so fine that, although by the aid of a shaking arrangement the water gradually passes through, the fibres are retained on the upper surface, and by the constant agitation and the " felt- ing" q\iality possessed by the beautifully serrated edges of the fibres, the fluid sheet of pulp is in a few seconds so strong, that it can be carried with but little assistance to the subsequent stages. Leaving the wire-cloth, the sheet is carried by a tra- velling blanket, between heavy, smooth, rollers (which give solidity and remove more moisture), and then over a niimber of cylinders, heated by steam, and so arranged that the process of drying may take place as gradually and uniformly as possible. The glazing, between hot and very highly polished rollers, completes the process ; after which it is reeled in lengths of a mile or more, as may be convenient, and cut into sheets by the cutting apparatus, in which, as it passes through, It is cut by rippers lengthwise to any width required,and by a nice adjustment a knife, which crosses the machine and which can be regulated precisely to the length of sheet wanted, is made to come down and cut the paper across. The sheets thus formed are arranged evenly in piles as they leave the cutter,from whence they are carried to be ex amined and put up in quires and reams for the market. The required width of the sheet is given by means of an adjustable strap or " deckle," and the ra23id drying is greatly facilitated by boxes with perforated tops, PAPER. 61 fixed under the travelling wire-cloth. In these a partial vacuum is made by powerful air-pumps, and the pressure of the atmosphere forces the water through the wire into the boxes, leaving the pulp comparatively dry. Water-marks, such as names, dates, figures, &:c., are given in this damp state by means of a light wire- covered roller, called "a dandy." The required pattern is worked on its surface with brass wire, which, penetrat- ing partly through the moist pulp, leaves its impress at each revolution. The same " dandy," according to the way in which it is covered, makes the difference between "laid" and *' wove" papers; the former is produced by a covering of parallel wires, fastened at intervals of an incli or so ; the latter, by a cover of similar character to the wire- cloth on which the pulp travels. The " laid " appear- ance is well seen in ordinary foolscap. The sizing makes the difference between blotting- paper and that used for writing or printing. In ordinary printing paper it consists of a resinous soap, and is added to " the stuff" " in the beating engine. In the higher qualities a thin glue is used, and this is invariably done at the " paper-making machine, " and the requisite ma- chinery is shewn in the accompanying fig. A, is a reservoir Sizing Machine. for size ; B, a trough for the papers to dip into ; C, the reel of paper to b© sized j D, rollers to press out all super- 62 PROGRESSIVE READER. fliious size; E, a pulley to keep the paper on the stretch; E F F, a succession of hollow " drums" to prolong the passage of paper through the air of the drying-room, which is heated by the furnace G and the tubes I I; H H are openings to admit fresh air, and K, openings to allow the exit of the steam from the paper as it dries; L, is a series of rollers to glaze it. But the process as conducted by hand will give a much better notion of how paper is formed from the pulp. A reservoir is filled with pulp (which is supplied by a wheel in the box to a strainer) and passed to a vat; a man takes in his hands a mould, consisting of a shallow frame of wood of the size the sheet of paper is to be, having a bottom of fine wires laid side by side, and also crossing at intervals, to keep them firm (the marks of these wires may be seen in any sheet of laid foolscap paper held up to the light); he dips this mould edgewise into the reservoir, and brings it up horizon- tally full of pulp; this he gently shakes, to make the pulp lie level and allow all superfluous water to drain through the wires. It is then handed to another man, who has a sheet of flannel or felt spread out on a table, on which the mould is inverted, and the sheet of pulp left on the flannel, which sucks up more of its moisture. Over this is placed another piece of flannel, and then another sheet of pulp on it, and so on to the number of five or six dozen ; then the whole is put into a powerful press, and screwed down till all the water is squeezed out. When they are pretty firm, they are lifted out and hung on lines to dry ; after which they are immersed in a cistern filled with thin size, made by boiling clippings of skin in water, and having some alum dissolved in it, and are once more pressed and dried. What is called " hot-pressed " paper is pressed between smooth sheets of pasteboard, having a hot-iron plate placed between every three or four dozen sheets; this gives it a a smooth surface. The names, dates, and other marks seen on hand-made paper, bank-notes, &c., are formed by wires worked into the bottom of the mould, which, projecting, make the pulp thinner in those places. LOOKING GLASSES. 63 LOOKING GLASSES. The mirrors of ancient times were formed of polished metal, those of the Jewish women, as we learn from Scripture, were of brass. It is doubtful at what time, and by whom the covering of mirrors of glass with quicksilver and tin was first accomplished; like other inventions, probably, this was discovered by several artists, perhaps, at the same time, and independently of each other. The manner in which the manufacture is at present carried on is as follows : — A slab of stone of any requisite size is ground perfectly level and smooth; this slab is surrounded by a frame-work of wood, which rises several inches above -it; but the slab itself is so fixed that its surface is raised from the back of the frame, so as to leave a kind of groove, or gutter, all round, between the stone and the wood. The slab, with its frame-work, is mounted so as to form a table, but so adjusted by means of screws that it can at any time have its surface thrown into an oblique position. The table being thus prepared, its surface is covered with tin-foil, and mercury being poured over it, a hare's foot is used to spread it over the surface of the tin and cause it to amalgamate with the latter metal; more quicksilver^ is then poured on it, until the surface is covered to the depth of nearly a quarter of an inch. The plate, or plates of glass (for it is not necessary that the table should be occupied by one plate alone), are rendered perfectly clean, and a piece of smooth paper is laid over the edge of the frame nearest the workman, dipping into the mercury. The workman holds this paper in his right hand, and taking the clean glass in his left, lays it flat upon the paper and slides it gently into the mercury, causing the edge to dip just below its surface. When the whole of the plate has passed on to the mercury, it is gently floated to the farthest end of the frame; another plate is treated in the same way, until the table is wholly covered. Leaden weights covered with orreen baize, and each weighing seven 64 PROGRESSIVE READER. pounds, are then placed upon the glass nearly close to each other; these are allowed to remain on from twenty- four to thirty-six hours ; they are then removed, and the table being gently raised by means of the adjusting screws, the superfluous mercury flows along the gutter towards the lowest corner, at which place there is a hole, furnished with a plug, through which it is drawn off to be used on another occasion. The plates of glass are left for a few hours more to drain, and then, being lifted off the table, are placed on a shelf resting against the wall, to get rid of the fluid mercury that still remains; this shelf is also provided with an inclined gutter to carry off the liquid metal. The loose weights used in this mode of silvering are considered by some manufacturers to be dangerous, as they are likely, at times, to slip out of the workman's hand by accident; to obviate this danger an apparatus has been invented, in which a steady pressure, by means of screws, is substituted in the place of that produced by the weights. In silvering the commoner kinds of looking-glass the plate is lifted from the table the instant it has the tin- foil attached, and set on its end to drain, without sus- taining any previous pressure. Concave and convex glasses are silvered on models made to fit them exactly. In silvering globes of glass, a metallic amalgam is pre- pared and poured into the globe, which is moved about in all directions until the amalgam has attached itself to the surface of the glass : this succeeds best when the glass is made hot. KING HENRY Y. Henry the Fifth (who, at the beginning of his reign, made a public prayer in the presence of his Lords and Commons, that he might be cut off by an immediate death, if Providence foresaw he would not prove a just and good governor, and promote the welfare of his people), manifestly derived his courage from his piety, and was scrupulously careful not to ascribe the success KINO HENRY THE FIFTH. 65 of it to himself. When he came within sight of that prodigious army, -which offered him battle at Agin- court, he ordered all his cavalry to dismount, and, with the rest of his forces, to implore upon their knees a blessing on their undertaking. In a noble speech, which he made to his followers immediately before the first onset, he took notice of a very remarkable circum- stance, namely, that this very day of battle was the day appointed in his own kingdom to offer up public devotions for the prosperity of his arms, and therefore bid them not doubt of victory, since at the same time that they wer6 fighting in the field, all the people of England were lifting up their hands to heaven for their success. Upon the close of that memorable day, in which the king had performed wonders with his own hand, he ordered the 115th psalm to be repeated in the midst of his victorious army, and at the words, " Not unto us, not unto us, but unto Thy name be the praise," he himself, with his whole host, fell to the earth upon their fiices, ascribing to Omnipotence the whole glory of so great an action. KINO HENRY THE FIFTH. Chorus. The poor condemned English, Like sacrifices, by their watchful fires Sit patiently, and inly ruminate The morning's danger; and their gestures sad, Investing lank-lean cheeks, and war-worn coats, Presenteth them unto the gazing moon So many horrid ghosts. Oh, now, who will behold The royal captain of this ruin'd band Walking from watch to watch, from tent to tent. Let him cry — Praise and glory on his head ! For forth he goes and visits all his host; Bids them " Good-morrow" with a modest smile. And calls them — brothers, friends, and countiymen. Upon his royal face there is no note S. YI. E 66 PROGRESSIVE READER. How dread an army liatli enrounded liim; Nor doth he dedicate one jot of colour Unto the weary and all watched night; But freshly looks, and overbears attaint, With cheerful semblance and sweet majesty; That every Avretch, pining and pale before, Beholding him, plucks comfort from his looks; Then, mean and gentle all, Behold, as may unworthiness define A little touch of Harry in the night : And so our scene must to the battle fly; The field of Agincourt. K. Henry. Upon the king ! let us our lives, our souls, Our sins, lay on the king ! — we must bear all. Oh hard condition, twin-born with greatness, Subjected to the breath of every fool. "What infinite hearts' ease must kings neglect That private men enjoy! And what have kings, that privates have not too Save ceremony, save general ceremony'? And what art thou, thou idle ceremony? Art thou aught else but place, degree, and form Creating awe and fear in other men? Wherein thou art less happy being fear'd Than they in fearing. What drink'st thou oft, instead of homage sweet, But poison'd flattery? Oh, be sick, great greatness, And bid thy ceremony give thee cure ! - 1 Canst thou, when thou command'st the beggar's knee. Command the health of it? No, thou proud dream, That play'st so subtly with a king's repose : I am a king that find thee; and I know, 'Tis not the balm, the sceptre, and the ball, The sword, the mace, the crown imperial, The throne he sits on, nor the tide of pomp That beats upon the high shore of this world. No, not all these, thrice-gorgeous ceremony. Not all these, laid in bed majestical, Can sleep so soundly as the wretched slave, Who, with a body fill'd and vacant jninclj GOLD-LEAF BEATING. 67 Gets him to rest cramm'd with distressful bread; And but for ceremony, such a wretch, Winding up days with toil and nights with sleep, Had the fore-hand and vantage of a king. Enter Erpingham. Erp. My lord, your nobles, jealous of your absence, Seek through your camp to tind you. K. Henry. Good old knight, Collect them all together at my tent : I '11 be before thee. [Gives hack the cloak to Erpingham. Erp. I shall do it, my lord. [Exit. K. Henry {kneeling). O God of battles! steel my soldier's hearts ; Possess them not with fear; take from them now The sense of reckoning, lest the opposed numbers Pluck their hearts from them ! — Not to-day, O Lord, Oh, not to-day, think not upon the fault My father made in compassing the crown ! I Kichard's body have interred anew. And on it have bestowed more contrite tears, Than from it issued forced drops of blood : Pive hundred poor I have in yearly pay, Who twice a day their withered hands hold up Toward heaven, to pardon blood : More will I do. — [Trmn'pet sounds without. Henry {starting to his feet). The day, my friends, and all things stay for me. [Exit. — Shakespeare. GOLD-LEAF BEATING. The extraordinary malleable nature of gold, which appears to have been known from the remotest anti- quity, together with its power of resisting the action of the atmosphere and of acids, have brought this valuable metal into more common use than its extreme rarity es PROGRESSIVE READER. would otherwise permit. To render it available for the j)urpose of covering various substances, it is beaten into very thin leaves. The art of the goldbeater requires very great practice, and considerable manual dexterity, and in all its operations the greatest care is necessary to ensure the uniform thickness of the leaf when it is finished. The gold, which must be perfectly pure, is first cast into small bars, each weighing two ounces, of about three-quarters of an inch in width. The first operation is to extend the bars of gold in length, and to reduce them in thickness. The process of rolling hardens the gold, and to restore its malleability, it is frequently heated to redness. The operation of rolling is con- tinued until the riband of gold is so much reduced in thickness, that a square inch will weigh about six grains and a-half The first act of the goldbeater is to cut these ribands into pieces about an inch square. About 150 of these square pieces of gold are placed between as many of vellum about four inches square; the gold is placed as nearly as possible in the centre of each leaf, and about twenty extra pieces of vellum are placed at the top and bottom of the pile. The whole packet of leaves and gold are then strapped together to keep each in its place in the manner shewn in the engraving. Fig. 1 is a band of strong parchment, into which, as shewn in fig. 2, the packet of leaves is forced; Fig. 1. Fig. 2. this band or belt thus confines them in one direction; the packet thus partially confined is then forced into another strap of the same description, wliich crosses the first at right angles, and completes the confinement of the leaves. GOLD-LEAF BEATING. 09 The reduction of tlio ft'okl squares in thickness is then effected by means of a liamnier with rather a rounded fac^ about four inches in diameter, weigliing from fifteen to sixteen pounds, and fixed to a short handle. The beating is performed on a block of black marble, or other hard stone about nine inches square and of con- siderable weight, the heavier the better; this marble block is embedded in a framework of wood about two feet square, its upper surface level with the top of the stone. Round three sides of this wooden frame a narrow ledge is raised, while the fourth side, opposite which the workman sits, is furnished with a leather apron, which the goldbeater places round him when at work, for the purpose of receiving any pieces of gold that may escape from the packet. The Avorkman strikes fairly upon the middle of the packet, which he frequently turns over to beat the opposite side, but this he does in the interval between two strokes, Avithout losing his blow. He keeps up a constant beating, and Avhen fatigued with one hand, he dexterously changes the hammer to the other whilst it is elevated in the air, and without any loss of time or force. The packet is every now and then bent, and rolled between the hands of the workman, to give more freedom to the gold as it extends; and it is several times during the operation opened to see how the work proceeds, and to shift the leaves which were in the centre to the outside of the packet. The beating is continued until the gold squares are nearly the size of the skins of vellum between which they are placed. They are then taken out, and each square is cut into four pieces by drawing a knife across it in two direc- tions. These scpiares are again made up into packets, but instead of being placed between vellum, as in the first instance, a substance- called goldbeater's skin is employed, which is prepared from the intestines of an ox, made into pieces aljout four inches square. A smaller hammer is now used, and the beating is con- tinued, the packet being more frequently rolled in the workman's hands, on account of the thin state to which 70 PROGRESSIVE READER. the gold is now reduced. "When the gold leaves by this second beating have reached the size of the goldbeater's skin, they are again cut into four, and a,gain subjected to the power of the hammer: by this means they are extended to 192 times their original surface, each ounce of gold thus covering the sj)ace of 100 square feet : but this is not by any means so thin as they may be made, for it is A^ery practicable to extend an ounce to 160 square feet. The gold leaves are now cut exactly square by means of a small tool formed of two narrow strips of ivory fixed in a frame at a distance from each other equal to the width of the leaf, being lifted from the cushion on which they are cut by means I ^^ _^ . — ^ of a pair of tweezers, fig. 3. ^_ ^ They are then made up ■^^g- ^- into books, each containing twenty-four leaves of gold ; the books of thin paper are rubbed over with red chalk, to prevent the gold Sidh.eYm^.—jScitu7'da2/ Magazine. SCENE FROM " THE LADY OF LYONS." Melnotte. Pauline. 3fel. Pauline, by pride Angels have fallen ere thy time : by pride — That sole alloy of thy most lovely mould — The evil spirit of a bitter love, And a revengeful heart, had power upon thee. From my first years my soul was filled with thee: I saw thee midst the flow'rs the lowly boy Tended, unmarked by thee — a spirit of bloom. And joy, and freshness, as if spring itself Were made a living thing, and wore thy si i ape! I saw tliee, and the passionate heart of man Entered the breast of the v/ild, dreaming boy, And from that hour I grew — what to the last SCENE FROM "THE LADY OF LYONS." 71 ]' shall be — thine adorer! Well, this love, Vain, frantic, guilty, if thou Avilt, became A fountain of ambition and bright hope ; I thought of tales, that by the winter hearth Old gossips tell — how maidens sprung from kings Have stooped from their high sphere; how Love, like Death, Levels all ranks, and lays the shepherd's crook Beside the sceptre. Thus I made my home In the soft palace of a fairy Future ! My father died; and I, the peasant-born, Was my own lord. Then did I seek to rise Out of the prison of my mean estate ; And, with such jewels as the exploring Mind Brings from the caves of Knowledge, buy my ransom Fi'om those twin gaolers of the daring heart — Low Birth and iron Fortune. Thy bright image, Glassed in my soul, took all the hues of glory. And lured me on to those inspiring toils By which man masters men ! For thee I grew A midnight student o'er the dreams of sages ! For thee I sought to borrow from each Grace, And every Muse, such attributes as lend Ideal charms to Love. I thought of thee, And Passion taught me poesy — of thee, And on the painter's canvas grew the life Of beauty ! Art become the shadow Of the dear starlight of thy haunting eyes ! Men called me vain — some mad — I heeded not; But still toil'd on — hoped on — for it was sweet, If not to win, to feel more worthy thee ! Pau. Has he a magic t© exorcise hate? Mel. At last, in one mad hour, I dared to pour The thoughts that burst their channels into song, And sent them to thee — such a tribute, lady, As beauty rarely scorns, even from the meanest. The name — appended by the burning heart That long'd to shew its idol what bright things It had created — yea, the enthusiast's name, That should have been thy triumph, was thy scorn 1 t2 MOGRI^SSIVE RBADEM. That very hour — when passion, turned to wrath, Kesembled hatred most — when thy disdain Made my whole soul a chaos— in that hour The Tempters found me a revengeful tool For their revenge ! Thou hadst trampled on the worm- It turn'd and stung thee ! Lord Lytton. ON INK. When a material, such as paper or parchment, had been discovered, which by moderate care might be preserved through a course of ages, it evidenly became an impor- tant object to employ an equally permanent and durable substance, wherewith to describe those characters which should reveal to future generations the thoughts and proceedings of the men of other days. It were evidently of little use to have attained the one without securing the other also. If the paper be permanent, so also must be the ink ; which latter condition, as far as manuscripts are concerned, has ever been of difficult attainment j nor are we sure that our best writing inks of the present day, are calculated to resist successfully the action of time. The ink of the ancients seems to have been of a viscid, or oily nature. Unlike the modern writing ink, it consisted of nothing more than colouring matter and gum. The chief ingredient was a species of soot, or ivory-black, mixed with one-fourth of gum. This mix- ture was formed into cakes or rolls, with the addition of a little water, and dried in the sun. A similar mode is practised at the present day by the Chinese, in their celebrated Indian ink, which consists of nothing more than minutely divided carbon mixed with gum-water, and cast in a mould. This was the ink of the age of Pliny, and continued in use until the 7th century. It was, probably, prepared for writing in a manner similar to the preparation of our water-colours for painting; ON INK. 73 but it was made more sticky, for the letters in ancient manuscriiDts frequently appear in relief Dr. Bancroft thus speaks of the writing-ink of Pliny, who lived in the 1st century of the Christian era. Any person who Avill take the trouble of mixing pure lamp-black with water, thickened a little by gum, may obtain an ink of no despicable quality in other respects, and with the advantage of being much less liable to decay by age than the ink now in common use. We must remark, however, that every black pigment mixed with gum or size, can be readily washed off the paper with water; and Pliny seems to have been aware of the fact, that unless inks sink into the surface of the papyrus, parchment, &c., they can be removed by washing. To obviate this defect, it was common in his age to use vinegar instead of water, for tempering the mixture of lamp-black and gum. An unstable sort of ink was used by Moses among the Jews in certain ceremonials described in the law; and, in fact, eastej-n inks, at the present day, may be easily obliterated with a wet sponge. Mention is also made of Golden Ink in use among various nations, and amongst others by the Anglo-Saxons. Silver ink was also not uncommon. Red ink was made of vermilion cinnabar. Purple ink is very often found in manuscripts, but none were written entirely with ink of that coiour. Capital letters were often written with an ink composed of vermilion and gum. Green ink was rarely used in charters, but often in Latin manuscripts, especially those of the later ages. The guardians of the Greek emj)erors employed green ink for writing the signatures of the i)rinces until the latter came of age. Blue and yellow inks are sometimes found. Yellow ink has probably not been in vise these 600 years. In some manuscripts metallic and other characters are varnished. Wax was used as a varnish by the Latins and Greeks, but more by the latter. This covering, or varnish, is common in writings of the ninth century. The word Sepia (or the cuttle-fish), is used by some Latin authors for ink. because this fish, when afraid of 74 PROGRESSIVE READER. being caught, discliarges a black matter, in order to conceal itself, which the Komans sometimes used for ink. Of the various specimens of black ink, with which we meet in ancient writings, that used by the Anglo- Saxons, in the 8th and two following centuries, pre- serves its original blackness much better than that of succeeding ages, (not even excepting the 16th and 17th centuries,)in which it was frequently very bad. Pale and decayed ink rarely occurs at any time previous to the last four centuries. Du Cange says, that the emperors of the east wrote Avith red ink, preserved in a golden ink-horn, set with gems. He also mentions a black or dark- coloured ink, made of silver and lead, by which the cavities in sculpture were marked. We now come to S2:»eak of modern ink, which may be considered under the following heads: — 1st, Indian Ink; 2)id, Printers' Ink; 3rd, Writing Inks; Ath, Sympathetic Inks, including Marking Ink. In the first three varieties, only black, red, and blue are known of in common use, but some printers employ ink of various colours. Is^. — Indian Ink, or more properly China Ink, is used in China for writing with a brush, and for painting upon the soft flexible paper of Chinese manu- facture. The manufacture of China ink was long kept secret, but there now is no doubt of its composition. Lamp-black and size, or animal glue, or gum, are the necessary ingredients, although perfumes and other substances, not essential^to its quality as an ink, are some- times added. The fine soot from the flame of a lamp or candle, collected upon a cold plate held over the flame, and mixed with pure size made from clean parchment, will afford an ink equal to any that is imported. 2nd. — The making of printers' ink is a distinct branch of trade in itself The printers' ink-maker is not a printer, nor does he make any one of the varieties of writing ink. Printers' ink may be called a black paint. It is smooth and uniform in its composition, of a firm black ON INK. 75 colour, and is remarkable for the singular facility with which it adheres to paper, that is thoroughly moistened. Hence it is that the printer always wets the sheets before printing ; and the reader will have no difficulty in calling to mind instances of Avet newspapers, damp books, pamphlets, itc, dampness being alwiiys associated with the freshest wares of the publisher. Printers* ink consists chiefly of varnish, made from linseed or resin oil (boiled together Avith black resin) and lamp-black. Prussian blue is generally added to improve the colour ; sometimes, for the same purpose, a littltt red lead, or Chinese red is put into it. It is prepared in the following manner. A given quantity of varnish is poured into a round iron pot, in the centre of which is an upright shaft, fitted Avith long blades, wliicli is made to revolve by steam power, so that the blades, which stick out of it to some distance, cut and mix up the contents of the pot. After a short time, when the knives have sufficiently cut the varnish, lamp-black and other materials (as Prussian ])lue, &c.) are added to it, and the mixing is continued, till the Avhole has been reduced to a paste. It is then taken from the mixing pot, and well ground between iron rollers, after which process it is ready for the printer. The ink used for newspapers is much thiimer and cheaper than that which is employed in printing the best books : for stiff ink could not be distributed over large forms of type at the speed required by modern newspaper presses. Coloured ^^rinting inks are made by mixing fine linseed oil varnish with different pigments, according to the colour wanted. 3rt/. — Writing Ink. — All the black inks commonly used are formed by mixing sulphate of iron, more gen- erally known as green vitriol, with some vegetable matter, such as nut-galls, or logwood, which is a cheaper material, and adding boiling water. It may be easily made by putting one pound of bruised galls and half a pound of green vitriol into a stone bottle or jar holding a gallon, and then filling it up with rain-water, occasion- 76 PROGRESSIVE READER. ally stirring the mixture, till the colouring matter has been well extracted from the galls. By the addition of half a pound of gum a very good copying-ink may be obtained, by wliicli the writing can be transferred by pressing upon it a thin piece of wet tissue paper. Blue ink may be obtained by dissolving Prussian blue in oxalic acid. Red ink is easily made by taking a few chips of Brazil wood, boiling them in vinegar, and mixing with the solution a little alum and gum. 4:th. — Marking hik, so useful for writing one's name on linen, so that it will neither wash out nor become blotted, when put into water, is made by dissolving nitrate of silver (with which you will often see the fingers of a photographer stained black) in water, and then adding to it some solution of ammonia, a little gum, and Indian ink. This is called sympathetic ink, because when first used it is scarcely visible, but the action of heat brings out its blackness. So, too, there are some acids, which are used for writing upon paper, the writing of which is not capable of being read until held before a fire. These sympathetic inks are now sometimes used for postal cards, so that the communication may not be read, until the receiver has applied heat to the writing; but their use is too troublesome to become general. For removing black ink-stains from mahogany furni- ture, the quickest remedy is red ink, laid on the spots with a pen or feather for a few minutes, and then rubbed off with a wet cloth, when the stain will disappear ; but, if allowed to remain too long, a red mark will have taken the place of the black one. A few drops of nitric or nniriatic acid, rubbed upon a slate, w^ill clean it both of ink-marks and of grease, but care must be taken not to burn the fingers with it; and the slate must be well washed, as these acids are poisonous. Strong muriatic acid, or spirits of salts, applied to the ink spilt upon the boarded floor of a school-room will remove the unsightly mark, if well washed afterwards Avitli water. — Rev. J . liidgway^ CLEANLINESS OF PLANTS AND ANIMALS. 77 CLEANLINESS OF PLANTS AND ANIMALS. Neatness or cleanliness of creation is one of the most striking provisions in nature, as it is also one which seems to have been nearly overlooked by naturalists, or viewed as if it were confined to a few animals. It will be seen, on the contrary, that it is one of the Creator's leading designs, and that careful provisions have been made for it, both in the animal and vegetable department of life. The contrivance for this purpose in plants consists in the nature of surfaces, most remarkable in tlie leaves, where this object is sometimes attained by a high polish and great density, at others by a waxy secretion, at others again, by a minute texture of the surface resem- bling that of hairs and feathers, or by means of actual down or hairs; as in the flowers the globular velvety surface, which enhances the colours by dispersive reflec- tion, serves for this end also. These prevent the lodge- ment of water, which is itself injurious, and, with that, of all liquid matters which might soil them; while the dust which might have adhered in a dry state, is easily dislodged by the first shower. How effectual the pro- visions are is evident; since a dirty plant (to use an expressive term) is scarcely ever seen, peculiarly exposed as they are to the adhesion of soil ; and thus does the vegetable world present that universal look of cleanliness and neatness, which is as striking as if there were a hand perpetually employed in no other oflice; preserving an order, that we cannot maintain in our possession without constant labour. The same cleanliness, with the same decided intention to produce it, pervades the animal creation, and under many more forms than it is convenient or proper to notice. To man, it has been permitted to do what he pleases; and he is not slow in disobeying the universal command, which the other animals have received through instincts for this purpose, and through provi* 78 PROGRESSIVE READER. sions for rendering neatness attainable by them: as thus also has he contrived to make some of his followers what he too often is himself. And if we forget to note this also, we should certainly have found it a very difficult problem to devise the means of keeping all this multitudinous world of animals in that state of neatness, in which we find some difficulty to preserve ourselves, peculiarly exposed as they are to soil. Yet a dirty animal, like a dirty plant, is scarcely to be found : the very mole and the earthworm, inhabiting the soil itself, are without a stain; the snail is clean notwith- standing its adhesive surface; the purity of the swan in the midst of the mud is almost proverbial. In the birds, indeed, we see a necessity for neatness, while we find the instincts as strong as the provisions are perfect. But in the terrestrial animals, there is no utility, nor does any inconvenience arise from the reverse; whence we must conclude, that the Creator's intention was simply neatness, order, cleanliness; a virtue to which we are willing to give a place, in words at least, among the minor ones, as we term them. In these, and in the birds, the essential provision is similar to that in plants, consisting in the structure and superficial texture of hair and feathers. Popular preju- dices term these animal substances less cleanly than vegetable ones; the facts are tlie direct reverse, as common experience in our own clothing should shew. They do not absorb water, and, like plants, they repel the adhesion of what is dry. Thus do the quadrupeds keep themselves clean with very little effort, as the birds do, under that pruning (or picking out superfluous and decayed feathers) in which they have been commanded to delight. In insects the provisions are much more striking. The most naked larvse are always clean, like the earthworms, inhabit where they may. In others, a peculiar texture of the surface, like that of hair, produces the same effects, and thus we find down, or hair, (as in the bee, the butterfly, and the caterpillars,) preventing all adlie- gion of the several substances to which they are exposed; MORNING SONG. 79 but, as if to satisfy us of the Creator's decided intention on this subject, we find some of these animals provided with the very utensils of cleanliness which we construct for ourselves, furnished with brushes, together with that attached instinct of neatness wliich we daily see in use in the house-fly; while it would be easy to add much more to the same purpose from the records of natural history. There is yet more provided for the same end, if in a very different manner, though in these cases, seeing that provision is made for the salubrity of the atmosphere and the waters, and for the feeding of animals, we easily overlook the second, if not secondary purpose. Dead fishes are rendered luminous, that they may be discovered and consumed before they become offensive. On the land, the consumption of carcasses is provided for by the instincts given to several beasts and birds of prey, and, beyond all, by the appointment of the different larvae, which are destined to this food; while, to make that expedient availing, such is the produce, and such the rapidity of growth, as to have made naturalists remark, that the progeny of three or four flics is suffi- cient to consume a horse. And assuredly, for the same end, has there been implanted in almost every animal that instinct, through which they seek concealment when about to die; while how effectual this is we know, since with, I believe, the sole exception of the straw mouse, often choosing a gravel-Av^alk for the purpose, we scarcely ever meet the dead body of a ^vild animal. — - Saturday Magazine. MOENING SONG. Hail ! morning sun, thus early bright. Welcome sweet dawn ! thou younger day ! Through the dark woods that fringe the height, 3eams forth, e'en now, thy ray. 80 PEOGEESSIVE READER. Bright on the dew, it sparkles clear, Bright on the water's glittering fall, And life, and joy, and health appear, Sweet morning ! at thy call. Now thy fresh breezes lightly spring From beds of fragrance, where they lay. And roving wild on dewy wing, Drive slumber far away. Fantastic dreams, in swift retreat, Now from each mind withdraw their spell, While the young loves delighted meet, On Rosa's cheek to dwell. Speed, zephyr ! kiss each opening flower, Its fragrant spirit make thine own ; Then wing thy way to Rosa's bower. Ere her light sleep is flown. There, o'er her downy pillow fly. Wake the sweet maid to life and day; Breathe on her balmy lip a sigh, And o'er her bosom playj And whisper, when her eyes unveil. That I, since morning's earliest call. Have sigh'd her name to every gale, By the lone waterfall. Mrs. Hemans. SILVER. Masses of native silver have no determinate form, being found sometimes in small branches, occasionally in hair-like threads, and very frequently in leaves ; in which form it is usually met with in the mines of Siberia, where it is said never to have been discovered SILVER. 81 in a state of crystallization. In the Peruvian mines, it is found in a form somewliat resembling fern-leaves; this figure is caused by a number of eight-sided crystals, so placed over each other as to give it a vegetable aj^pearance. It sometimes assumes the form of roimd, rather crooked threads, varying from the' thickness of a finger to that of a hair. It is rarely found in a state of purity, being frequently mixed with gold, mercury, copper, tin, iron, and lead. Silver is sometimes found in combination with sul- phur, arsenic, and other substances : when mineralized by sulphur alone, it forms the vitreous silver ore, which assumes a great variety of colours; when united to sulphur and arsenic, the mass becomes the ruby-like ore, varying in colour from deep red to dark gray in proportion to the prevalence of either of these substances. Silver is found both in the primitive and secondary earths, and is frequently imbedded in quartz, jasper, hornstone, and chalk. It is chiefly met with in Sweden, Norway, and the polar latitudes; when it occurs in hot climates, it is genei'ally amidst mountains covered with perpetual snows. The richest and most important silver mines in Europe are those of Konigsberg in Norway; they are situated in a mountainous district, and divided into superior and inferior, according to their relative position; the beds in which the silver is found run from north to south. These mines are of considerable depth, and enormous masses of native silver are said to have been found in them. The French mines are not so remarkable for tlie richness of their silver- ore as for the other minerals they contain. That of Allemont, ten leagues from Grenoble, is one of the principal; it is situated at the height of nearly 3,000 feet above the level of the sea ; the veins near the surface were the richest in silver. This mine is now abandoned. The most celebrated of the Spanish silver mines ig that of Guadalcanal, in Andalusia, situated in the SieiTa- s. Yi. F 82 PROGRESSIVE READER. Morena, a few miles to the nortli-east of tlie quick-silver mine of Almaden; it was well-knowai to the Komans, and foi'merly very productive. This mine furnishes the Vuby-ore. Silver, however, is most abundant in the centre of the Andes; for here we find the celebrated mountain of Potosi; it is of immense height, and said to be pene- trated with veins in every direction. When first dis- covered in 1545, the veins were nearly all of pure silver, latterly, however, little more than five drams were obtained from one hundredweight of ore. In the space of ninety-three years from its discovery, the number of ounces of silver extracted from this moun- tain is calculated to have been no less than four hun- dred millions. Among the American mines those of Mexico must not be forgotten; that of Yalenciana, in the district of Guanaxuato, is one of the richest; the vein traverses a slaty mountain, and abounds with silver, both native and mineralized. The mine is of great depth, and is supposed to contain a greater quantity of silver than all the other mines of that country. Silver possesses all the properties of other perfect metals; it is fixed and unalterable in the fire of any ordinary furnace, but may be volatilized, being some- times found in the soot of chimneys where large quantities are melted. When exposed to the focus of a large burning-glass, it evaporates in a fume, which rises to the height of five or six inches, and will com- pletely silver a plate of metal. With the exception of gold, silver is the most ductile of all metals; a single grain may be extended into a plate of one hundred and twenty-six inches long, and half an inch broad ; if reduced into leaves under the gold beater's hammer, it is capable of still further ex- tension ; its tenacity, however, bears no proportion to its ductility, being less than even that of iron or copper. A silver wire, one tenth of an inch thick, Avill scarcely bear a weight of two hundred and seventy pounds, while a gold ^vife of the same thickness will support nearly double that weight. — tSaturday Magazine. HAND- WEAVING. 83 HAND-WEAVING. There is, perhaps, no art more generally practised, nor any which has conduced more to the comfort of man- kind, than tliat of weaving, and its antiquity is so great, that to endeaA^our to trace out the original inventor, would be a hopeless task. The principle of weaving is the same in every kind of fabric, and consists in forming any description of fibres into a flat web, or cloth, by interlacing one with another; the various appearances of the manufacture arise as much from the different modes in which these fibres are interwoven, as from the difterence of material. The simplest weaving loom, although far from being in reality a complicated machine, is yet necessarily formed of so many pieces, that any view that can be given of it would be insufficient to render the process intelligible. The material which forms the length of the cloth is called the warp, and the various threads of which it is composed are wound singly round small wooden reels called bobbins. A certain number of these is taken by the warper, wdio prepares the threads for the w^eaver, and who arranges the bobbins. The number of bobbins taken up at one time in silk-weaving is fifty, twenty- five of which are placed on the lower beam, and as many on the upper; the thread fi-om the bottom row passes over the lower bar, and that from the upper over the upper bar ; these threads are then tied together, passed between two pulleys to the w^arping mill, on which the warp has now to be w*ound, and there placed on a pin. The w^arper now passes her fingers between the threads of the warp, taking, alternately a thread from the upper and lower row of bobbins, and slides her hand along, \nitil she reaches the pin over which the ends of the warp, which are tied together, are passed. They are then wound on a roller, side by side, and to the ^' loom" or machine for weaving, through which 84 PROGRESSIVE READER. they rvm, also side by side. Near the end they are attached to " healds," or threads stretched in an upright frame, with loops in their centres. In plain weaving, a pair of these frames is used, one half the threads of the warp passing through the one frame, and the other hall through the other, alternately, thus — first a thread is passed through the loop of one heald, and then the next goes through a loop of the other heald, and so on. These healds are so fixed that they can be raised alter- nately — one raising every alternate thread. The warp upon the cylinder having been equally spread over its surface, and two long 'sticks introduced between its alternate threads, to supply the place of the two pins on the warping-mill, it is now prepared for the weaver, by straining it tight, by means of weights pi'operly applied at one end. Machinery which is connected with treadles, which the weaver presses with his foot alter- nately, raises first one half of the threads of the warp and then the other, each time so far separating them as to allow the shuttle to pass, and carry with it the cross threads of the cloth, called tlie looof. The thread of the woof, which crosses the cloth, is wound round the pointed bobbin in the inside of the shuttle, and as this is thrown with a sudden jerk, between the separated threads of the warp, of course it unwinds, and the shuttle passes on to the other side of the cloth; the threads of the warp are again shifted by the treadles, and the shuttle is returned, forming the second thread of the woof, and this raising and depressing the alternate threads of the warp, and passing and repassing of the shuttle, is continued, until the piece of cloth is finished; this is called plain weaving, and the threads of the warp and woof would appear, if magnified, quite intri- cate. In some kinds of work, instead of the woof passing between every other thread of the warp, it will pass under one and over three; it is in this case called twill, and this kind of fabric is considered stronger than plain weaving, from the threads of the woof lying closer together. There is another kind of tiOQel^ in which the HAND-WEAVING. 85 thread of tlio woof is of a clifFerent colour to tliat of the warp, this produces a pattern. In some instances the threads are made to cross each other in a peculiar manner, producing different kinds of fabrics, as mail-net and gauze; here, at each place Avhere the threads cross, they are curiously twisted or tied. In this the machinery of the loom is much more complicated, and the treadles that separate the warp more numerous. In the weaving of carpets the warp is double, and the thread of the woof passes from the upper to the lower portion at various points, according to the pattern; in the smaller patterns, these points are more numerous than in the larger, and consequently, a carpet of a smal^ pattern is (the quality of thread being equal) consider- ably stronger and more durable, than one in which the design is of a larger character. The weaving of damask patterns is extremely (implicated, and the preparing the warp to receive the woof, and calculating the order in which the woof is to be thrown, will employ a man for six weeks or two months. In the weaving of cotton goods, a preparation of flour and water is used, for the purpose of giving consistency to the thread of the warp; this preparation is applied by means of a large brush, as it is necessary that the warp should be kept constantly moist and pliable, and in extremely hot weather, there is much difficulty in producing this effect. The silk weavers, in S})italfields, had a curious method of keeping the warp in this state; instead of flour and water, a kind of size was prepared by boiling cuttings of kid-leather in water; this is called sprew: the workman takes a quantity of this liquid into his mouth, and blows it through his lips in such a manner, as to make it fall upon the warp in the form of a fine rain. There is no doubt, that the complicated machinery employed in the English looms, can produce the finest and most beautiful fabrics in the world; but while we look with amazement at the result of the labours of oui- countrymen, we cannot withhold our astonishment at the elegance and regular texture of the goods produced 86 PROGRESSIVE READER. by the patient Plindoo, wliose loom consists of little else than a few sticks of bamboo, rudely fastened together, and fixed to the branches of some leafless tree. — Saturday Magazine. KING HENRY THE EIGHTH. Katli. If my sight fail not, You should be lord ambassador from the emperor, My royal nephew, and your name Capucius. Cap. Madam, the same, your servant. Kath. O my lord. The times and titles now are altered strangely "With me, since first you knew me. But I pi'ay you, What is your pleasure with me? Cap. Noble lady First, mine own service to your grace; the next The king's request that I would visit you; Who grieves much for your weakness, and by me Bends you his princely commendations, And heartily entreats you take good comfort. Kath. O my good lord, that comfort comes too late; 'Tis like a pardon after execution : That gentle physic, given in time, had cur'd me; But now I am past all comforts here, but prayers. How does his highness? Cap. Madam, in good health. Kath. So may he ever do ! and ever flourish When I shall dwell with worms, and my poor name Banish'd the kingdom ! Patience, is that letter, I caus'd you write, yet sent away? Patience. No, Madam. {Giving it to Katheriiie.) Kath. Sir, I most humbly pray you to deliver This to my lord, the king. Cap. Most willing, Madam. Kath. In which I have commended to his goodness, The model of our chaste loves, his young daughter, — "m^ HISTORY OF THE MANUFACTURE OF GLASS. Sf ^he clews of lieaven fall thick in blessings on lier I — Beseeching him to give lier virtuous breeding; To love her for her mother's sake, that loved him, Heaven knows how dearly. My next poor petition Is, that his noble grace would have some pity Upon my Avretched women, that so long Have followed both my fortunes faithfully; The last is, for my men ; — they are the poorest, But poverty could never draw them from me ; — And, gOod my lord By that you love the dearest in this world, As you wish Christian peace to souls departed, Stand these poor people's friend, and urge the king To do me this last right. Ccqy. By heaven T will; Or let me lose the flishion of a man ! Kath. I thank you, honest lord. Bemember me In all humility unto his highness ; Say, his long trouble now is passing Out of this Avorld ; tell him, in death I bless'd him, For so I will. — Mine eyes grow dim, — Farewell, My lord, — GriUitli, farewell. Nay, Patience, You must not leave me yet, I must to bed ; Call in more women, — When I am dead, good wench, Let me be us'd with honour; strew me over "With maiden flowers, that all the world may know I was a chaste wife to my grave; embalm me, Then lay me forth; although unqueen'd, yet like A queen, and daughter to a king, inter me. I can no more. — SJiakespeare. THE HISTOKY OF THE MANUFACTURE OF GLASS. Part I. The invention, or rather the discovery of glass, is said to have been accidental. The account given of the 88 PROGRESSIVE READER. occurrence is, that a merchant vessel, laden with saltpetre, having been driven on shore on the coast of Pales- tine, the crew placed the kettles, in which they had cooked their victuals, on some lumps of their cargo, which, being melted by the action of the fire, combined with the sand on the beach, and formed a kind of glass. The art of rendering glass transparent was not dis- covered till several centuries later. To whom we are indebted for this valuable discovery is uncertain; but we find it is recorded in history, that Nero, the despotic Koman Emperor, paid a sum of money, nearly equal to £50,000 sterling, for ''two small cups of transparent glass.'' Amongst the ancient ruined cities of Egypt, articles made from glass have been found ; thus the eras which beheld the erection of the pyramids, may also have witnessed the less astonishing but more useful operations of glass-making. The manufacturers of ancient Tyre were not ignorant of this beautiful substance, which they probably distributed to distant regions of the world, bv their widely-extended commerce. Even amongst the ancient Chinese we find traces of this art, and a dnninutive vase, of a bluish-white colour, made from this ancient Chinese glass, may be seen in the British Museum. It is well known that the Eomans possessed glass vessels, as urns of this substance have been found in Herculaneum, and some of these are deposited amongst the antiquities of the Museum. The beautiful Portland Vase is formed of dark blue glass, and is supposed to have been the work of an ancient Greek artist, who must have been versed in the manufacture of the substance from which the vase is formed. At the beginning of the Christian era, the art of glass- making appears to have made considerable progress, and, at the end of the 3rd century, we find a notice oi its being used, in some cases, for the purpose of glazing windows. The invention advanced rapidly in Italy, and afterwards in France; but the first account we have of the use of window glass in England is in the year 674, when the Abbot Benedict Biscop sent over for THE HISTORY OF THE MANUFACTURE OF GLASS. 89 foreign artists to glaze the windows of the church and monastery of Wearmouth, in Durham; yet, although thus early known, it was not employed for this pur- pose in private houses, or even in churches and cathedrals, in this country, till the end of the 10th century. Venice ranked this manufacture amongst the sources of her wealth, and guarded the secrets of the process Avith as much jealousy as she watched the actions of her dukes. Some remains of this art are still preserved in Murano, a town about a mile north of Venice. In England some large manufactories were fixed in Londoii, (at Crutched Friars and the Strand,) about the middle of the IGth century. How little the art had been previ- ously practised in this country, may be understood from the high value and rarity of glass windows in Englisli houses. Few circumstances illustrate this more strongly than the custom of removing such windows from the casements, and packing the frames in boxes, Avhenever the family removed from one habitation to another, as from a country to a town residence. But, if glass was rare and costly in the time of Elizabeth, the tastes of the people were not such as to encourage a great increase of the production from the few manufacturers. This slow advance of the art did not solely arise from the absence of patronage on the part of the government, for James T. gave a patent for the manufacture to Sir Robert Mansell; and the Duke of Buckingham, introducing skilful workmen from Venice in 1670, established a manufactory at Lambeth, where may still be seen the furnaces of the glass- houses in operation. The existing manufactories are not the direct successors of those supported by the duke, who was too deeply involved in political intrigue at that time, to give much attention to the useful arts: his works at Lambeth were, therefore, neglected, and, after a short period, wholly abandoned. Formerly every description of flat glass had been blown, in the manner Ave shall presently explain; but in 1688, a very great improvement was made by one 90 PROGRESSIVE READER. Abral-iam Tlieveuart, who resorted to the plan of casting phites of glass for looking-glasses and other purposes. A large manuftictory was established at St. Gobin, in the department of the Aisne, in France, which is still deemed one of the most considerable in Europe. The manufacture continued to advance, though slowly, and glass became a taxable article in the time of William III,; whilst, in the Reign of George II., the raw materials were made subject to a higher excise duty. The first large manufactory was established at Kavenhead, near St. Helen's, in Lancashire, where the '' Governor and Company of the British Cast Plate- glass Manufacturers," gave a decided impulse to the production of the material in Britain. This society obtained a royal charter, and the sanction of Parlia- ment for its operations in 1773. The works covered about twenty acres of ground, and nearly 300 persons were constantly employed there on this manufacture. Thus, at the very period when Hargreaves and Ark- Wright were developing the capabilities of cotton machines in one part of Lancashire, the capital of this company was, in another part of the same county, giving the necessary stimulus to the production of glass. Part II. Glass in general consists of two bodies united by the agency of a third; these two being sand, and some alkaline substance ; and the uniting matter, or the Jiux, is usually lime. Suppose a quantity of flinty sand is mingled with soda or potash; these will not be fused without the aid of a flux, which effects that singular union between the two substances, from which another, so totally distinct from each, arises. Glass, then, consists essentially of silex (the substance of which flint is formed), and some of the various kinds of alkali, as 'pearlpropriately be called an oven^ since a low red heat is the highest degree to which it is ever heated. The purpose for which the glass is placed in this furnace, is to allow it to cool gradually down to the temperature of the air, by first placing it in the hottest part of the oven, and afterwards gradually removing it to the mouth. For some of the larger pieces of plate-glass, this operation will occupy the space of two or three weeks If glass is not properly annealed, the most trifling scnitcl.' or blow from a sharp body, or any sudden change from heat to cold, will cause it to break. If suddenly cooled in making, without undergoing the process of annealing, this brittle property is increased to an extreme degree. Two philosophical toys, one called the Bologna Phial, and the other. Prince Eupert's Drops, or commonly the hand-cracker, are good instances of this. The Bologna Phial, is merely a wide mouthed bottle of unanncaled green glass, extremely thin at the neck and upper half of its sides, and very thick below. A leaden bullet may be dropped into this bottle from the height of several feet without danger, but if a large grain of sand, or, what ih. better, a small piece of broken gun- flint is allowed to fall into it through the space only of a few inches, the shock produced will break the bottle to pieces. If laid on its side, the thick end may be struck with considerable force with a wooden mallet without danger; but it would be immediately broken, if merely scratched with a piece of sand. The hand-cracker is a very familial instance of this property ; the thick end of this may be laid on the table, and struck forcibly with the fist without danger, but if it is grasped in the hand, and the smallest portion of the thin end is broken ofi*, the whole of it breaks to pieces, or bursts, with so much violence as to sting slightly the hand that holds it. , The purposes to which this bt?autiful material have been applied, are as numerous as they are useful; it S. VI. G 98 PROGRESSIVE READER, has added materially to tlie comforts and conveniences of private life; it has, among many other invaluable benefits, assisted the astronomer in his researches, and the philosopher in the detection of the more minute operations of nature among the lower classes of animals; and to it we are indebted for our chief discoveries in electricity. — SoMirday Magazine, and Sharpens London Magazine, MANUFACTURE OF HORSE NAILS. The fabrication of the nails used in shoeing horses is a large and highly important branch of industry, which until lately has resisted all the attempts of inventors to elevate it from a handicraft into a manufacture. The horse-nail must combine many peculiar features. It must be easily flexible, and must bend without any tendency to crack. It must be of small bulk, and so sharp, that notwithstanding its flexibility, it will readily penetrate the hardest hoof. It must be so tough and strong as to withstand, especially at the junction of the head and shaft, all the shocks and friction incidental to travel or to draught. These qualities can only be obtained from charcoal iron of the very finest quality, and have hitherto been obtained only from nails forged by hand from rods. In the course of the present century no less than thirty- one patents or provisional protections have been obtained for horse-nail machinery, but although many of these patents possess considerable merit, not one of them has ever reached the stage of being actually worked for commercial purposes. In the earlier ones it was usually proposed to punch the nails out of sheets, but sheet iron cannot be obtained of the quality required, and the process of punching is one that would imply consider- able waste. Other inventors attempted to substitute rollers for the hammer of the smith, and to roll out the end of the heated rod to the necessary point. The BIANUFACTURE OF HOESE-NAILS. 99 endeavour failed because the rollers were found to carry a sort of wave or projection of the heated iron before them, and this was apt to crack on cooling and to render the finished nail worthless. Other contrivances fell through for various reasons, often because the inventors knew only the shape of the horse-nail, and were unacquainted with the actual requirements of the farrier, and often, perhaps, for want of the capital necessary to establish them. The horse-nail business has remained in the hands of masters residing chiefly in and about Birmingham, Derby, and Bristol, whose practice it is to give out iron rods to workmen, who forge the nails at their own homes. A skilful svorkman can make 1,000 nails a day, and is paid 3s. Gd. for this quantity; but, as a matter of fact, few men can continue at this speed of production for many consecutive days, so that the wages paid do not average a guinea a week. This is a very low rate for skilled artizans, and it is said not to be uncommon for the men to sell the fine iron supplied to them by their masters and to forge their nails out of iron of an inferior quality. There are in Great Britain and Ireland about 2,G00,000 horses, which represent a demand of about 998 millions of nails (or 5,57-i tons) per annum. More than 2,000 tons are made for expor- tation; and, at an average of £60 per ton, the annual value of the trade is little less than half a million sterlino". Among the more recent patentees of horse-nail ma'' chinery are the Messrs. Huggett, father and son, the former of whom has been extensively engaged in shoeing horses for many years. The chief feature of Mr. Huggett's patent is a pair of rollers by which he converts ordinary rod iron into a rod so shaped as to admit of being cut into nail blanks. The upper roller is a simple cylinder; the lower has a series of depressions on its circumference, separated by intervals. Each depression corresponds to two nail heads, each interval to two shanks; and the surface of the roller is so curved in the intervals as to render the luiddle of each its most prominent part. The actual 100 PROGRESSIVE READER. roller surface is very narrow, corresponding to the slenderness of the rod ; but is bounded on either side by a massive collar, which prevents the smallest lateral spreading of the iron, and limits the alteration of its form to elongation. In order that the iron may yield freely, a very high degree of lieat and a rapid motion are necessary. The rods, each two feet in length, are heated in a gas furnace, and are then suffered to run down a shoot to the rollers, which are turning at the rate of 500 revolutions a minute. The lateral collars already mentioned are so contrived as to present tlie descending rod always in the right direction to the rollers, and it appears almost instantaneously on the other side, still glowing, somewhat contorted, and about trebled in length. It falls into a sort of trough, and is instantly seized with proper tongs by two boys, one at each end, is pulled straight, and laid aside to cool. The rollers are kept constantly lubricated by a stream of coal tar, which at once diminishes friction, and also, by inflaming as each rod is passed through, shields the faces of the rollers by a fine carbonaceous deposit. A single furnace will heat from five to six thousand rods per day of ten hours, a quantity equivalent to over 100,000 nail blanks; and the rollers, which are rather under 7 inches in diameter, could turn out rods at the rate of 900 ft. per minute. The rod of nail blanks, as it leaves the rollers, may be described as a slender strip of iron, presenting a series of prominences on one side. Each prominence is about 1;^ in. long, each interval between the prominences about 3^ in., the dimensions varying slightly with the size of the nail that is to be made. From each pro- minence the rod tapers slightly to the centre of each interval. It is nearly as flexible as lead, and so tough that the most rapid bending to and fro only breaks it with difficulty. In this state the rod is passed cold through another pair of rollers, so contrived that they compress only the prominences, and give them a nearly square outline in section. It is then taken to a cutting machine and cut MANUFACTURE OF HORSE-NAILS. 161 * into lengths by descending blades. ' TheSe blade,^ are tliree in numbei' — two lateral, at right angles to the rod, each of which cut straight through the centre of a prominence, so as to divide it into two nail heads; one central, set obliquely to the rod, so as to divide each interval into two bevelled points. The pieces, now called nail blanks, are next put into a niachine like a huge coffee-roaster, which is kept turning in order that they may clean and polish each other by mutual friction. The cleaned nail blanks still require to receive their perfect shape, and for this purpose they pass through two machines, the first of which gives a generally pyramidal figure to the heads, while the second finishes the shape in all respects. The first, or heading machine, consists of a massive die, which rises and descends in a vertical line. Beneath it a wheel turns intermittently on a horizontal axis, and from the circumference of this wheel project several pairs of dies, wdiich receive the nail blanks point downwards. When the vertical die descends it finds one of the pairs of wheel dies beneath it to receive the stroke; and each stroke of the vertical die is followed by a partial revolution of the wheel, which brings the next pair of wheel dies to receive the next blow. The wheel dies consist of blocks of iron hollowed out on their opposing faces to receive the blanks, and hollowed at the top into the proper shai)e of the heads. The two blocks are kept somewhat apart by spiral springs inserted between them, so that they hold the nail blank loosely; but as each pair in suc- cession reaches a vertical position, and just before the plunger descends, a pair of grippers closes upon the blocks and squeezes them tightly together, so that the blank is held securely to receive the blow. As the plunger rises, the grip is relaxed, and the blocks are again separated by the springs. As the wheel passes on, each pair of blocks receives, in its turn, a tap from a mechanical hammer, by which the nail blank is loosened, so that it falls out as soon as its head is directed downwards by the continued revolution of the wheel. The machine is supplied by one girl, who sits i02 PRG(i^ESSIVE READER. by the revolving wheel, and places nail blanks in the wheel dies as they successively ascend towards her. A single machine is capable of heading from 22,000 to 24,000 nail blanks in a day of ten hours. The shaping machine bears a great general resemblance to the foregoing. The nails are carried up, one by one, on the circumference of a wheel, on which they are retained by stops, and are presented in succession to the pressure of a descending plunger and of two lateral dies, which between them remove all irregularities or inequalities of form, and produce a nail of perfect finish and outline. Lastly, the nails are annealed and coloured, and are then ready for the market. With the exception of the men employed at the rolling mill and the annealing furnaces, the work of the factory is mainly done by girls, most of whom were employed, until recent changes, in Woolwich Arsenal. Besides the saving thus effected in the cost of labour, there will also be an important saving in material. In hand-made nails the waste of iron is not only very con- siderable, but is absolute, and cannot be recovered. In Mr. Huggett's process there is a primary waste of about 24 per cent, of raw material; but 19 per cent, of this is in the shape of odd lengths of metal, defective nails and so forth, all of which can be again worked up and rendered useful. The irrecoverable, or fire waste, does not exceed the remaining 5 per cent. By means of these elements of saving, Messrs. Moser expect to be able to sell, at abont 10 per cent, less than the cost of the cheapest hand-made- nails, and as none but the very- finest iron would lend itself to their rolling process, the quality of tlie metal is uniformly of the best. The machine-made nails may be bent two and fro upon themselves without breakage, twisted in every con- ceivable way, or beaten out into sheets as thin as writing-paper without cracking at their edges. The whole process is a triumph of mechanical ingenuity, the more curious and interesting that it has been so long delayed. — TKq Times, The atmosphere and its movemekts. 103 THE ATMOSPHERE AND ITS MOVEMENTS. Around the earth, over sea and land, extends a vast expanse of gaseous matter ; it is known as the atmo- sphere, through whose instrumentality all life exists. The atmosphere, (or as we generally call it the air,) consists of a compound of gases, the two chief being oxygen and nitrogen, which, are mixed together in the proportion of seventy-nine of the latter to twenty-one of the former. Many substances pass into our air in a gaseous state, and make their presence felt, so that we can very seldom obtain thoroughly pure air. Flowers diftuse their odours through it : the breath expelled from the human body poisons it. The atmosphere performs most important offices ; and since it is everywhere existent it is a^^important. The tree or flower yields up its oxygen to the air, which transfers it to man, thereby strengthening and re- invigorating him. Man. expels from his frame carbonic acid, which the air carries to the plant, thereby refreshing it, so that man and plant perform mutual offices the one for the other. The atmosphere extends above the earth for a distance of forty-five miles. It is very elastic, hence the densest part will be at the sea-level, where the weight of a column of air of the atmosphere's entire height has to be sustained. The pressure at the sea-level is at the rate of fifteen pounds to the square inch. We are not conscious of this pressure, because natural laws prevent our feeling it. " The little limpet, however, feels it, and makes use of it too, when he sticks so hard to the rock, that you cannot pull him off. By a peculiar faculty he removes the air and water from between him and the rock, and it is then simply by atmospheric pressure that he clings so tightly." Any considerable change in the lightness or heavi- ness of the air, would be fatal to animals. Those who climb very high mountains, and thus reach the higher 164 l^ROGRESSIVE READER. and thinner parts of the air, find a greater difficulty in breathing, are unable to exert themselves, to lift weights, or even to stoop, and sometimes are compelled to come down, from the danger of breaking some blood- vessel, in consequence of the outward jDressure of the air being taken off. On the other hand, those who go down in diving-bells, and have the air which they breathe, pressed into a narrow space by the water above them, find inconvenience from that cause. I. One most useful property of the air is to convey sounds, not only in a rude way, by making us hear loud noises or low murmurs, but by exactly representing those most delicate inflections of voice, which constitute speech, it can be proved by direct experiment made by the air-pump — a machine by which the air can be drawn out of a large glass receiver — that if a bell be hung in such a glass, and the air be pumped out, there is no sound whatever produced, although the clapper be struck against the bell. Sound is, in fact, a vibration some- thing like waves, carried along from one part of the air to another. It does not move so fast as light, as anyone may perceive, who observes a gun fired from a consider- able distance. He will see the flash some time before he hears the report, just as we hear the roar of thunder some seconds after we see the lightning. The air, then, which we breathe, is exactly fit for conveying such sounds as our voices are able to produce, and our ears are fitted to hear. But it is not every kind of air which will do this. If a man's lungs are filled by breathing some gases, which can be produced by chemical means, the sounds which his voice is able to make can scarcely be heard. And no doubt this dif- ference would be much more perceptible, if the ears were also surrounded by such an elastic fluid, instead of common air. Without the air, we should be in a state of utter silence ; and if it diff*ered much from what it is, we should never have conversed. All language, all com- munication of thought by speech, could never have existed. And without speech, what would have been the condition of mankind ? THE ATMOSI'HEIIE AND ITS MOVEMENTS. 105 II. The air has also very material influence npon our sense of sight. It is by the action of the atmosphere only, that the change from day to night comes on so gradually, indeed so imperceptibly, that the eyes easily accommodate themselves to it. Had we little or no atmosphere, the rising of the sun would cause a sudden change from utter darkness to the light of the brightest noon : and at his setting, we should again be instantly left in darkness. It is almost needless to observe with how much beauty this beneficial change is now accomj^anied. All the glowing colours which decorate the heavens, at the rising and the setting sun, the thousand brilliant hues in which the clouds are bathed, are all owing to the atmosphere. Colours are given to various objects by their absorp- tion or reflection of certain rays. A red object is red, becaiil^e it absorbs into itself the rest of the primary colours, and reflects the red. Another object is violet, because it reflects only the violet rays. A black object is black because it absorbs all the colours, while a white object reflects all the colours. You can see the seven l^rimary colours in the rainbow. You can easily see how the union of the colours makes white, by painting a top with the seven colours and then spinning it ; as the top goes round, the colours will appear to blend together, and the top will look as if it Avere painted of a d'lsty- white colour. III. Again, the atmosphere is the agent by whose means we receive light and heat. Both consist in the communication of motion from the sun; certain vibra- tions produce light, while others produce heat : but all bodies do not allow heat and light rays to pass through them. Had the earth been surrounded by glass instead of air, we should have received all the light that pro- ceeds from the sun, but none of the heat. Air is both transparent like glass, and a conductor of heat like rock-salt. It is by means of the atmosphere that we are able to see objects in the day-time, in whatever part of the sky the sun may be. No object can be seen 106 PROGRESSIVE REABEft. except by tke light wliicli it reflects or suffers to pass through it, unless, indeed, it be seen as a dark spot, intercepting the light which comes from some other object. Now the air reflects light in all directions, so that some light always falls upon what would other- wise be tlie dark side of an object, and renders it visible. We can scarcely bring ourselves to imagine what would be the appearance of the most familiar objects, if those parts of them only were visible, upon which the direct light of the sun, or the light reflected from other large objects fell. But they would certainly appear very distorted; and their shapes would probably be so strange, that we should scarcely recognize them. Besides this, all the part of the sky, except that in which the sun happened to be, would, without the atmosphere, appear totally dark, even at noonday. All the properties of the atmosphere which we have hitherto noticed, might, for anything we know, have belonged to dry air. But this would have fallen far short of supplying the wants of other parts of the creation. Water always runs to the lowest level; but, as all animals and vegetables require a constant supply of moisture, some means were necessary by which the water, which is always running down to the ocean, should be pumped up again, and, what is more, should be pumped up fresh. The invisible atmosphere about us supplies the machinery by which tliis great natural process is efiected. Besides the dry air which it contains, — consisting, as we have seen, of diflerent parts, — there is also in the atmosphere a quantity of vapour of loater, which is invisible, except under peculiar circumstances. In the very driest weather, the presence of this vapour can bo detected, by cooling a body till eitlier a cleio or ice settles upon it. Tliis vapour is constantly rising from the sea, and from the surface of the land; and, what is very remarkable, the salt of tlie sea-water is left hehiiid in evaporation. It is this vapour which forms clouds, tempering the extreme heat and dazzling light of the sun's direct rays. The same source supplies the materials for rain^ hail, snow, LORD \YILLIA:.r. ]07 mist, dew. Thus, moisture is present everywliere, ready to supply the constant wants of plants and animals. We cannot but observe the wisdom which is found in this part also of the Creator's works. • Had we been told that water was to be carried about everywhere, and at all times, through the air, we should probably have expected an atmosphere of thick fog, through which the light of the sun could scarcely have pene- trated. And it is an additional reason for wonder and thankfulness, when we see all the useful purposes of an abundant supply of water effected, without any injury to the other properties of the atmosphere, without usually affecting its transparency, without ever inter- fering Avith its power of supporting respiration, of con- veying sound, or of reflecting light. LORD WILLIAM. No eye beheld, when William pushed young Edmund in the stream ; No human ear but William's heard young Edmund's 1 • Jo drowning scream. Submissive, all the vassals owned the murderer for their lord ; And he — as rightful heir — possessed the hottse of Erlingford. The ancient house of Erlingford stood in a fair domain ; And Severn's ample waters near, rolled t-hrougli the fertile plain. !But never could Lord William dare to gaze on Severn's stream ; In every wind that swept its waves, he heard young Edmund scream ! In vain, at midnight's silent hour, sleep closed the murderer's eyes ; In every dream the murdei'er eaw^ young Edmund's form arise ! 108 PROGRESSIVE READER. Slow went the passing hours, yet swift the months appeared to roll ; And now the day returned, that shook with terror William's soul — A day that William never felt retiirn without dismay ; For, well had conscience calendar'd young Edmund's dying day, A fearful day was that ! the rains fell fast with tempest roar. And swollen tide of Severn spread far on the level shoi^. In vain Lord William sought the feast, in vain he quaffed the bowl, And strove, with noisy mirth, to drown the anguish of his soul — The tempest, as its sudden swell in gusty howlings came With cold and death-like feelings, seemed to thrill his shuddering frame. Reluctant now, as night came on, his lonely couch he pressed ; And, wearied out, he sank to sleep, — to sleep — but not to rest ! Beside that couch, his brother's form. Lord Edmund seemed to stand 1 Such and so pale, as when in death he grasped his brother's hand ) Such and so pale his face as Avhen with faint and falter- ing tongue To William's care — a dying charge ! — he left his orphan son. I bade thee with a father's love my orphan Edmund guard — Well, William, hast thou kept thy charge ! now take thv due reward ! He started up— each limb convulsed with agonizing fear : He only heard the storm of night;— 'twas musio to his ear 1 LORD WILLIAM. 109 Wlieii, lo ! tlie voice of loud alarm his inmost soul appals : ^^ What, ho ! Lord William, rise in haste ! the water saps thy walls " He rose in haste : — beneath the walls he saw the flood appear ! It hemmed him round — 'twas midnight now — no human aid was near ! He heard the shout of joy ! — for now a boat approached the wall ; And eager to the welcome aid they crowd for safety all,— '^ My boat is small," the boatman cried, •' twill bear but one away ; Come in, Lord William ! and do ye in God's protection stay." Then William leaped into the boat, his terror was so sore ; '^ Thou shalt have half my gold !" he cried. '' Haste ! — haste tojyonder shore !" The boatman plied the oar; the boat went light along the stream ; — Sudden Lord William heard a cry, like Edmund's drowning scream ! The boatman paused ; " Methought I heard a child's distressful crv i" '' 'Twas but the howling wind of night," Lord William made reply ; '' Haste ! — haste ! — ply swift and strong the oar ; haste ! — haste across the stream !" Again Lord William heard a cry, like Edmund's drown- ing scream ! " I heard a child's distressful voice," tlie boatman said again. " Nay, hasten on ! — the night is dark — and we should search in vain !" " And oh ! Lord William, dost thou know how dreadful 'tis to sci^eam !" 110 PROGRESSIVE READER. The sliriek again was heard : it came more deep, more piercing loud : ^^^-ui-*^.^- '••;-^^ . -*> That instant o'er the flood the moon shone through a- broken cloud : --^- ■•^■ And near them they beheld a child — upon a crag he stood — A little crag, and all around was spread the rising flood. The boatman plied the oar — the boat approached his resting place — The moonbeam shone upon the child — and shewed how pale his face ! "Now, reach thine hand!" the boatman cried, "Lord William, reach and save !" The child stretched forth his little hands — to grasp the hand he gave ! Then William shrieked ; the hand he touched was cold, and damp, and dead ! He felt young Edmund in his arms ! a heavier weight than lead ! "Oh, mercy! help!" Lord William cried, "the waters o'er me flow !" " No — to a child's exj)iring cries no mercy didst thou shew !" The boat sank down, the murderer sank, beneath the avenging stream ; He rose, he shrieked — no human ear heard AVilliam's drowning scream ! — South f.]/. WATEE IN A STATE OF YAPOUK. Water in a state of vapour constantly exists in the atmosphere. If the vapour comes in contact with a-ny thing cooler than itself, its moisture is at once pre- cipitated. Around the cool sides of mountains frequently hang great clouds, which are only masses of floating vapour. Tlie Roottish hills are celebrated for their WATER IN A STATE OF VAPOUR. Ill mists, which are caused in the same way. The air o.f seaside towns is naturally impregnated with moisture, hence the mists which hang over some of them during certain months of the year. The moisture from the atmosphere may be deposited in the form of dew, vain, snow or hail. Dew is formed at the surface of the earth; the heaviest deposits occur on the warmest nights. The night air, laden with moisture, comes in contact with the surfaces of plants, Avhich have lost their heat by radiation, and which are therefore colder than the air: at once follows the de- position of moisture in the form of dew. The form of rain may be originated either by the cool surface of the earth, or by cold strata of air existing in the higher regions of the atmosphere. Mountainous regions receive more rain than lowland districts, and maritime places more than inland towns. The rule is '' that the annual rainfall decreases as you proceed from the coast to the interior of a country, and as you pro- ceed from the Equator to the Poles." We, who live in the Temperate Zone, have more rainy days in the year than people who live in Tropical Regions, but they receive heavier rainfills than we do. "We are so accustomed to see water in a sensible form, either fluid or solid, as in rain, ice, hail, snow, fog, and the like, that every one is surprised when he is made conscious for the first time, that water may really be found in the condition of a perfectly invisible A'apour. Yet, whoever has seen a bottle brought out of a cellar on a warm day, or observed the effect produced when the windows of a carriage are drawn up, and particularly those persons wearing spectacles, the glasses of which are suddenly dimmed by steam upon entering a heated room, must have noticed enough to convince him that such is the case. In such instances the colder surface of the glass condenses the vapour of water, previously invisible in the atmosphere, and tliereby renders it sensible. All the great changes of sunshine, cloud and storm, the various hues of the risino- and settino; sun, the haloes wnicli occasionallv surround the sun and moon are all 112 PROGRESSIVE READER. influenced or occasioned by tlie vapour of water diftiised tlirougliout the atmosphere. The vapour of water, however, in its simplest foria is perfectly invisible. It exists mixed with the other gaseous matters which compose the atmosphere, and diff'used over all parts of the earth's surface. Every substance wliich contains water, is capable also of per- mitting it to evaporate. Not only large masses of water — as seas, lakes, and rivers, as Avell as ice — but every portion of vegetation, all soils, even those which appear driest, are continually permitting some portion of watery vapour to escape from them. The quantity of vapour in the atmosphere at any given time is influenced by a variety of causes ; but the 2^'^^6sence of such a vapour is most important for many purposes. Dew, which is formed by the conden- sation of the vapour of the water upon the leaves and otlier parts of plants afl^ords nourishment to vegetation when no rain falls ; and a certain quantity ot vapour of water is essential to the health of man. In some hospitals when they were first warmed by heated air, it was found that the inmates suffered from their skin cracking and peeling off", as in very hot climates j but the inconvenience was immediately removed, when vessels of water were placed in several parts of the building, which by evaporation, supplied the requisite quantity of moisture to the air. The quantity of evapo- ration going on constantly is far greater than is usually conceived. In a hard frost, a lump of ice or snow will be observed sensibly to diminish, especially if a brisk wind is blowing over it. This is quite indeiDcndent of the wasting of the frozen substance by thawing. In fact, snow or ice may totally disappear without any perceptible thaw, simply by evaporation. It has been computed from actual experiment, that an acre of snow evaporates four thousand gallons of Avater in twenty-four hours. All plants exhale vapour, and some much more than others. Thorn hedges exhale seven times as much as those of holly : and a cabbage perspires six or seven times as much as a man from the same quantity of surface. WATER IN A STATE OF VAPOUR. 113 There is, however, a limit to the power of evaporation, and this limit is fixed by the temperature of the climate, so that if, on the coldest day of winter, the air contains as much moisture as possible, or is, as it is called, saturated with vapour, it can then receive no more vajjour unless its temperature is increased. But as the temperature of the air increases, more and more vapour may be mixed with it : yet still, as the heat of the air never exceeds a certain degree, the quantity of vapour also is limited. Such a limitation is necessary for the well-being of all plants and animals : either a perfectly dry air, or an atmosphere overcharged with vapour, would be incon- sistent with their existence in a state of health. As the atmosphere is now constituted, there is found in every ])art a certain quantity of vapour ready to make its presence sensible, whenever any change of circumstances causes it to be condensed. One of the most common effects thus produced is that of clouds. The well-known experiment, mentioned above, of the condensation of vapour on a cold surface such as glass, shews that if the temperature of the air be by any means lowered, the quantity of moisture, which it will retain in the state of invisible vapour, Avill be diminished. In cold weather, this is made very evident by the condensation of the breath of animals. The air which comes from the lungs contains within it a quantity of watery vapour which would be quite invisible, if it were breathed out into an atmosphere of the same or nearly the same temperature, as that of the animal's body. But when the air is much colder, some of the vapour is instantly condensed, and forms very small drops. The same effect is seen on a large scale when steam is discharged from a steam-engine. Where, then, any change takes place in the temperature of the atmosphere, from any cause, there is a probability that the vapour in the atmosphere will be condensed and l)ecome visible. Thus, suppose the air perfectly serene and clear, and that it contains in every part just as much vapour as it S. VI. H 114 PROGRESSIVE READER. is then capable of containing; if a stream of colder air be now made to pass through a part of this atmos- phere, the temperature of the two portions of air when united will be lower than that of the first portion was before, and the vapour in it Avill be partially condensed forming a cloud of greater or less density according to circumstances. If the condensation goes on, the very small particles of water which float in the atmosphere — or, after descending a little way, meet with a warmer tempera- ture, and are again turned into invisible vapour — will unite in droj^s of a sensible magnitude and fall in rain. Should tliey meet with a still greater degree of cold, the drops freeze in their descent, and appear as hail ; or, if the congelation takes place while the particles of water are still very small, snov) or sleet will be formed. By the same means all the different appearances of fog and mist are occasioned. During the heat of a summer's day, evaporation goes on with great rapidity, as has beer already noticed, from water, from all vege- table bodies, and even from the earth. But at sunset, heat begins to be lost by radiation, and some of the vapour is immediately perceptible, especially where evaporation has been most copious, as along a river or over meadows. The course of a river mav sometimes be distinctly traced, for a long distance, even when the water itself is not visible, by the fine cloud formed by such congelation. On the other hand, when the atmos- phere is charged with visible moisture, an increase of heat converts the water into invisible vapour. A very beautiful instance of this effect is often seen in Autumn. At sunrise the Avhole atmosphere appears full of floating particles of water, forming a dense mist, the minute drops of which are distinctly visible. As the sun rises above the horizon, the air is gradually warmed, the fog begins to disperse, at first rising a little into the form of clouds, but soon totally disappearing. — Saturday Magazine. THE CLOUD. 115 THE CLOUD. I BRING fresh feliowors for tlie tliirsting flowors, From the sea and the streams; I bear light shade for tlie leaves when laid In their noonday dreams. From my Avings are shaken the dews that waken The sweet birds every one, AVhen rocked to rest on their mothej-'s breast As she dances about the snn. 1 wield the flail of the lashing hail, And whiten the green plains undei-; And then again I dissolve it in rain, And laugh, as I pass, in thunder. I sift the snow on the mountains below^ And their great pines groan aghast; And all the night 'tis my pillow white, While I sleep in the arms of the blast. Sublime on the towers of my skyey bowors Lightning, my pilot, sits; In a cavern iinder, is fettered the thunder, It struggles and howls at fits ; Over earth and ocean with gentle motion, Tiiis pilot is guiding me. Lured by the love of the genii that move In the depths of the purple sea; Over the rills, and the crags, and the hills, Over the lakes and the plains, AVherever he dream, under mountain or stream, The spirit he loves, remains; And I, all the while, bask in heaven's blue smile, Whilst he is dissolving in rains. The sanguine surprise, with his meteor eyes, And his burning plumes outspread, Leaps on the back of my sailing rack When the morning star shines dead. IIG PROGRESSIVE READER. As on the jag of a mountain crag, Which an earthquake rocks and swings, An eagle alit, one moment may sit In the light of its golden wings; And when sunset may breathe from, the lit sea beneath, Its ardours of rest and of love, And the crimson pall of eve may fall From the depth of heaven above : With wings folded I rest on mine airy nest, As still as a brooding dove. That orbed maiden with white fire laden, Whom mortals call the Moon, Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor, By the midnight breezes strewn^ And wherever the beat of her unseen feet. Which only the angels hear, May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof. The stars peep behind her and peer; And I laugh to see them whirl and flee Like a swarm of golden bees. When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent. Till the calm river, lakes, and seas, Like strips of the sky fallen through me on high, Are each paved with the moon and these. I bind the sun's throne with a burning zone, And the moon's with a girdle of pearl • The volcanoes are dim, and the stars reel and swim, When the whirlwinds my banner unfurl. From a cape to cape, with a bridge-like shape Over a torrent sea. Sunbeam proof, I hang like a roof, The mountains its columns be. The triumphal arch through which I march, With hurricane, fire, and snow When the power of the air are chained to my chair, Is the million-coloured bow^ Tlie sphere-fire above, its soft colours wove, While the moist earth was laugliing below. MICHAEL ANGELU. 117 I am the daughter of the earth and water, And the nursling of the sky ; I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores ; I change, but I cannot die; For after the rain, when, with never a stain, The pavilion of heaven is bare, And the winds and sunbeams, with their convex gleams, Build up the blue dome of air, I silently laugh at my own cenotaph, And out of the caverns of rain, Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb, I rise and upbuild it again. — Shelley. MICHAEL AKGELO. Lorenzo the Magnificent reigned over Florence. In his palace and gardens was a fine collection of antique marbles, busts, and statues, which the i)rincely owner converted into an academy for the use of young artists. Michael Angelo was one of the first, who, having obtained the reluctant consent of his father, was received into this new academy. This was a great gratification to the youth. He had hitherto devoted himself chiefly to drawing, but the sight of the many splendid works of art in the Medicean gardens determined him to turn his attention to sculpture. He was then not quite sixteen. Whatever Michael Angelo did, he tried to do well. With the fervour and the energy natural to his charac- ter, he now began first to model in clay, and then to copy in marble, some of the works of art before • him. They were surprising productions for one so young. Having found one day the statue of a laughing fiiun, considerably mutilated and without a head, the youthful artist resolved to try, if he could restore to it what was wanting. He succeeded admirably. Lorenzo, who 118 PROGRESSIVE READER. often visited the gardens, Avas much struck with thi« display of genius, and inquired whose work it was. " It is executed by one of the great painter's pupils," Avas the reply. " He and Granacci were the two he deemed most worthy of entering your academy, Signor. His name is Michael Angelo." " I should like to see the youth," observed Lorenzo, who stood gazing at the statue ; " there is great talent and genius here." Michael Angelo was summoned. " So, Angelo," said Lorenzo the IMagnificent, " I per- ceive you' have a taste for sculpture ? That head does you credit." Michael's dark eyes glittered. '.' It is a noble art ! " he replied Avitli enthusiasm. " By allowing me the honour of entering these gardens, excellent Signor, you have, as it were, raised a new spirit Avithin me." Lorenzo smiled. A great lover of the art of sculpture himself, he was pleased with the youth's evident devotion to it. " Do you prefer it then to painting]" he asked. *' I do," replied Michael Angelo. "It is to me so much more wonderful and sublime." '' I see you have not exactly imitated the original in that head," observed Lorenzo ; " the lips are smoother, and you have shewn the teeth. But," he added with a smile, •"' you should have remembered, Angelo, that old men seldom exhibit a complete set of teeth." He passed on ; and the young artist, who paid no less respect to the judgment than to the rank of Lorenzo, was no sooner left to himself, than he struck out one of the teeth, giving to the part the appearance of its having been lost by age. On his next visit, Lorenzo, seeing this, and equally delighted with the disposition as with the genius of his young pupil, at once determined to take him under his especial patronage. ^' Angelo," he said, " your persever- ance and improvement merit my regard. In order to give you eA^ery advantage, I am willing to receive you into my OAvn service; undertake the entire care of your MICHAEL AXGELO. 119 education, and bring you up in my palace as my son. What say you?" What could Michael Angelo say to sucli a generous, flattering pro})osal ! With heartfelt gratitude he thanked his noble patron, and then spoke of his father, " I will see your father on the subject," said Lorenzo. " I trust he Avill not object to my wishes." He sent for the old man, and gained liis consent to the plan on condition, tliat he himself shoukl receive an ofiice under government. Accordingly, Michael Angelo was lodged in the palace of the Medici, wliere he remained for three years. He was ever treated witli paternal kindness by Lorenzo, and had the advantage of associating with the first literary characters of the age. But Michael Angelo, with all his genius, was not of a very amiable disposition. His temper was proud and haughty ; his speech too often contemptuous and sar- castic. He felt his own gi-eat powers of mind, and too frequently indulged in satire towards those wlio were not so gifted as himself. Lorenzo tlie Magnificent died, and Micliael Angelo, thrown on his own resources, studied more diligently than ever. Secluded, temi)erate, and frugal in his habits, stern and unbending in his character, he suffered nothing to divert his mind from that on which it was set — his improvement in the art of sculpture. About this time there was some sensation caused amongst the lovers of the fine arts in Rome, by the arrival in that city of a statue of extraordinary beauty. It was a Sleeping Cupid in marble ; and great was the admiration bestowed upon it. ''It is a genuine antique," said one grave connoisseur in such things ; "there is no mistaking it." "Certainly not," observed another; "how infinitely superior it is to anything which art in this day is capable of producing ! " " It was found in a vineyard near Florence, I under- stand," said a third j " a peasant, while digging, came upon this exquisite proof of ancient skill and genius. 125 MOGilESSiVE REAb^il. It is a pity tlie arm lias been broken oif. The Duchess of Mantua much desires it lor her cabinet, I hear ; but the Cardinal San Giorgio has already purchased it at a high price. He is charmed with its beauty." " My friends," said a nobleman, as he entered the hall with hasty steps, " what do you think I have heard just now? that this 'real antique' which has so delighted us all, is the M^ork of a young man of two-and-twenty, residing at Florence ! " The group round the statue actually started with surprise. " Is it possible 1 " they exclaimed ; " has one in our day executed this splendid work? It is marvellous! Are you sure you are not imposed upon 1 " " Quite sure. The young sculptor has produced the missing arm, and given undoubted proofs of his veracity. The cardinal has invited him to Rome immediately." " And what may be the name of this young man?" " His name is Michael Angelo." During his first residence in the imperial city, Michael Angelo, surrounded by so many beautiful remains of antiquity, applied to his studies with unceas- ing energy and increasing diligence. He executed several works, which added greatly to his reputation, particularly a group called the Pietd,, which is now in the church of St. Peter's, at Home. A little time after the Pietct had been fixed in its place, the young artist went one afternoon to consider the effect of his work. As he stood before it, surveying it with a critical yet partial eye, and with a conscious- ness that he should yet do greater things than that, two strangers entered the church. Struck with admiration at the beautiful group presented to their view, they expressed, with Italian warmth and fervour, their great and unqualified approbation. " What an exquisite work ! " cried one. " Truly it is a masterpiece ! What form ! what proportion ! Avhat excellent grouping ! I never saw anything to compare with it!" "Wonderful !" said the other; after contemplating it iilCHAEL ANGELO. 121 for some timo in silent admiration, " What a mind must the man have who executed tliis ! AVho is the sculjitor ? " " One from Bologna j at this moment I remember not his name." " Nay, my friend, I rather think lie is a Florentine. Surely I have heard so." " You are mistaken, Bernardino ; I am convinced Bologna has the honour of being his birthplace ; I shall bethink me of his name directly." " Well, any one in Eome can tell us that, fortunately. There is a young man here will set us right, perhaps." " Ah ! let us not ask him ; he might laugh at our ignorance, or he might not know himself. We will find it out. The name of that man ought never to be forgotten." *' It shall not be forgotten here, at all events," said Michael Angelo, as the strangers left the church ; " the Fie fa shall not be again mistaken for the work of the Bolognese." That night, a young man of haughty bearing entered the church with a lantern in his hand. He approached the beautiful piece of sculpture, and smiled proudly, as in deej:), indelible characters he inscribed on it, where it might best be seen — the name of JMichael Angelo. This Pieta is the only one of his works thus inscribed. Amongst the ruins of ancient Rome is a splendid equestrian statue of Marcus Aurelius. It is of bronze, and was originally gilt with thick leaves of gold. The attitude of the horse, and the fire and spirit displayed in it, are remarkably fine. When first Michael Angelo saw it, he looked at it for some time in silence, and then suddenly exclaimed, "Go on!"— thus stamping this famous statue with his enthusiastic admiration. Avery excellent painter lived at this time in Florence, whose name was Leonardo da Vinci. Italv was iustlv proud of this illustrious artist, and Francis I. of France loaded him with favours. Slowly fading away from the wall of the refectory of the Church of Santa Maria, ot 3Iilan, is one of the most 122 PROGRESSIVE READER. celebrated pictures of this great master. The subject is a solemn one — the Last Supper ; and solemnly it is treated. The skilful arrangement of the figures, which are larger than life, and the amazing beauty of the workmanship, arrest the attention and astonish the eye of the beholder. It has thus been spoken of : " On viewing it, one head, one face, one attitude, one expres- sion, comes forcibly upon the sight, and sinks deeply into the mind, till every thought and feeling is absorbed in wonder at the power Avhicli could represent so sublime a figure in so sublime a manner." Leonardo da Yinci, like Michael Angelo, had astonish- ing powers of mind. He was great as a mathematician, a mechanic, an architect, a chemist, an engineer, a musician, a poet, and a painter ! From a child his singular talents attracted notice ; but he had not the perseverance of Michael Angelo, His magnificent designs and projects were seldom completed. He began many beautiful and wonderful works, and then, dissatisfied with them, left them unfinished. This highly-gifted man and Michael Angelo were rivals. With all their admiration of each otlier's genius, they were jealous of the distinction each had obtained. The haughty spirit of the one could not brook superiority, or even equality ; the temper of the other was capricious and sensitive. Leonardo was many years older than Angelo, and did not feel pleased that so young a man should come forward as his competitor. One day, being annoyed at some remark made by his rival, he replied with warmth, " You will remember, Angelo, I was famous before you were born ! " — The Home Fidend. — S, P. C. K. FAMILIAR ILLUSTRATIONS OF NATURAL PHENOMENA.— DEW. There is scarcely a more beautiful sight in nature than that which is presented in a clear autumn morn- inc{, soon after sunrise. Every leaf and spray is united ILLU.StRAtlON.S OF NATURAL PHENOMENA— DEW. 123 by the light tissue of the spider's web, on which are threaded beads of transparent water, glittering in the beams of the rising sun. Every blade of grass is, in like manner, enveloped in a fine coating of moisture, and spangled with brilliant drops. On an attentive observa- tion, it Avill be found that the light, which passes through these minute globes of water, is separated into distinct colours. Spots of vivid red, yellow, and blue, will be perceived, scattered, apparently at random, OA'er the glistening surface, and, in some favourable points ot view, there may be traced upon the plain, an iris, com- posed of the same colours as the rainbow, and in the same order, but arranged in two branches receding from the eye. The copious deposition of moisture, which produces this splendid spectacle, may have been occasioned by various causes. Fine rain may have fallen, or there may have been a sensible mist, or a thick fog. But, in many instances, the atmosphere will have appeared perfectly clear during the whole preceding night, and all the brilliant display will have been caused solely by the deio. "We propose to shew in what manner the dew is deposited. It is a very common error to suppose that the deio falls in the same manner as rain or mist, onlv in much finer particles. A very slight observation will shew that dew is not thus formed; for it is often deposited on the sides, and on the under parts of blades of grass and other substances, as well as on their upper surfaces. Dew, in fact, does wot fall, but is formed by the con- densation of the moisture of the atmosphere. Every one is familiar with this phenomenon, though many may not have thoucrht much about the cause of it. If we bring a bottle from a cool cellar in the summer, a copious deposition of dew takes place uf)on its outer surface. If a sudden hail-storm drives against the windows, a dew is often deposited upon the inner surface. In these and the like instances, the surfoce exposed to the aii* is colder than the air itself, and since it is found that heat always passes from a hotter body to one that is colder, 124 PROGRESSIVE READER. the invisible vapour of water in the atmosphere immediately in contact with the glass, loses part of the heat which is necessary in order to keep it in the state of vapour, and is condensed, or reduced to the form of water. The moisture begins to be thus precipitated at a certain temperature, depending upon the quantity of vapour in the atmosphere. This temperature is called the deiv-point. But heat is given out from one body to another, not only when they are close together, but when they are at great distances from each other. Without at all attempting to shew what heat is, or how it is communi- cated from one body to another, it is sufficient for our present purpose to know, that there is a constant tendency in all bodies towards an equality of tempera- ture; so that if there be two bodies heated to different degrees, the heat of that which is the hotter is given out, and increases the heat of the colder body. If the bodies are in contact, the heat is said to be communi- cated by conduction; if they are not in contact, the heat is said to be radiated from one body to another. When, for instance, we are standing before a fire in a cold day, the heat of the fire is so much greater than that of the human body, that we are sensible of a great radiation of heat from the fire. But if a person comes suddenly into the room from the frosty atmosphere, we are sensible that he strikes cold; tliat is, that the heat given out by radiation from our bodies to his is greater than that which we receive in return. By means of a delicate thermometer, the radiation of heat is very perceptible: and different bodies are found to radiate heat with greater or less readiness. Among those which radiate heat ra2)idly are glass, wool, the blades of grass, cotton, &c. Hence, every object in nature is constantly radiating heat from its surface. If a body be surrounded by objects which are hotter than itself, it becomes heated by radiation: if it be exposed to tlie influence of objects which are colder than itself, it becomes cooled : and its ILLUSTRATIONS OF NATURAL PHENOMENA — DEW. 125 temperature will not be sensibly altered, if the bodies around it have nearly the same temperature as itself. If, also, a body be formed of a substance which conducts heat badly, but radiates heat easily, the extremities of such a body, when exposed to other cooler bodies, will lose heat by radiation faster than it can be replaced by conduction, and will become colder than the other parts of the bodies. Suppose, now, an extensive plain partly covered with grass, and exposed to the atmosphere in a serene night. If the sky be overclouded, the heat radiated from all the objects in the plain, will be so nearly equal to that which is radiated from the clouds, that the surface of the plain will cool very slowly. But if the clouds clear away, the heat which is radiated from the plain, passes off into the open space of the heavens, and so little is radiated back, that the process of cooling goes on with great rapidity. In those parts of the plain which are covered with sand, or stone, or other substances which conduct heat well, the heat which is radiated from the surf ice, is speedily restored in part, by heat passing along the body from the interior, and the surface cools more slowly. But tliis is not the case with the blades of grass, or with any iiocky substance, such as avooI, cobwebs, and the like. These substances radiate heat rapidly, but conduct it badly. Hence, their surfaces become speedily cool, and as soon as they are cooled down to the temperature of the dew-point, the moisture of the air is condensed upon them, or there is a dew. If the radiation of heat still continues, the temperature of thojse surfaces may be still further lowered, even to the freezing-point; and then the deposition takes the beautiful form of /ioar-/rost. In order, then, that dew may be deposited, the follow- ing circumstances must conspire: — 1. The sun must be absent, or, at least, must be very near the horizon. 2. The atmosphere must be nearly calm : whence the Spanish name of the dew is serena, indicating the serenity of the sky when it is most copiously deposited. 126 PROGRESSIVE READER. 3. The sky must be free from clouds. 4. The substances on which the dew is deposited, must be freely exposed to the action of the sky, and must be of such a nature as to radiate heat easily and to conduct it with difficulty. — Saturdaij Magazine^ THE BRIGHTON AQUARIUM, A VERY decided addition to the attractions of Brighton is furnished by the new Marine Aquarium, which was lately opened to the public after having been three years in process of construction. On passing through the gates the visitor arrives at the top of a flight of granite steps, 20 feet in width, which lead to an entrance court 60 feet by 40 feet. The front elevation of the building, facing this court, is 18 feet high, and consists of fine brick arches with terra- cotta columns and enrichments. A frieze running round the court bears the inscription, " And God said, Let the waters bring forth abundantly die moving creature that hath life." On the north side of the court is a commo- dious restaurant, and on the south side, which abuts upon the new road, the wall is broken by niches contain- ing vases. From the court, the entrance-hall, which measures 80 feet by 45 feet, is entered by three doors. To the south of this hall here is another entrance, with an inclined plane instead of steps, for the admission of wheeled chairs. On the north side are the retiring rooms, kitchen, and other offices; and on the east side is the entrance to No. 1 corridor of the Aquarium proper. This corridor, the longest of the three, is 220 feet long, and is broken by a central hall 55 feet by 44 feet. The roof, which is groined and constructed of variegated bricks, rests upon columns of Bath stone, polished serpentine marble, and Aberdeen granite, the capitals of the columns being carved in appropriate marine subjects. The floor is paved with coloured tiles arranged in a simple pattern. On either side are placed the first series of tanks, twenty-eight in numlier, varying from THE BRIGHTON AQUARIUM. 127 55 feet by 30 feet to 20 feet Ly 11 feet G inclies; the longest tank, which is upwards of 100 feet in length, heins: on the northern side of the central hall. At the northern end is the Conservatory, 160 feet long by 40 feet wide, and 30 feet in height; the sides are covered Avith ornamental rock-work, set with ferns and other plants. At the extreme end of the Conserva- tory is a stream of water intended to illustrate the breeding: of salmon and other fresh-water fish. On the southern side, running i)arallel with corridor Xo. 3, is a considerable space devoted to small table tanks. From the southern end of corridor No. 2 runs No. 3 corridor. This corridor, which runs parallel with the Conservatory, is of the same length, and 27 feet wide; along its entire southern or seaward side is placed a line of tanks, intended for anemones and animals of that class, but at present containing store fish. Along that portion of the northern side not occupied by the table tanks are placed fresh-water tanks. At the end of this corridor, on the south side, there is a naturalist's room fitted with all necessary appliances ; and on the north side there are the engines and pumps required for supplying the water, and for keeping it constantly aerated. The salt Avater is pumped direct from the sea into receivinoj tanks constructed under the floors of the corridors, and from these is conveyed into the smaller tanks and kept in circulation there by the same engine power. These tanks are capable of holding 500,000 gallons of water, and this quantity can be jnimped from the sea in about ten hours. The same water can be used without renewal for an indefinite time; but it is absolutely necessary that it sliould be kept constantly supplied with air. In the open sea the air is perpetually renewed by the motion of the wavec, but in a tank it would soon be exhausted by the respiration of the fish, unless there were ample provision for an artificial supply. This is effected by an air-pump, worked by steam power in the machine room, and connected with delivery pipes which descend nearly to the bottom of every tank. 128 PROGRESSIVE READER. The general effect of the Aquarium is extremely pleasing. Each corridor bears some resemblance to a [)icture gallery, in which the glass fronts of the tanks represent framed pictures. The subdued light, the rich, sober, and harmonious colouring, the plash of the water- fall, the freshness of the fernery, and the endless variety and grace of movement of the finny captives, combined to produce a scene of beauty and attractiveness, which called forth the warmest expressions of admiration from all who saw it, and on which those who formed it may be most cordially congratulated. When the tanks were first filled, great anxiety was occasioned by frecjuent breakages of the glass fronts. These are made of plate glass, about one inch in thick- ness, and 74 inches by 40 inches surface measurement. It was supposed that they would be strong enough to bear any pressure to which they could be subjected; but it was found in practice that they would now and then suddenly split in every direction, permitting the water to escape and the fish, if not speedily rescued, to perish. It soon became apparent that these breakages did not depend ujDon direct pressure, since they would sometimes commence near the top of a plate, where the pressure would be least. Many reasons were suggested in order to account for them, and, among others, it was supposed that the two surfaces of a plate might be unequally expanded from difference of temperature between the air on one side and the water on the other. Quite lately it has been determined to bed all new plates in India rubber, and up to this time none of those so treated have given Avay. Two varieties of dog-fish are included in the collection. One kind, Avhich is mottled with dark spots, is of nocturnal habits, and remains motionless during most of the day. One of the females has deposited two eggs in the tank ; and these, as well as two eggs which have been brought in adhering to a piece of seaweed, will be watched with great interest. The other dog- fishes have no marking, and are in constant movement. The giant, whose untimely decease is mourned, belonged THE BRIGHTON AQUARITBr. 129 to the latter family. Gray mullet, Atherine smelts, gurnards in every variety of colour, lobsters, cray-tish, and spider-crabs comprise the most noteworthy of the remaining inhabitants, and in almost every tank there are hermit-crabs, to do duty as scavengers. The death of a small dog-fish afforded an opportunity of observing how well they discharge this duty ; for it had scarcely reached the bottom of the tank when the crabs were seen moving towards it in all directions, and in an incredibly short space of time every morsel had disappeared before their united efforts. The lobsters have recently changed their skins, and are in the full glory of their most brilliant markings. Two of them seemed quite conscious of this fact, and spread out their beautiful blue and yellow tails against the glass for the inspection of visitors, while another walked sedately about, carrying his huge claws before him, and presenting a ludicrous resemblance to a child in its father's boots. In a neighbouring tank two spider-crabs, with heads erected, had placed themselves one on either side of an oyster in attitudes which seemed to convey scorn and defiance to each other; and a third spider-crab, who from the station he had taken up might have been desirous of seeing fair play, afforded a ^resting-place upon his shoulders to two hermit-crabs, who had climbed to that elevated position to obtain a better view. It is impos- sible to guess whether they were adequately rewarded for their trouble ; for the preliminaries of the contest, or conference, or courtship, or whatever the affair might have been, were still unadjusted when it became necessary for spectators to withdraw. In one of the tanks there is a party of hawksbill- turtles, five in number, and three of these are of con- siderable size. The Crystal Palace Aquarium has taught us with what perfect grace and elegance the turbot, sole, plaice, and other flat fish move through the water; and the turtle is fully worthy of the same commendation. He is seen to the greatest advantage when descending, and at the same time advancing to- wards the spectator. If advancing directly, his head s. VI. " I 130 PROGEESSIVE READER. and flappers rather ludicrously realize the conventional cherub, and suggest that an Aquarium must have existed at a very early period in the history of sacred art. i The oysters, apart from their important share in clearing the water, are usually unmoved spectators of the active life above them. Still, they resent liberties, and on Friday an alarm was raised by an attendant that " an oyster had collared the turtle." One of the flappers had intruded itself between the parted sheilas of the bivalve, and they had closed upon it with tenacious grip. The fresh-water fish at present in the Aquarium are tench, goldfish, and chub, the latter bred and reared by Mr. Frank Buckland. That gentleman has also con- tributed an alligator — still a mere baby, but able to inflict a severe bite on one of the men who assisted in removing him from his travelling case, — The Times. THE GREAT CURRENT OF THE ATLANTIC, CALLED THE GULF STREAM. Persons are often prevented from inquiring into a subject, under the impression that it is too difficult for them to comprehend, when a very little attention would render it very easy. Everybody, who has observed the stream rushing through a mill-dam into a wide basin of water, must liave noticed, that a great part of the water is in constant circulation. If a chip of wood is thrown into the current, it is carried away at first very rapidly, but afterwards gets to the edge of the stream, takes a circuit, and is possibly brought back nearly to the place where it was first thrown in. This revolving motion of the water is thus occasioned : the water next to that in the stream is dragged along with it ; the removal of this causes a hollow, into which the water next to it runs ; THE GULF STREAI\r, 131 and tliis kind of motion is tliiis propagated tlirougliout all the mill-pool. Now this represents, on a small scale, a great natural phenomenon, called the Gulf Stream, because it was first observed in the Gulf of Florida, in the Atlantic Ocean. That particular current, however, is only part of an extensive circulation of all the waters in the great •western basin. To understand this, it must be observed that the waters of the open ocean, between the tropics, have a constant motion from east to west. This is seen very evidently at the Cape of Good Hope, where the waters of the great Indian Ocean unite with the Atlantic. There is a constant current setting from east to west, so that ships require a strong westerly wind to stem it : and many fatal accidents have happened by ships being driven upon the western coast of Africa, when they thought themselves many leagues to the east of it, from not allowing for the westerly current. The motion of the waters in the free ocean, would be at the rate of ten miles in the twenty-four hours, or about a quarter as fast as, upon an average, the principal rivers of Europe run, Now, upon casting an eye upon the map of the Atlantic, it will be seen that this great stream of water, coming from the ocean round the south of the Cape of Good Hope, will run in about a north-westerly direction, until it comes upon the great dam formed by the coast of South America. The waters of the Atlantic, between the tropics, are themselves impelled by the same causes which create this current, and in the same direction, so that a vast body of water, arising from the united action of those currents, is heaped up against the shores of South America. The strength of this current falls upon that part of the coast which is to the north of the river ParalDiba, and by the direction of the coast is sent on, in nearly a north-westerly direction, past the mouths of the great rivers, Amazon and Orinoco, where the waters of the current enter the Carribbean Sea. The island of Trinidad is placed here just in the heart of the stream; 132 PROGRESSIVE READER. and the waters pour between that island and the main- land with great rapidity, and then form a westerly- current along the whole northern coast of South America. The effect of this current is seen in the dis- tribution of land and water in that part of the globe. The islands of the West Indies seem to be those parts of a formerly connected Continent, which have strength enough to resist the continual force of the waves. And the Isthmus of Darien is, as it were, the backbone of a skeleton, of which the flesh and cartilages have been eaten away. Along this isthmus the current of the western ocean is forced in a northerly direction ; it meets with the turbid waves of the Mississippi, and proceeds to the southern extremity of Florida, so that its course is now turned nearly due east. Here it passes with great rapidity into the strait of Bahama, at the rate of eighty miles in twenty-four hours, or double the average rapidity of European rivers, and sometimes even with a velocity of five Whiles an hour, having now taken a nearly north- easterly direction. We began by comparing the Gulf Stream to a mill- pool. To complete the resemblance at this point, we must suppose the stream which issues from the mill to be filled with hot water ; for the great tropical current has been detained for a long time in the great hot gulf formed by the coast of Caraccas, the Mexican and rioridan coasts, and at length issues forth into the North Atlantic, at a temperature so greatly above the average heat of the ocean, that vessels navigating those seas, can tell within a few minutes the time of their entering the Gulf Stream by the sudden increase in the warmth of the water. This difference often amounts to nine, twelve, and fifteen degrees of Fahrenheit's ther- mometer, and sometimes to much more. Thus, on the banks of Newfoundland, the temperature of the cold water on the bank has been observed to be 50°, while that of the stream ivas 72°. The breadth of the stream gradually increases after it leaves the straits of Bahama, Between Cape Biscaino THE GULF STREAM. 133 and tho bank of Bahama, the breadth is fifteen leagues. In latitude 28° 30' N. the breadth is seventeen leagues. In latitude 41° 25' Is., longitude 67° W., it is eighty leagues wide ; and having now met with a great arctic current, it is turned towards the east, at the southern extremity of the bank of Newfoundland, which Volney well denominates the bar at the mouth of this enormous marine river. The union of the hot current of water with the cold of the ocean and of the atmosphere is marked, at the bank of Newfoundland, by two pheno- mena. TJie current has expanded in width, and diminished in velocity. Hence, as in great floods, and at the months of rivers, the matter, which had been sustained in the water during its rapid motion, is now deposited, and in the course of years has formed the great bank of Newfoundland. Meanwhile, the water being relatively hot, the atmosphere which it brings with it contains copious vapours, which are precipitated, as soon as they meet with a colder current of air or water, and form those extraordinary banks of focj, which are, in the atmosphere of the bank of Newfoundland, what the bank itself is to the bottom of the ocean, a continual accumulation of matter brought from a distant region, to be there deposited. The great current still continues onward to the east, and south-east to the Azores. At the westernmost of that group of islands it is a hundred and sixty leagues wide ; and in latitude 33°, its southern edge is so near the northernly edge of the equinoxial current, running in the opposite direction, that a vessel cannot pass from, one to the other in a day's sail. From the Azores, the current tends rather in a south-easterly direction, towards the straits of Gibraltar, the Madeiras, and the Canaries. It continues to set towards the African coast, between Capes Cantin and Bodojor. In latitude 25° 26' the current sets south, is afterwards turned to the south-west by the trending of the coast by Cape Blanc, and soon after is again mixed with the equinoxial current, and proceeds to rvm again the same course. Thus, between the parallels of 11"" and 44° N. latitude^ 134 PROGRESSIVE READER. the waters of the Atlantic move in a perpetiiai round, as regularly as a mill-sluice : the waste being supplied by a constant influx of water from the Indian seas round the Cape of Good Hope. If a bottle were thrown into the sea it would return to the same point, unless re- tarded by accidental causes, in little less than three years, having completed a circuit of 3800 leagues, at the rate of rather more than ten miles a day. Such a bottle for instance, if sent adrift at the Canary Isles, would be floated to the coast of the Caraccas in thirteen months. Ten months more would take it round the Gulf of Mexico, and opposite the port of Havannah : and about forty or fifty days would then be sufficient to take it from the Gulf of Florida to the bank of Newfoundland : and perhaps ten or eleven months more would bring it to the coast of Africa. — Saturday Magazine. CURIOSITIES OF PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY. The depth of the ocean is very great in some places ', for north of the Bermudas it was found to be nearly six miles. The pressure increases as we descend, and is so great that wood, which has been sunk to a considerable depth, lias its pores penetrated with water to such a degree that it will no longer float. The ocean is darker than the darkest night in its lower regions; but in Some part of the Arctic seas shells are clearly visible in four hundred and eighty feet of water; and in the West Indian seas the bottom is quite distinct at the same depth, the various hues of the submarine occupants of the ground being beautifully apparent. The true colour of the ocean is ultramarine, but every flitting cloud alters it, and organic and inorganic substances often tinge its waters : it is white in the Gulf of Guinea] black round the Maldives; vermillion ofl" California; and so green in one place off" the coast of Arabia that a ship has been seen to be in green water and l>lue at one time. Its saltness varies, the southern hemisphere CURIOSITIES OF PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY. 135 being more salt than the northern; but the water of tlie lake of Eltonsk, east of tlie Volga, contains the greatest proportion of saline matter, and is thereby rendered the most buoyant water known. The Dead Sea is so saturated svitli salt that it irritates the skin, and towards the south, pillars of this substance project from beds of sandstone. The Avaters of the Caspian are becoming more saline and smaller in quantity, because more water is evaporated than is supplied to it, thougli it receives large rivers and has no outlet. This sea is subject to heavy winds, which drive the waters over the land; a vessel was thus Avashed forty-six miles inland, and there stranded. The highest known Avaves are seen off the Cape of Good Hope in a north-Avest gale ; their greatest height is probably about forty feet from the trough of the wave to its summit. The tremendous breakers on the Avest coast of Ireland occasionally rise one hundred and fifty feet, and the Bell Rock lighthouse, one hundred and tAvelve feet high, is actually enA^eloped in foam, Avhen there is no Avind, by the ground SAvell. A dry Avind raises the sea more than a Avet one; but in a gale the Avater is probably calm tAvo hundred or three liundred feet below the surface. Vast currents occur in A\arious parts of the ocean, and tropical seeds are brought by them in abundance to the coasts of Ireland and the Hebrides. In some parts of the Carribbean Sea it is said that a boat may be kept at rest on the surface of a sweeping current by loAvering a heavy body down to some depth, Avhere another current, running in an opposite direction, neutralizes the poAver of the upper one to drift the boat along. Winds and currents cause a necessarily circuitous A^oyage from Jamaica to the lesser Antilles to take nearly as many Aveeks as it takes days to return. Could the Russians jmss over the pole and through Behrincr Straits to their JSTorth American settlements, they Avould save a A^oyage of about tAventy thousand miles. Iceberors drift into the Athmtic tAvo thousand miles from their starting place in the Arctic seas, and 13G PEOGKESSIVE READER. cool the water perceptibly for thirty or forty miles around them, and the air much further. Koss met with multitudes in the South Polar seas with perpendicular sides, from one hundred to one hundred and eighty feet high, and some were several miles in circumference. The seasons are not supposed to influence the ocean to a greater depth than three hundred feet. In a course of experiments it was found that a sounding lead lowered to the depth of six hundred feet was so hot when raised that it could not be handled; this was probably owing to a submarine volcano or hot spring. The tide at Bristol sometimes rises fifty feet, and even reaches one hundred and twenty feet in the Bay of Fundy, in Kova Scotia, whilst there is scarcely any tide in the islands of the Pacific; up the Amazon it is per- ceptible for five hundred and seventy-six miles. The famous Maelstrom, on the coast of Norway, is a mile and a half in diameter, and the roar of this whirlpool is so loud that it can be heard miles off. In the rocks of Cephalonia there is a cavity into which the Mediter- ranean has been flowing for ages. The lakes of America contain more than one- half of the fresh water on the earth. The river Niaoara unites two of these lakes, and forms the celebrated falls — the most sublime known. Lake Ontario and Lake Erie appear to be increasing in size; and in one of the bays of Lake Huron thunder is con- tinually heard. A large lake of fresh water was formed in one night in Japan simultaneously with the uprising of a volcano from the earth. At the eastern end of Java there is a lake whose Avaters contain sulphuric acid, from which a river flows wherein no living creature is found, nor can fish live in the sea near its mouth. A fall of one foot in 200 renders a river un- navigable. The Phone, which flows very rapidly, falls one foot in 2,620, and has a velocity of 120 feet per minute. The Amazon, with its enormous mass of waters meeting the opposing tidal current from the ocean at a short distance from land, raises a terrific CURIOSITIES OF PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY. 137 wave at spring tides, which carries devastation before it, shakini? the very islands, it is asserted, in its passage. The Rio de la Plata is never less than one hundred and seventy miles across for two hundred miles from its mouth, and its muddy water discolours the Atlantic for two hundred miles. Tlie swift and turbid Missis- sippi sweeps away whole forests when flooded, and the trees, heaped together in thick masses, are carried down and deposited at its mouth, and in the Mexican Gulf, over hundreds of square miles. These rafts are from six to ten feet thick, and often several miles in length. A stream which joins the Magdalena forms the cataract of Zequendama, where the river, rushing through a chasm, descends five hundred and thirty feet at two bounds into a dark pool, illumined only at noon by a few feeble rays, and sending up a cloud of vapour visible fifteen miles off*. Tlie rivers of equatorial America vary in colour; both white and black waters are found there. In boring artesian wells, which are often of great depth, the water frequently spouts up to the height of forty and fifty feet. There is a liot spring in South America wliicli has a temperature of 206° 6'. Next in order comes the earth — '' the round world," which ''cannot be moved." This immense globe, nearly twenty-five thousand miles in circumference, sweeps along in its orbit at the rate of more than eleven hun- dred miles in a minute, revolving in the same space of time upon its axis with a velocity which turns its equatorial inhabitants through more than seventeen miles. The intensity of gravitation varies from local causes as well as from the form of the earth ; it is feeble at Bordeaux, and increases to Clermont, Ferraud, Milan, and Padua, this increase being probably caused by dense masses underground. The earth is more than five times as heavy as a globe of water of the same size, and more than twice the weight of a similar globe of granite. There is a stratum of variable depth beneath the surface at which the temperature is always the 138 PROGRESSIVE READER. same. The small portion of the earth through which m.an has penetrated — a mere atom of the distance to the centre— is arranged in layers called strata, in some of which the remains of animals and vegetables are found, converted often into stony matter. Amongst these productions of bygone ages were tree ferns fifty feet in height; gigantic plants of the fox- tail tribe; shells shaped like a coiled-up snake and as large as a cart wheel; lizards, some with long swan-like necks, others with enormous eyes, and others with wings. There were also immense lizards, seventy feet in length and fourteen and a half feet in circumference, and huge mammals eighteen feet long with two tusks bent down- wards, with which each is supposed to have raked up aquatic plants and to have anchored itself to the bank of the river or lake on whose waters it thus slept floating. Fossil remains are so numerous that wdtli the exception of the metals and some of the primary rocks, every particle of matter on the surface of the globe has probably once formed a part of some living creature. Mountains are formed of minute shells ; the tusks of fossil elephants have formed an article of trade for centuries, and whole islands in the Arctic regions are chiefly composed of the remains of such elephants. Coal — a collection of fossilized vegetable matter — occu- j^ies enormous spaces ; the Appalachian coal-field in North America has an area of sixty-three thousand square miles, and that of Illinois, in the same country, is nearly as large as England. Could a person be raised above a point near Falmouth, until a whole hemisphere became visible, he would see the greatest quantity of land v/liich can be beheld from any one place; and if raised above New Zealand, he would see the greatest quantity of water, so that England is nearly in the centre of the greatest mass of land. Nearly three- fourths of the surface of the globe is occupied by water. Glaciers, a mixture of snow, ice, and water, move in the Alps at a rate of from twelve to twenty-five feet annually; but some there have not altered in shape or position from time immemorial, whilst others cover CURIOSITIES OF PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY. 139 ground formerly cultivated. It is calculated that tliere are four hundred in the Alps alone, varying from three to fifteen miles in lensfth and from one to two and a quarter miles in width; some of these have a thickness of six hundred feet. One pass across the Himalaya Mountains is twenty thousand feet above the sea, or more than four thousand feet higher than IMont Blanc* The journey over the lofty passes in this range of mountains is terrific; many animals die from the i-arity of the air; birds perish by thousands from the wind, and violent storms add to the horrors of the passage. In the dreary regions of North-Eastern Siberia, the people, and even the snow, both give forth a steam, and this vapour is instantly changed into millions of needles of ice, which make a noise in the air like torn satin. The raven in its flight leaves a long line of A-apour behind, and the trunks of the thickest trees rend with a loud report. In the southern parts of these regions the glowing heat of summer produces a change like magic; the snow is scarcely gone when flowers of various hues blossom, seed, and die in a few months. In the province of Cutch, in Hindostan, seven thousand square miles are alternately a sandy desert and an inland sea, for in April the wind drives the waters of the ocean over this tract of land, leaving bare a few grassy eleva- tions on which wild asses feed. In the Andes there are cities, villages, and mines, at greater heights than the summit of what we consider lofty mountains : the highest city in the world is Potosi. Immense plains are found in different parts of the earth, often nearly as level as the sea; there is frequently no eminence one foot high in two hundred and seventy square miles in the South American plains, some of which arc covered with impenetrable thistles ten feet high others with grass mingled witli brilliant flowers, where thousands of horses and cattle feed; others by swamps and bogs which are annually flooded for thousands of square miles, when multitudes of nnimals perish, so that in some places they give the ground the odour of musk ; 140 PROGRESSIVE READER. others by thorny bushes and dwarf trees; others by dense impassable forests, in which myriads of animals live, filling the night air with one loud inharmonious roar, not continuously, bat in bursts. Millions of animals occasionally perish on some of these plains, when their arid vegetation gets on fire from any cause. In North America, there is a tract of saline ground which is often covered to the depth of two or three inches with salt. In Canada, the trees with their branches are sometimes covered with ice an inch in thickness, whilst icicles hang from the boughs. The least wind brings them crashing down, and, should a breeze spring up, the lorest at length gives way, tree after tree falls, carrying all before it, till the whole place resounds with terrific discharges like those of artillery. — Home Friend, S.P.C.K. COMPOSED IK" THE VALLEY NEAR DOVER ON THE DAY OF LANDING. Here, on our native soil, we breathe once more ! The cock that crows, the smoke that curls, that sound Of bells, — those boys who in yon meadow ground In white-sleev'd shirts are playing, — and the roar Of the waves breaking on the chalky shore, — All, all, are English. Oft have I looked round With joy in Kent's green vales; but never found Myself so satisfied in heart before. Europe is yet in bonds' : but let that pass — Thought for another moment. Thou art free My Country ! and 'tis joy enough and pride For one hour's perfect bliss, to tread the grass C)f England once again, and hear and see. With such a dear Comj^anion at my ^i&Q.—'Wonhworth, THE PLEASURES OF MEMORY. 141 FBOM THE PLEASURES OF MEMORY. Twilight's soft dews steal o'er the village green, With magic tints to harmonize the scene. Stilled is the hum that through the hamlet broke, When round the ruins of their ancient oak The peasants flocked to hear the minstrel play, And games and carols closed the busy day. Her wheel at rest, the matron thrills no more With treasured tales and legendary lore. All, all are fled; yet still I linger here! What secret charms this silent spot endear ? Mark yon old mansion frowning through the trees, Whose hollow turret woos the whistling breeze. That casement, arched with ivy's brownest shade. First to these eyes the light of Heaven conveyed. The mouldering gateway strews the grass-grown court Once the calm scene of many a simple sport. When nature pleased, for life itself was new, And the heart promised what the fancy drew, Childhood's loved group revisits every scene. The tangled wood-walk and the tufted green ! Indulgent memory wakes, and lo, they live ! Clothed with far softer hues than light can give. Thou fii^st, best friend that Heaven assigns below, To sooth and sweeten all the cares w^e know; Whose glad suggestions still each vain alarm, What nature fades and life forgets to charm ; Thee would the muse invoke ! — To thee belong Tlie sage's precept, and the poet's song. When softened views thy magic glass reveals. When o'er the landscape Time's meek twilight steals I As when in ocean sinks the orb of day. Long on the wave reflected lustres play ; Thy tempered gleams of happiness resigned, Glance on the darkened mirror of the mind. The school's lone porch, with reverend mosses gray. Just tells the pensive pilgrims where it lay. Mute is the bell that rang at peep of dawn, 142 PROGRESSIVE READER. Quickening my truant feet across tlie lawn : Unlieard the shout that rent the noontide air^ When the slow dial gave a pause to care. Up springs, at every step, to claim a tear, Some little friendship formed and cherished here; And not the lightest leaf, but treanbling teems With golden visions and romantic dreams. Down by yon hazel copse, at evening, blazed The gipsy's fagot — there we stood and gazed; Gazed on her sunburnt face with silent awe, Her tattered mantle and her hood of straw; Her moving lips, her caldron brimming o'er; The drowsy brood that on her back she bore, Imps in the barn with mousing owlets bred, From rifled roost at nightly revel fed ; Whose dark eyes flashed through locks of blackest shade, When in the breeze the distant watch-dog brayed : And heroes fled the sybil's muttered call. Whose elfin prowess scaled the orchard wall. As o'er my palm the silver piece she drew, And traced the line of life with searching view, How throbbed my fluttering pulse with hopes and fears, To learn the colour of my future years \— Samuel Rogers. CHANGES IN THE ATMOSPHERE. There are several causes which tend constantly to pro- duce changes in the atmosphere. We have already noticed, that the air which we breathe is composed of several difterent dry gases, that it also contains a great quantity of the vapour of water in an invisible state, besides the vapour which exists in the visible form of clouds and mists; and that currents of wind are always moving some parts of the air over the ocean, and others over large tracts of land, by which they become heated or cooled, and raise greater or less quantities of water CHANGES IN THE ATMOSPHERE. 143 by evaporation. Besides these causes tliere are others — for instance, the action of electricity, the effects of which upon the air are less known hut very great. Thus we might expect from the combined action of all these causes, that the atmosphere should be in a state of constant change. The real wonder is that, in a fluid so subtile as the air, yielding to every pressure, and expanding or contracting with every alteration of temperature, the changes of the air should be confined within such moderate limits as to be scarcely ever injurious. The princii)al changes in the atmosphere are those which affect its heat, its weight, and its moisture. The changes of heat are those of which we are fhe most sensible. But our own feelings give us a very imperfect measure of heat and cold. A simple experi- ment will shew this, — suppose a person puts one of his hands into snow, or into very cold water, and the other hand at the same time, into water as hot as he can bear it; and after suffering them to remain in that state for a few minutes, puts both his hands into water moderately warm, this water will convey a sensation of warmtli to the hand which has been plunged into the snow, but will feel cold to the hand which has been in the hot water. As long, then, as we trust merely to our own sensations, we can have but a very uncertain estimate even of the sensible heat and cold of the air, or of any other substance. Much less can we estimate the sensible heat of bodies which part with their heat diff'erently. If a piece of wood, a piece of marble, and a piece of iron are all placed in a room heated to a tempera- ture much higher than that of the human body, and the hand is then laid upon each, although each of these substances have the same actual temperature, the iron will feel the hottest, the marble not so hot, and the wood still less hot ; and the reverse will be the case if each is first exposed to the action of a temperature much colder than that of the human frame. It becomes^ then, highly desirable to have sonie lU PROGRESSIVE READER. mstniment wliicli shall measure exactly the changes of heat in the atmosphere, or in any other body. Such an instrument is called a thermometer, a word which im- plies heat-measurer. THE THERMOMETER. A G The principle upon which a thermometer is construc- ted is very simple. All fluids, when heated, swell out, so as to take up more room; and again shrink when they are cooled. Hence, if we can measure the quantity of expansion or contrac- tion, we can measure the quantity of heat which has been added or taken away, provided tlmt equal additions of heat always cause equal quantities of expansion. Mercury (or quicksilver) is the most con- venient fluid for this purpose; since, as far as can be ascertained, it does expand equally for all equal additions of heat, within the limits which it is required to measure. Suppose, then, a certain quantity of mer- cury to be put into a tube A B, having a small uniform bore from A to B, a bulb at the end B. AVhile the F very and end A remains open, let the mercury in the bulb cury wil] length of which is reached be closed of B, be violently heated. The mer- expand, so as to fill up the whole the tube, and drive out any air in it. When the mercury has A, the end of the tube at A must by suddenly heating it by means now a blow-pipe. We have now the bulb and the tube filled with heated mercury. But as the mercury is left to cool, it shrinks back into the bulb, leaving a part of the tube towards A quite empty, except, indeed, that a very fine vapour of mer- cury still remains, tlie effects of which may not be neglected. CHANGES IN THE ATMOSPHERE. 145 Now suppose the bulb of tlie tlierinomct' r to be plunged into melting ice, and tliat the mercury sinks to the jooint F. That point is called the freezing point of water, which gives one natural point from which tem- perature may be measured. Again, let water be made to boil, when the pressure of the air is in its mean state, or when the barometer (which we shall afterwards describe) stands at a certain height, and suppose the mercury in the tube of the thermometer then to have expanded as far as the point G. This gives us a second natural point for measuring temperature. The space between F and Gr may be divided into such a number of equal parts, as may be thought convenient. In Fahren- heit's thermometer, which is commonly used in England, the space between the freezing and boiling points of water is divided into 180 equal parts, the freezing point being 32 degrees, and the boiling point 212 degrees. In Reaumur's thermometer, the freezing point is 0, and the boiling point 80 ; in Celsius's thermometer, which is now most frequently used on the Continent, the freezing point is 0, and the boiling point 100. An easy rule reduces the degrees of one of these scales to either of the others;* but it would be a great con- venience if all thermometers w^ere constructed to the same scale. When a thermometer is graduated, or has its scale divided into equal parts, we have an accurate measure of the sensible heat of the atmosphere, or of any other body to Avhich it can be applied; and thus we can know precisely what changes take place in the temperature of the air. * To convert degrees of Eeaumur into those of Fahrenheit, above freezing point, multiply by 2^, and add 32; heloiv freezing point, multiply by 2^, and subtract from 32 ; thus, 17 Pv X 2^ = 38^ + 32 = 701 F. of heat 8 Pv X 2i = IS ; 18 from 32 = 14 F. of cold. To convert degi'ees of Celsius into those of Fahrenheit, multiply by 1|-, and add S2-, if above freezing point ; subtract 32, if beloio freezing point. S. VI. K 14G PROCIRESSIVE READER, THE BAIIOMETER. Tlie cliangcs in the weight of the air are also capable of being exactly measured, by an instrument constructed j^ ji for tliat pur])ose — the barometer or weight- measurer. It can easily be shewn that the air has some weight; for if the air be pumped out of a copper ball, and the empty ball be then accurately weighed, there is found to llwbe a sensible increase of weight as soon as the air is asrain admitted : the air beinoj about 840 times lighter than the same bulk of water. If the weight of a given quantity of air could be accurately ascertained in this manner, at different times, a tolerably good measure of the change of weisjht midit be obtained. But this change of air can be measured much more conveniently by taking advantage of a property of all fluids, of which air is one. If a bent tube, such as A B C, oe partly filled with a fluid, and the tube be then held upright, with the part C, lowest, the fluid will stand at the same height in both branches. But if two diflcrent fluids, as mercury and water, one of which is bulk for bulk heavier than the other, be put in, the upper surfaces, M and W, will no longer be on the same level. IfD be the point where the two fluids join, the up])er surface of the water, W, will be fonrteen times as much above D, as the upj^er sur- face of the mercury, M, is; mercury being fourteen times heavier than water. And if a column, D W, of a lighter fluid than water be above D. the heioht of the mercury in the leg, C A, will be propor- tionally less, and if air were employed instead of water, no air being admitted above the mercury at M, the height of the mercury would only be CHANGES IN THE ATIMOSPHEr.E. 147 M Such an meter ; and would shew the surface of tlie mercury, allowance about one 340th part as .crreat as if a column of water of the same length were used. Now, suppose the tube B C A, having the leg.^ A C, more than thirty-eight inches long, to be perfectly closed at A, and that mercury were gently poured in at B, and that means could be taken to shut out all the air from the part A C, and to fill that length of the bent tube entirely with mercury; if the tube were now set up- right, the air being freely admitted at B, the upper surface of the mercury would be found to have settled at some point, M, at the height of about thirty inches above the line, D c/, which is the level of the lower surface of the mercury on Avhich the air rests at D. The pressure of the mercury above D d is therefore the exact measure of the pressure of air upon D, arising from the weight of the air in D B, and of all the air above B up to the top of the atmosphere : and if, from any causes the pressure of the air on D is increased or diminished, the change will be shewn in a corresponding rise or fall of the upper surface of the mer- cury at M. instrument would be a haro- if fitted with a scale at M, by inspection the change of for the rise be observed tion of the tically constructed, the iwinciiiile upon being made or fall also of the surface D. It will that this explanation is not a descrip- manner in which a barometer is ])rac- but simply to shew familiarly which it acts. The tufefe at D is gentvally much larger than the part A C, and sometimes the tube A C is straight, with its lower end plunged in a basin of mercury. 148 PROGRESSIVE READER. In some barometers a weight, W, rests on tlie surface, D, of the mercury, partly balanced by another weight, V, suspended by a string passing over a pulley, P. The axis of this pulley carries a pointer, N, which marks upon a dial-plate the rise or fall of the surface D, and consequently the change in the pressure of the air. The tubes and jxiUey are, of course, concealed from view by the case of the instrument.— Saturday Magazine. MECHANICAL EFFECTS OF THE AIR. Air is a great mechanical agent. While it remains at rest, it supports within it an innumerable quantity of birds and insects, which sport with the utmost freedom and ease. And when the air itself is put in motion, it becomes the instrument of most important and beneficial effects. The wind is constantly bringing a fresh supply of air to those places in which it is wanted. Currents of air are passing continually over the ocean, and thence are carried over tracts of land, and replace the heated atmosphere of the plains, sind the unwholesome vapours arising from crowded cities. Meanwhile the breezes, which thus convey health nnd freshness with them, afford the means of navigating the ocean in various directions ; the changes of the variable winds being such as to enable the sailor to pursue his voyage in almost any direction. In other parts of the earth, the wind blows regularly in nearly the same direction for a length of time; and thus becomes a certain means of convey- ance. On the surface of the earth, the wind is also constantly doing work. We can scarcely conceive the quantity ot labour which is saved by that common but very beautiful machine, the wind-mill. How well it does its work ! MECHANICAL EFFECTS OF THE AIR. 149 How regular is its performance by means whicli appear so irregular ! In different parts of the country we may see corn ground, timber sawed, marshes drained, water raised from great depths, and various other work done, and all by that invisible and apparently weak and in- constant assent the loind. The currents of air are thus strong enough to do us incalculable good ; and very seldom, comparatively, are so violent as to occasion much injury. The two great winds which blow from the Poles to the Equator, and from the Equator to the Poles are caused by the excessive heating of the air of Tropical regions. The air becomes heated, ascends, and flows off towards the Poles, Avhile colder currents rush in from the Poles to supply its place. If you examine a map of the winds, you will find that there are four great belts extending round the earth, and separated from each other by calm-belts. Those on either side of the Equator are called the north-east and south-east trade-winds ; the remaining two are called the belts of variable winds. The trade winds are so-named because they are so useful for trade purposes.* They consist of the currents of cold air which are making their way from the Poles to the Equator to supply the place of the heated air which blows over the tops of them towards the Poles. The belt separating the trade-winds is known as the Equatorial belt of calms, which calms are often varied by most violent storms. The prevalent w^inds in the northern belt of variable winds are south-westerly ones, and the prevalent winds in the southern belt are north-westerly ones; these con- sist of the heated air which is making its Avay to the Poles. If w^e followed a particle of air throughout its course, we should find that a regular circulation of air exists right round the globe. The particle after passing to the Equator, thence to the South Pole, and next to the * See Standard F., p. 190. 150 PROGRESSIVE READER. Equator again, would eventually return to the North Pole from Avhence it started. The belts of winds correspond Avith the belts of rains. The Equatorial calm-belt is the belt of constant precipi- tation, where rain falls nearly every day in the year. The trade-wind regions are the belts of periodical rains, where the year consists of two seasons, a wet and a dry. The belts of variable winds are the belts also of variable rains. The most important regular w^inds next to "the trades" are the monsoons. These prevail off the coasts of India, the eastern coast of Africa, the northern coast of Australia, and small portions of the Mexican and Brazilian coasts. They blow for six months in one direction, and for six months exactly in the opposite direction, thus north of the Equator they blow north- east for six months, and south-west for six months. They are caused by the overheating of air over deserts and flat expanses of land ; the north-east wind just mentioned would be the ordinary trade-wind, while the south-west wind blows during the hottest part of the year (the summer of these portions of the globe). Many other winds exist. Land and sea breezes pre- vail in countries in the neighbourhood of the ocean. Simooms are hot winds that blow from the great desert of Sahara. Etesian winds are wdnds which prevail in the Mediterranean. The distinctive character of certain winds is given to them by the nature of the part over Avhicli they have blown : thus an easterly wind to us in England is dry, cold, and piercing ; in America it would be wet, and cool. In the foi-mer case the wind would have blown over land — Asia and Russia ; in the latter case it would have blown over ^vater — the Atlantic. A westerly wind with us partakes more of the nature of an easterly wind with the Americans, but it is much warmer since it has blown over the warm waters of the Gulf Sti'eam. Violent winds do great damage, and frequently accompLiny thunder-storms. These chiefly prevail in the warmest parts of the year, and are caused by tlie derange- THE TIDES. 15i Inent of the electricity in the atmosphere. Forked lightning is seen when the storm is very near us. Sheet lio-htninsf is tlie reflection in the clouds of lis-htnini; caused by distant storms. But the most dreadful of all storms are the hurricanes of tropical regions. They are known as hurricanes near the Island of Mauritius, as tornadoes in the West Indies, nnd as typhoons in the Japanese seas. These appear to be a combination of the hot winds from the Equator and the cold winds from the Poles. They possess a movement peculiar to themselves. The storm moves round a centre, and yet constantly advances. Its path most resembles a corkscrew. Fearful shipwrecks, great destruction of property, and submergences of land are the frequent accompaniments of these violent dis- turbances of the atmosphere. The state of the atmosphere, the direction of the wind, the prevalence or non-prevalence of storms determine weather, and the result of a series of investi2;ations with reo-ard to weather decides the climate of a country. Climate depends upon three circumstances, first, the position of the country on the earth's surface whether north or south of the Equator; second, its position with regard to neighbouring lands or seas ; third, the direc- tion of its prevalent winds. These three circumstances combine to give a country a good or a bad climate, thus England's position on the Temperate Zone giv^es her a Temperate climate, which is modified by the nature of the prevalent winds and her proximity to the Atlantic and its Gulf ^Stream. THE TIDES, Part L Everybody knows how useful the tides are upon the sea coast. We constantly see a number of ships, all waiting at anchor for some hours, Avliile the crews are 1S2 lUlOGR£SSiVE READER, able to take their rest. We keej) looking at them, and, at a certain time, without any change of wind liaving taken place, we see them all busy setting their sails and weighing anchor, and, in a few hours more, they are all out of sight : they were, in fact, waiting for the change of the tide. If the wind was unfavourable, they could never make head against it, as long as the tide was against them too; but with the tide in their favour they can pursue their voyage, even against an unfavourable wind. In rivers, the use of the tides is seen still more plainly. The tide brings not only a current, but a whole supply of water every twelve hours ; and the continual change, which can be quite calculated upon, is just as useful as having a wind constantly fair up and down a river, alternately, for a certain number of hours every day. Besides the immense importance of the tides to navigation, no one can calculate how conducive they are to health and cleanliness. Such a river as the Thames is thoroughly washed out, twice a day, by a current, carrying with it, towards the sea, all the drainage of a population of millions of people, and as often bringing up clear water and fresh air. It is a system of lungs, breathing regularly twice in about twenty-four hours. We shall endeavour to shew how the tides are produced. It is soon seen that the tides are occasioned by the moon ; for the time of high and low water comes back to the same hour whenever the moon is at the same age. The height of the tide on different days plainly depends also upon the age of the moon. The highest tides are always found about the time of new and full moon, and the lowest when the moon is in her quarters. What is to be explained then is, why the waters should rise and fall twice in rather more than twenty- four hours, and how this fluctuation is connected with the i^osition of the moon. Tor this purpose, we will first see what the effect of the moon would be, if the whole earth were covered with water, and we shall afterwards easily discover what changes will be made, Avhen we consider the actual condition of the globe made up of land and water. THE TIDES. 153 STides of an open Ocean. — It is well known that tlie moon is a solid body, which goes round the earth eveiy month in a direction from west to east, and, from the real motion of the earth on its axis, appears to move round from east to west every day. Supposing, then, M to be the moon, and C the centre of the earth, there 3vr O ' ' Iff/ o is some point. A, upon the surface of th.'^ earth, which is nearest to the moon, and another point, B, exactly opposite, which is furthest from the moon. Now every solid body, such as the moon, is found to draw towards it any other body, by a force Avhich is called r/ravitaiion, and is really the same force by which a stone falls to the ground ; and this force is the greater the nearer the attracted body is to that which attracts ; thus A would be attracted by ivi more than C is, and C would be more attracted by M than B is. If these three particles. A, C, and B, were quite at liberty to move towards M at the end of any time (as a minute), A would ha^e moved towards M through a greater space than C had, and C through a greater space than B had ] hence A. would be further from C, and C further from B, than each was at first. And if the motion of B be regarded only with reference to the point C, considered as at rest, the effect would be the same as if it were really drawn away from C, by the attraction of some other body {in) exactly opposite to M.* * It may appear somewhat strange to those who have not thought before about the matter, that an attraction towards M should cause a rise of the waters in the part opposite to M, aud it may be worth while to explain the principle upon which it depends a httle more clearly Suppose, then, A C B to be three equal small balls of iron, floating on pieces of cork, and one foot asunder; then suppose a powerful magnet to be applied at M, which draws A through three inches, C through two niches, and 154 PROGRESSIVE READER. If, then, A C B were a spliere of loater, a particle at A or at B would be lifted a little above its ordinary level, reckoned from C, and all the water near A and B would also be lifted, but in a less degree ; hence the form of the globe would be altered; it would no longer be a perfect sphere, but would take an egg-like shape, the two little ends pointing towards M, and in the opposite direction — that is, there would be a high water at A and B; but at such. a point as E, in the circumference A E B, (half-way between A and B,) the height of the water would certainly not be raised by the attraction of M, and it 6 can be readily shewn, that it would be rather lowered} and there would be there a low loater. Now, suppose this watery globe to turn round upon an axis F /, at right angles to the plane B E A, it is plain that, for any place in the circumference B E A, there Avould be two high ivaters in each revolution ; one when it comes to A the other at B ; and two low ivaters, one at E, the other at a point exactly opposite to E. B through one inch; if the bodies be then stopped, as at a c h, it c B is plain that the distance of a from c is now one foot two inches, and the distance of h from c is one foot one inch, instead of one foot. The effect, therefore, of the /attraction ef M has been to Bcpaiate the two bodies, B and 0, as well as A and C. tHE TIDES. 155 For every point, as a, on the gloLe, between A and F, there woukl also be a high and low water twice in every revolution, but not so high nor so low, as for a point in the circumference A E B, in the plane of which M lies. If the earth, then, were a globe of water, there would be a high water nearly at the same time of the moon's southing, or coming to the meridian of any place, and a low water at about six hours after that time. Since the moon, in consequence of its own motion round the earth, comes to the meridian of a place about forty minutes later every day, the times of high water would also be so much later. Such are the sort of tides which would take place upon a globe totally covered with w^ater. But wo shall see what changes are introduced in the tides, upon a globe which has a surface jjartly of land and partly of water. Part II. On the Tides of Narrow Seas. — We have already seen that, if the earth were a sphere entirely covered with water, the attraction of the moon would cause a rise and fall of the water upon its surface, twice in the course of rather more than twenty-four hours. The waters of an open ocean would be heaped up in the parts under the moon, and in the parts which are exactly opposite, on the other side of the earth. And this great wave would constantly follow the apparent course of the moon. It would be of immense breadth ; for there would be only tAvo ridges and two hollows in the whole circumference of the earth, which is about twenty-four thousand miles at the Equator. But if we only look at an artificial terrestrial globe, or at a map of the world, we shall see at once that such a tide can never take place ; for the land everywhere interferes with the sea, and the depth of the sea itself, although great, accoi-ding to our notion of distance, is very small compared with the whole bulk of the earth. The greatest height of any mountain above the level of 156 PROGRESSIVE READER. the sea is about five miles, and it is probable that the greatest depth of the sea is not much more. Now the earth is a globe, the diameter of which is sixteen hundred times as cjreat as this, so that the utmost denth of the sea, on an artificial globe sixteen inches in diameter, Avould be represented by a thin fibre only a hundredth part of an inch thick, or about as thick as the paper on which this is printed. Still, wherever there is an ocean of considerable extent, measuring from east to loest, there will be found a tide-wave on the same principles as we have already supposed, the ridge of Avliich follows the apparent course of the moon from east to west. Now, the only part of the sea in which the action of the moon upon the waters can cause anything like such a regular tide is the Great Southern ocean, including the southern part of the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans, and of the Indian Sea. Although this great belt of water does not lie under the Equator, it extends with little interruption, in a direction from east to west, round the whole of the globe. In these seas, then, we may look for a tide of great regularity ; and it is accordingly found. The sea next in extent, in a direction from east to west, is tlie remaining part of the Pacific Ocean. With respect to the Atlantic Ocean, although it extends nearly from Pole to Pole, in a direction from north to south, its breadth from east to west is by no means so great ; and for the present purpose we may consider it as a great arm of the Southern Ocean, stretching in a direction at right angles to the course of the general tide-wave in that open sea. To understand how the tides in such an arm of the sea are formed, let us suppose a long trough, P Q, and a narrower trough, C K, opening into it. Now, suppose the water in P Q to be set in motion so as to have a succession of waves passing along from P to Q, and sup- pose A and B to be two successive ridges of such waves, with a hollow between them at L. Then, Avhen the ridge A is at C, the Avater will be highest at C ; as the ridge moves along, the water at C will sink, and be the THE TIDES. 157 lowest when L reaches C ; and it will again rise until the second ridge B has reached C. 7t a. A C • L B But it is plain that since there is nothing to stop some of the water of the ridge A from running along the trough C K, to find its level, part of it will run along and form a movable ridge (a), which will advance along C K exactly in the same iHanner as A moves along P Q. There will therefore be a neiv set of waves moving along C K, not in the direction of the width of C K, but in the direction of its leno-th. It must also be observed that the ridge (a) mtiy not move so fast as the original ridge A, but that the time elapsed between the passage of two successive ridges past any point (as 771, in C K) will be the same as the time between the passage of two successive ridges, A B, past ; since the ridge B would give rise to a wave under the very same circumstances as those in which A caused one. Now we may conceive P Q to represent the Great Southern Ocean, aloni? which the tide-ivave is constantly passing, in the direction P Q, from east to west. In like manner, C K may represent the Atlantic Ocean, of which ?7i is on the African coast, and n on the American coast. And we shall have a succession of tide-ivaveSy such as (rt,) moving from south to north, and succeeding one another, after the same interval of time, as that in which A succeeds B, ar a little more than twelve hours. Accordingly, it is found that, in the Atlantic Ocean, the tide-wave does move from south to north, the ridge 156 PROGRESSIVE READER. of the waves extending in a slanting direction, and in an irregular form, across from the African to the American coast. In order to explain the manner in which these waves cause the tide in different branches of the same sea, we will trace the course of the tide-wave round the coast of England. \ °' <\ \% \<^ English Channel, f FRANCE. Ushant. Suppose the moon to have passed the meridian of Ushant, on the north-west part of the coast of France, at twelve o'clock in the day, the tide-wave of the Atlantic will reach Ushant soon after three o'clock on the same afternoon, its ridge stretching towards the north-west, so as to fall a little south of Cape Clear, in Ireland. This wave soon after divides itself into three branches. THE TIDES. 159 One part passes eastward up tlie English Channel, causing high-water in succession at all the places at which it arrives. It moves at about the rate of fifty- miles an hour, so as to pass through the straits of Dover and reach the Nore about twelve o'clock at night. The second branch of the tide-wave passes more slowly up the Irish Channel, causing high-water along the coast of Wales, Lancashire, and Cumberland, and upon the eastern coast of Ireland. The third and principal part of the same wave moves more rapidly, being in a more open sea. By six o'clock it has reached the northern extremity of Ireland : about nine o'clock it has got to the Orkney Islands, and forms a wave extending due north. At twelve o'clock at night, the summit of the s«ime wave extends from the coast of Buchan in Scotland, eastward to the Naze in Norway, and in twelve hours more it has flowed down the eastern coast of fingland, forming the Jlood-tide from the north, and reached the Nore, where it meets the morning tide which left the mouth of the English Channel above eight hours before. The consequence of the meeting of the two tides at the Nore is very remarkable in the Thames. Sometimes the tide from the north is a little later than the other, and continues to flow after the other has ebbed consider- ably, thus causing a second tide on the same day. Another consequence is that, on the whole eastern coast of England, the tides are upon the whole highest when the wind blows strongly from the north-we.st, or off shore. This may appear strange at first, but the cause is quite plain when we remember that the tide is caused by such a wave as has been described, passing round the northern extremity of Scotland into the German Ocean. It will bo seen also that the tide in the English Channel is twelve hours earlier than the tide in the German Ocean : so that if the highest spring-tide from the south reached the Nore at twelve o'clock in the day, the highest spring-tide from the north would not occur till twelve o'clock at 7iight.^/S. M. 160 PROGRESSIVE READER. LESSONS IN GEOLOGY. Around each village or town various soils are found; sometimes they resemble one another; sometimes they do not ; sometimes expanses of chalk prevail; sometimes tracts of gravel ; sometimes granite abounds ; sometimes sandstone. Geology is the science which explains the differences between these various soils. It takes into consideration the structure of the entire earth, analyzes that structure, arranges its various parts, and seeks to explain the origin of those parts, and the reason of their present arrangement. But Geology has practical as well as theoretical uses ; and the former render its study im- portant and necessary to the miner, the railway con- structor, the architect, and the builder. The means of practically studying this science exist within the reach of all. A heap of stones by the roadside unfolds to one acquainted with Geology the history of past ages. Every quarry, every railway cutting, every river-bank, every sea-side cliff, every well sunk, all shew the successive stages through which the earth has passed previous to attaining its present state and condition. The geologist explains the earth's past history by means of the present operations of nature. He sees layer of earth overlying layer of earth, and he knows, from observation, that those layers have received their present position from being deposited by water. He observes how some rocks appear twisted and distorted, and he explains it by the pressure, both lateral and per- pendicular, of older and harder rocks. He watches the effect of the atmosphere upon rocks, and thus accounts for their wasted appearance, and for the immense boulders precipitated from rock-summits to the valleys beneath. He ?ttands by the river-side, and notices that the banks are gradually being washed away. He observes the mud that discolours the waters, and by its means he can account for the delta that the river forms at its mouth. He travels into distant lands, and the violent action which accompanies the eruptions of LESSONS IN GEOLOGY. ICl Tolcaiioes, explains to him how some rocks are '^on edge," some " inclined " to each other, and some resting at riglit angles upon others. Again he visits the sea-side, and he sees that the incessant action of the waves upon the coast oriiJjinates the numerous hollows and caverns that there abound. All these are operations of nature, which are going on during every moment of the day ; they can be watched by any of us, if we will only use the eyes and the understanding that God has given us. And by these operations all geological facts can be explained. By the term "earth's crust" is meant "that portion of the earth's surface which comes within human research." It is of small extent, compared with the entire thickness of the earth. But still the information thus gained is of the most interesting and most useful nature. Unaided by the geologist, gold mines could only accidentally be found, and none Avould know where to seek for coal. Unassisted by the geologist, the builder would not know where to find suitable stone, while to the researches of geologists the engineer owes much of the success that attends his undertakings. The atmosphere, by means of the gases of which it is composed, greatly influences the rocks composing the earth's crust. The two gases most instrumental in these changes are oxygen and carbonic acid, the latter acts upon those containing lime, the former upon those con- taining iron. Stand at the foot of any great rock, and you will easily trace the results of atmospheric intlnence upon it. See its top shaped most grotesquely, here forming a natural grotto, there forming a curiously- shaped castle, here with sharp points shooting heaven- wards, there with peaks whose sides are completely jagged and broken. Again look at the foot of the rock, and you will notice directly the broken fragments of the rock itself, the portions which have been detached by the wearing influence of the atmosphere and which now lie carelessly strewn along its base. Low plains also suffer from atmospheric influences. Across deserts blow violent winds, which increase in S. VJ- L 162 PROGRESSIVE READER, intensity as they proceed, and which carry with them the sand of the desert. Ofttimes tlie sand thus carried away brings destruction of crops and future barrenness of soil to the fertile lands that bound the desert. Frost splits rocks and loosens the surface soil. Both fresh and salt water effect changes. The river pursues its course heavily laden with sand, mud, and gravel, and these burdens it deposits at its mouth, and thus forms a delta. The waves of the ocean dashinof against a rock-bound coast, slowly, but gradually and surely, wear away the coast, and wash away the softer portions of the rocks. The English coast from Yorkshire to Kent has suffered in this way during the last eight hundred years. The Goodwin Sands once formed the estate of Earl Goodwin, the powerful opponent of Norman influence at Edward tlie Confessor's Court. Ravenspur, the place where both Henry IV. and Edward IV. landed on the Yorkshire coast, has disappeared, and Its exact locality is not known. Volcanoes, earthquakes, and, alterations of level, are the manifestations of the force of the fire in the earth's centre. These forces are compensating agents j the action of the atmosphere and water would sjieedily degrade the earth, they would quickly lessen the surface in the ways that have just been described, but the volcanic forces raise up again the parts that have fallen, so that although individual parts of tho earth may from year to year suffer change, yet the entire area of the land above the water's surface always remains the same. The alterations of level of various parts are remarkable. Upon the tops of the highest mountains are found marine shells, the proof that once those mountains formed a portion of the ocean's bed. In the hi^ih plains which exist in manv of the continents at immense dis- tances from the sea, there the same proof exists, and their surfaces are covered with sea sand, and sliells. The alterations take place very gradually ; years elapse before any remai'kaljlc height is attained, but at length the wonderful working of these forces is seen. The coast of South America continues to rise in this manner. LESSONS IN GEOLOGY, 1G3 Tiie island of Greenland is gradually sinking, ^vllile the shores of the Baltic are rising. All classes of life, both plants and animals, contribute to effect changes. Vegetation constantly adds to the soil. Leaves fall, decay, and become changed into " leaf- mould." Large forests become submerged, and change after the lapse of many centuries into beds of coal. The excretions of animals continually produce changes. Some living creatures spend the period of their existence in increasincj the amount of soil on the earth's surfaco. The little coral insects congregate together in thousands, they elaborate lime from the sea-water, and build there- with the numerous coral islands which stud the ocean. Sponges, (tc, elaborate silex or flint from the water, and form at the bottom of the ocean huge beds of flint .similar to those that distinguish past ages. THE VAEIETIES OF ROCKS. Careful study of Y>ortions of the earth's surfaco situ- ated in all parts of the globe, has resulted in the con- clusion that all kinds of rocks may be arranged in two great groups. These two groups are, the stratified and the unstrati/ied ; the former arranged, the latter dis- arranged; the former shewing conclusively the manner in which they were formed, the latter consisting of all kinds of matter, the method of whose formation can only be conjectured. Between these two great groups there is an intermediate series. It possesses neithei the confusion of particles which distinguishes the unstratified rocks, nor the traces of life which charac- terize each of the stratified systems. The series partially belongs to the one set of rocks, and partially to the other. Hence the name applied to these rocks of transitio7icd. The unstratlfied rocks form the base upon which all the other rock systems rest ; they are " the foundations of the earth." They have been formed by the agericy of fire. The unstrati/ied frequently appear associated witli the stratified: either they have upheaved the stra- 164 PROGRESSIVE READER. tified, broken tliem, or become intermixed with tliem. Granite is the most ancient, lava the most modern, of this group of rocks. The transition rocks occur in beds horizontally arranged. This would shew, that originally their par- ticles were deposited by water. But, besides this, they possess no single trace of their origin and history. No fossil forms are found within them. Some explain their present appearance by stating that it is the pressure they have sustained from overlying rocks that has so materially altered them, and they assert that if a suffi- cient time were allowed to elapse, and the pressure allowed to continue, the transition rocks would assume the appearance of granite. The stratified rocks extend over a vast area of the earth's surface. Were they all placed one upon another, we should never be able to discover the numerous classes into which geologists have divided them. But in few parts of the world are the stratified systems, as a whole, arranged horizontally. In nearly every country, vol- canic forces have been at work, here lifting up, there breaking them asunder. It is the apparently unnatural positions assumed by strata, when influenced by these forces, that enables us to learn the relative positions of the various systems. By crossing England and Wales, from Kent on the one side to the Welsh coast on the other, we should pass over all the geological systems. England, in this matter, possesses a great advantage over other countries. The volcanic forces have been working with such force in j^ast ages beneath our country, that all the strata have lost their horizontal position, and have become set " on edge:" by this term geologists mean tilted up. From this circun:kstance England derives such varieties of soil and such valuable mines. The edge of a stratum, that part Avhich lies along the surface, is called its oiitc7'op, and the line of outcrop forms the strihe. The manner in Avhich a stra- tum is inclined to the horizon is called its dijj. The angle of the dip may be measured by liolding one of your hands upright, and then placing the other hand at LESSONS IN GEOLOGY. 165 right angles to it. When we walk along the upturned part of a stratum, we follow the strike; when we dig, following the stratum, we are guided by the dip. Four circumstances distinguish the stratified systems, and by these four circumstances the relative age of each can be ascertained. These are, — position, mineral con- stituents , imbedded contents, and the traces of life. Position is very important. If one rock is found to underlie another, the necessary deduction is, that the lower rock is older than the upper. The Ganges and the Nile wash down to tneir mouths tons of matter daily; but the layers at the bottom Avill always be older tlian those at the top. Hence, if coal-containing strata be found beneath beds of red-sand, we at once conjec- ture that the former are of a greater age than the latter. The slates of Wales underlie the sandstones of Devon- shire; the sandstones of Devonshire underlie the coal formations of Northern England; and the chalk-beds of Kent underlie the clay and sands of London. The true means of ascertaining a rock's age are the traces of life it possesses. Each system has a distinctive form of life, and tliose forms still exist as " fossils." Fossils are petrified remains of once living beings; the word means anything dug up: but it is advisable to restrict its meaning. Dr. Page, in his Geology, thus describes an ordinary process of fossilization: — " A shell, like the common cockle, may be buried in a mass of mud, and when so enclosed, it is of itself composed of carbonate of lime and a little animal matter. As it remains imbedded, chemical changes take place, — the animal matter decomposes and passes off in gas, and its place is supplied by an additional deposit of lime from the mass. As the mass becomes consolidated into lime- stone rock, the shell will also become hard and stony, but still preserving its form to the minutest ridge of its surface. By-and-bye, carbonated waters may filter through the pores of the limestone; the shell may be dissolved entirely, and leave only a hollow cast of its form. Another change may now take pUce; water holding flinty matter may run through the rock, and 166 PROGRESSIVE HEADER. the hollow shell-cast be filled entirely with flint. All these are possible changes, and changes that eveiy day- present themselves to the eye of one who studies the forms of ancient life. FIRE-FORMED ROCKS. The fire-formed rocks form a class distinguished from all other systems by their not possessing fossils, and the evidence they possess of their origin by the agency of fire. Little is known of the earth's interior, but much has been conjectured, and for many years the majority of geologists have held the opinion that matter in a state of liquid fire forms the earth's centre. This internal fire was originally derived from the earth itself. In that far-distant " beginning," before the present state of the earth came into existence at the fiat of the Almighty Creator, the earth was a revolving globe of fire, which had been a portion of the sun, but was afterwards detached from that body. As this fiery globe cooled, a solid crust was formed, and age by age the crust has increased in thickness. At times, however, the fire makes its presence known, and bursts forth through the earth's safety-valves — the volcanoes. Granite is found in all quarters of the globe. It underlies all rocks. It forms the base upon which all the others rest. Granite differs from granite, even as one stratified system differs from another. The name is a sjeneral one. Space does not allow more to be said about these important rocks, but their value will be appreciated when it is mentioned that they are the chief depositories of the world's mineral Avealth, and that all the great jinountain-ranges are mainly composed of granite. jj^^Q^olcanic Rocks are the formation of recent times* outcroi?'^^^^^' in the vicinity of volcanoes. The molten tum is in\^^ pours forth "from the bowels of the earth," anwle of tlA^^^'®^-^^ appearances in accordance with its your hands u '^o" Tons and tons of lava j^ursue their ^ he sides of Vesuvius during an eruption. Lessons in geology. 167 Lcava, after cooling, mucli resembles the slag from a furnace. The solidified froth or scum forms pumice, a light-coloured, spongy -looking substance, useful for polish- ing purposes. Both soft porous earths, and dark close- grained rocks have been formed with molten lava. The ancients obtained a peculiar glass-like substance from lava; they called it obsidian, and used pieces of it as looking- glasses. To enumerate the mercantile products obtained from the fire-formed rocks, would be to enumerate every mineral product that is valuable for commercial pur- poses. From Sicily and Italy we obtain our chief sujjplies of sulphur and borax. Granite rocks supply us with the best building and road-making material. METAMORPHIC EOCKS. Pressure, as we all know, produces rapid changes in any substance which comes under its influence. Place a heavy weight upon clay or sand, and watch the results. The pressure developes heat, the augmented heat pro- duces change. The finest marble for making statues is that from Carrara, in Northern Italy. There for centuries has this wonderful stone been quarried. In the time of Julius Ceesar it had obtained renown, and still sculptors use it in preference to all other varieties. Carrara marble has a beautiful white colour, and is perfectly pure, except where crossed by gray veins. This splendid marble is only ordinary consolidated lime, whose particles have become changed in form by their subjection to heat. Whence came that heat ? Was it heat communicated from the earth's interior, or was it heat developed by pressure 1 Once men thouglit these splendid marbles formed portions of the original matter of the earth. They asserted that these changes were eflected before the creation of living beings. But careful examination of the localities where they occur does not warrant this 168 TROGIIESSIVE READER. stippositioii. It sliews, on the contrary, that they were originally limestone belonging to the later system. Hence the present condition of the limestone was obtained during one of the last ages of the earth's history. The Carrara marble rests upon beds of talc- schist and mica- schist. But these schists are only 'rocks that have been subjected to change. Thus, this series which many deemed so old, consists of ordinary stratified rocks, which have changed in appearance. FOSSILS. Fossils are the guides by whose aid alone the true classi- fication of rocks can be learned. Without them, we are completely " at sea," for the mineral structures of the various strata S() resemble each other that we could not really, by their help alone, arrange the strata into the various systems. Fossils are the keys which enable us to unlock the doors of geology, and to discover the great truths which were concealed from human knowledge by man's own want of research for such a vast number of ages. The v>rord " fossil " is derived from a Latin word, which signifies ^' dug up," It is applied to any vegetable or animal substance that has become wholly or partially petrified. Now, we wish to see what kinds of beings are found in this state, — what were the great types of life that existed in those first ages of our earth's history. The earliest forms of life detected in rock-masses are of the lowest class. The tracks of worms, the borings through sand, and the traces of heavy falls of rain, are the first signs that the earth began to assume a definite form, and its curiously punctured roots ramifying m all directions. Beneath the shades of these huge trees grew undergrowth, rivalling in extent and density that found in Tropical South American forests at the j^i'esent time. Ferns of great height and of endless variety abounded in every direction. YORKSHIRE. 169 Then think of the mighty change that passed over our land as these forests gradually , slowly but surely, sunk lower and lower, became portions of the sea-bottom and were surrounded by heaps of sand, until changes were rapidly effected. The trees decayed, and, in process of time, formed beds of coal — beds revealing, in their method of occurrence, in their mineral constitution, and in their fossil contents, the mighty changes produced by Time. Centuries jjassed, and again a change came over our little England. The land was once more released from its watery prison. And over it roamed animals resem- bling in many respects our crocodiles, but more dreadful in appearance, constructed on a larger scale, and possess- ing an apparently insatiable appetite. Then lived the original of the dragon, the half bird and half reptile, whose petrified remains still till us with wonder and astonishment. Such are the scenes that fossils enable us to conjure up. Such the state of the world at two ei^ochs, — the car- boniferous and the new red sandstone. YORKSHIRE. Part L ** The vale of Yorkshire is the richest and most exten- sive valley in Biitain, if not in all Europe," contends Drake. And it is affirmed by another wniter of even greater antiquity, " Nay, for there is no place out of London so polite and elegant to live in as the city of Yorl:." With due reservation for local prejudices, it may be justly conceded to Yorkshiremen that no county in England possesses in greater profusion such rich and perfect examples of every variety of scenery. We find alike rich old sward and pasture-land, fertile corn-fields, 1?0 PROGRESSIVE READER. well-timbered forests, plenty of thick black fir plantings, with shelter for all sorts of game, clear hill becks abounding with trout; rivers, either broad, fair, and navigable for the greater part of their course — as Ouse, I>erwent, and others — or chiefly rocky and picturesque, escaping from the moutains, and running along the valleys which, in olden times, the sea channelled out for them — as Swale,* Esk, Rye, Kibble, Lune, and the northern half of the Tees. The grouse, plover, and lapwing cry and wail on endless ranges of moor, which, purple and yellow in their season, are yet so black and dreary for the greater part of the year as to leave their mark in the very names of the surrounding district; thus we have Helmsley Black-a-moor, Whitby Black-a-moor, Kirby Moorside, &c. While of other names bestowed, either in apparent reference to some horrible crime or tragedy now forgotten, or specially to indicate the rugged and gloomy character of the sur- rounding scenery, there are numerous examples — such as Bloody Beck, Black Hambleton, Hellgill, Black Brow, Wild Boar Fell, Black Holes, Hell-Pot, Cauldron Snout, Hagg Holes. Again, Baldersdale, Balder Beck, Woden Beck, and Woden' s-croft are names clearly derived from the Scandinavian gods of our ancestors, and are relics, or fossil words, which in themselves alone convey a history. There are ranges of round, green-covered chalk hills called wolds, as well as innumerable crags, nabs, cliffs, scars, heads, peaks, toppings, edges, fells; these being all local term signifying abrupt heights. Thus, Brim- ham Crags, Eston Nab, Whitestone Cliff, Goredale * ]\Iany of these rivers are S})oi]ed, so far as angling is con- cerned, by the reprehensible practices of the servants of the lead- mining companies. The lead is separated from the crusted ore by washing ; the water is drawn from the nearest beck or pond, and the crushed stone is carried down by the beck to the nearest river, looking about as thick as a ghicier stream. This poisonous wash is discharged at a certain hour; the waters of the river are immediately ciianged from clearness like crystal to a murky leaden hue, and shortly afterwards the tish are drugged and Ptupified, and half of them lie dead and floating on their backs. YORKSHIRE. 171 Scar, Burton Head, Pvosebiiry Topping, Blackstone Edge, Wasset Fell. Of lakes, there are Gormore Lake, Simmer Water,* and Malliani Tarn, or water.t Of caves, caverns, or, as they arc variously called, pots, coves, holes, there are Ingleborough, Yordas, and Weathercote Caves, Hurtle Pot, Gingle Pot, and jNIal- liam Cove. These caverns are chiefly to be found in the north-western or limestone district, and contain either water or visible traces of the agency of that clement. ;|: Many of them are richly clothed with stalactites of brilliant sparry deposit standing in shaft- like pillars from roof to base. Of water-falls, or forces, as they are called, there are many of considerable size and power. Hard raw Force, High Force, and the fall in Weathercote Cave, are among the most picturesque. The mountains are too numerous to notice in detail. Mickle Fell, and Shunnor Fell, are the highest in the North Hiding. Ingleborough § and Whernsidc II are pre-eminent in the western division, while Burton Head (one of the kind containing sandy and argillaceous rocks, and resting u))on the upper lias shale) and Black Hambleton (one of the tabular oolitic liills) are the highest in East Yorkshire. The castles, or the remains of those magnificent strongholds which seem to have once guarded every assailable place or pass, are too well known by name to be described here. Those of Bolton, Scarborough, Pickering, Pontefract, SherrifF, Hutton, Wresill, and Knaresbro', are of historical note. Of Castle Howard, * Simmer. This word is supposed to be a combination of two othei'S, see and meer both signifying lake. + Tarn. Fi-ora the Danish word taaren, or trickling of tears, by which we imderstand a deposit of waters gathered together by the many tricklings from the suri'onuding perpendicular rocky heights, but, unlike a lake, having no distinct feeder or outlet. X The waters of Hurtle Pot are noted for abounding in black trout. § fnrjkhurg. Signifies fire or beacon mountain. II Whe7')i, anciently Quernmle ; Quern being the German name for a hand-mill, such as mijit have been cut from the millstone grit of the surrounding district. 172 PROGRESSIVE READER. which does not resemble, in origin or appearance, any of the above, Gent thus speaks — Whose arched walks adorn the twilight grove. Where Strephon mourned and Sylvia's tears did move. In the number, extent, and beauty of the abbeys which remain to her, Yorkshire can fairly compete with any county in Great Britain. Rivaulx, Fountains, Byland, Kirkham, Egglestone, (a.d. 1189,) Kirkstall (often called Cristal Abbey, because of the limpidity of its pleasant streams), Coverham, Bolton Abbey, Drax Abbey, St. Hilda's Whitby, Jervaux Abbey, and Wykeham Abbey (once a priory of nuns), furnish a noble treat to the antiquary. Probably as regards natural beauties, the crowning distinction of the county is to be found in the size, number, and remarkably diverse character of its dales, some unfolding scenery of a very picturesque and lovely kind, while that of others is of a wild, rugged, and gloomy character. In this distinction Westmoreland only can fairly be esteemed as a rival. The Yorkshire dales are simply innumerable. It would be tedious to name them, for they can be counted by the half- hundred. Wensleydale and Bilsdale are two of the largest, being twelve or thirteen miles in length. Part IT. Whatever may happen in time to come, now, at any rate, Yorkshiremen have a pride in the vastness of their county as compared with others, so that it is their boast that it exceeds in size by six times the smallest count}?" in England — we say, whatever may happen, for there are, undoubtedly signs that the sea is stealthily but surely winning back its OAvn; or what our neighbours would call revindicatins: its frontiers. Hornsea was once ten miles from the sea, which it now overlooks. In 1828, part of Outthorne remained, and the church- YORKSHIRE. 173 yard, containing a curious old tombstone, was still in existence. Twelve years afterwards, all had disap- peared beneath the waves. On old Yorkshire maps we read, '' Here stood Auburn, washed away by the sea," " Hyde lost in the sea," " Hartburn washed away by the sea;" and, in still older documents, other names, now passed away beyond the memory of any living man, are recorded as then indicating well-known villages or towns. Whether it will ever be again, as geologists tell us it once was, the Yale of York, ocean covered, Creyke an island, and Black Hambleton a sea cliff, as Whitby is at this moment, none can say; but nowhere are relics of the past to be found in greater richness or profusion than in Yorkshire. At a period which in geological reckoning is of a very recent kind, the elephant, rhinoceros, hippopotamus, hyaena, &c., must have j)rowled about in the valleys and on the moun- tains, since their bones, teeth, Szc, are continually found deeply imbedded in certain strata. In the cele- brated Kirk dale Cave, (which now stands about thirty feet above the level of the little river Bran, but was probably once situated on the margin of an inland lake,) a discovery was made some years ago of a perfect treasure of these relics. Bones not only of the above- named animals were found, but also of the tiger, ox, stag, (tc. Yery perfect remains of the plesiosaurus and other aquatic reptiles disinterred in the neighbourhood of Whitby refer to a vastly earlier stage of the world's history; and geological monuments are not wanting which point to periods greatly exceeding even this in antiquity; periods in which no trace of organic life has ever yet been found. The greenish slate rocks of Ingleton, Coniston Fells, and Hougill Fells, are monuments of the oldest period in which trace of life has been discovered in Yorkshire. Then came the coloured marls which accompany the old red sandstone series, and these are found in the neighbourhood of Kirkby Lonsdale, and so on with the evidence of each successive epoch, until at length we arrive at the last great elevation of land from out of 174 PROGRESSIVE READER. the glacial sea, when the vales of York, Pickering, and Holderness were left above the ocean level, and as they exist at present. Geologically, the county of Yorkshire might be described as an apple divided into two, and then trans- versely severed across into four parts, for in this fashion are the vales and lowlands arranged, taking them as the natural divisions. The Yale of York, running nearly due north and south, but inclining a little to the north-west, and the Yale of Pickering lying at right angles with that of York, and extending (along with the Yale of Esk) from York to the east coast, through Malton, and towards Whitby, while llibblesdale runs westerly by Knaresbro', Gisburn, and above Settle, Skipton, and Clitlieroe. The land, as a whole, rises in masses to the west, or limestone district, and is also higher in the north than in the south, but the hills themselves are distinguished by Professor Phillips as lying in groups and occupying the four regions north- east, north-west, south-east, and south-west. Legally, however, Yorkshire is divided into three Hidings (trithings, or thirdings, as is the old reading) — north, east, and west; each having well-marked char- acteristics of its own, not only in geology and scenery, but in the dialect, character, and jDursuits of the inhabi- tants. Briton, Poman, Saxon, Dane, and Norman, have all contributed to make the Englishman, and con- sequently the Yorkshireman. Nevertheless it is only with great reservation that anything definite can be said as to the particular race which predominates in each district. In some ex- tremely sequestered parts, men are found who proclaim in feature and appearance their descent from the old British stock. But the Saxon type certainly pre])on- derates in the inland dales, the Celtic in the West Piding, and the Danish along the coast. The Saxons are fair, tall, and stalwart; and in disposition just, self-controlled, slow of belief, stolid in manner, and with the power of quickly adapting inclination to cir- cumstances. The second (or Celtic) are shorter, swarthy, YORKSHIRE. 175 and much more excitable, with a fondness for music and the drama. The last (the Danes) are bold, dark men, with somewhat massive limbs for their height ; they embrace and cleave to a maritime life, as becomes their race. These men are our best fishermen; they become our boldest sailors, and, on the coast line, from Dunbar, in Scotland, to Holderness, in Yorkshire, are the fisheries which form the nursery ground for our future tars. They generally dwell entirely apart from the inland inhabitants ; as, for instance, we see in Berwickshire, Coldingham village, and Coldingliam shore (the fisherman's village), Cockburnspath village, and Cockburnspath cove, ditto. They have their own separate customs, festivals and merrymakings. Many among them are teetotallers; those, who are not, generally get very drunk once a week, i.e., on the Saturday night. Their women sell the fish, rule the house, and bear the purse. The men commonly defer greatly to the women, and in cases of fighting and brawls (not unfrequent) the women never hesitate to part the combatants and bear away each her respective husband to his own home. The pursuits and callings of the ])eople of the three Ridings are quite unlike in kind. The West Elding is industrial, and abounds in spinners, weavers, mechanics, and artizans. The East Riding is essentially a pastoral country. Shepherds, graziers, and farmers live therein, and cultivate the alluvia mud and rich fat soil. The North is pastoral, agricultural, and partly mining in character. The lead mines in Arkendale, Swaledale, &c., and the ironstone in Rosedale and Cleveland, are annually increasing the proportion of the population who earn their subsistence in the mines and cpiarries. In all the Ridings the sentiment is strong in the heart of the natives, that not only their county is the best and finest in England, but that their Riding surpasses, in all things, the other two. Clear proof of early Teutonic habitation is afforded by the numerous towns which bear the Anglo-Saxon termi- nation of ^0??, as Northallerton, (tc; ham "home" {heiin in South Germany), as Malham. (fcc. ; and let/, as Helmsley, 176 PROGRESSIVE READER. &c. By, wliicli is a Danish termination, is, in accord- ance with our previous remarks, chiefly found along the coast, as Whitby, Selby, Hunmanby, &c. Evidence of the language of the ancient and power- ful Brigantian race is decisively stamped on the names of the Yorkshire rivers ; some of these derivations we subjoin as being suggestive and full of poetry : — Rivers. Signification. Calder, Woody water. Douglas, . . . Blue water. Eden, Gliding stream. Humber, . Confluence of two waters. Eibble, . Tumultuous. Dun, Dusky. Derwent, Fair water. Dove, Black. Greta, Swift. Nid, That whirls. Wharf e, , Rough. The same remark is applicable to the names of moun- tains; Penyghent, Penhill, and Pendle-hill being all traceable to the same root. Tumuli (or old burial heaps) are generally termed " hows " throughout Yorkshire. Heather is spoken of as " ling." Whin is " gorse " or " furze." " Thorpe " is a small farm or hamlet ; and in the east, " wyke " is a little bay ; " grip " a small drain ; and " griff," a narrow, rugged glen. A Y^ork shire '' tyke " is a well-known expression, signifying now a sharp cunning fellow, but, in its original acceptation, an old horse. " Teeastril " is a villain or rascal; a broad striped pattern is " breead ratched";* to scold is to "fiyte." A "gowpin'' is a double-handful; a "reeking creak' t is thecrook suspended from the beam within the old wide chimney by which to susjoend pots or pans. "He toomed and toomed, but npver typed," would be that a man swayed, Cor nearly overbalanced) but did not fall over. " Ask " is dry or * i. e. braid stretched. t " Reek " is the Yorkshire term for " smoke," SAXON WORDS. 177 hard, " clarty " is sticky. " It is a soft clay," means a wet day. ''Draff" is used for grains indifferently the sediment of rivers or floods is called " warp ; " " dree " means long, and " dowly," dismal; to "fettle off" a horse, garden, or gate, is to trim them up; ''dench" signifies over-fastidious. " Thou art a feckless sluther- gullion" (i.e., fingerless slovenly lounger, a maligner), we heard an old woman exclaim : " And thou art the ill est contrived auld wife i' the toon," was the retort. Sometimes the diminutives have the same character as the Scotch ; thus " plummock" is a little plum. One day two young lads were busy robbing an orchard ; one was aloft in a damson plum-tree, pulling the fruit at random and throwing them below to his comrade ; the other at the foot was engaged in hot haste, stuffing them into his pockets, and from time to time hurriedly bolting one down his throat. Silence and expedition being imper- atively incumbent in the situation, the first had not much time to select which to gather, nor the other which to put into his mouth. Suddenly the lad below inquired fearfully of the one above, " Tom, has ])lum- mocks footlikins (i.e., little feet)? " " Nooa," roared Tom. "Then," said Bill, with a manly despair, "then I ha' swallowed a straddly-beck." Now, a straddly-beck is a frog, from straddle to stride over, and heck, a ditch or rivulet. — CornhUl Magazine. SAXON WORDS. Old Saxon words, old Saxon words, your spells are round us thrown. Ye haunt our daily paths and dreams with a music all your own ; Each one, in its own power a host, to fond remembrance brinors The earliest, briu-htest as^^ect back to life's familiar things. S. VI. M 178 PROGRESSIVE READER. Yours are the hills, the fields, the looods, the orchards, and the streams, The meadows and the hoivers that bask in the sun's reioicing beams ; 'Mid them our childhood's years were kept, our chikl- hood's thoughts were reared, And by your household tones its joys were evermore endear'd. We have wander'd where the myrtle bloora'd in its own unclouded realms, But our hearts returned v/ith changeless love to the brave old Saxon elms, Where the laurel o'er its native streams of a deathless glory spoke, But we passed with pride to the later fame of the sturdy Saxon oak. We have marvelled at those mighty piles on the old Egyptain plains. And our souls have thrill' d to the loveliness of the lonely Grecian fanes ; We have linger'd o'er the wreck of Home, with its classic memories crown'd. But these touch us not as the moulderinof walls with the Saxon ivi/ bound. Old Saxon words, old Saxon words, they bear us back with pride. To the days when Alfred ruled the land by the laws of Him that died ; When in one spirit, truly good and truly great, was shewn What earth has owed, and still must owe, to such as Him alone. There are tongues of other lands that flow with a softer, smoother grace. But ths old rough Saxon words will keep in our hearts theii' own true place ; THE TIDES OF EIVERS. 179 Our household hearths, onr household graves, our household smiles and tears, Are guarded, hallow'd, shrined by them — the kind fast friends of years. Old Saxon words, old Saxon words, your spells are round us thrown, Ye haunt our daily paths and dreams with a music all your own ; Each one in its own power a host, to fond remembrance brings The earliest, brightest aspect back of life'a familiar things. — Mrs. C. Tinsley. THE TIDES OF RIYERS. There is a circumstance connected with the subject of the tides which may have suggested a difficulty in the minds of some of our readers. AVhen we speak of a tide-wave adv^ancing at the rate of fifty or a hundred miles in an hour, we are apt at once to think of a current of water running at that rate, whereas, every- body knows that it is a very strong tide that runs at the rate of four miles an hour. A little attention will shew that the advance of the ridge of the tide-wave is a very different thing from the motion of the current in the water. If a ship were becalmed at the entrance of the English Channel, she would be lifted by the high- water tide, we will suppose, at three o'clock in the after- noon. A fleet riding at anchor in the Downs, would be lifted by the very same tide-wave at twelve o'clock that night, the wave having passed all the way iip the Channel, at the rate of about fifty miles an hour. But the motion of the water which would carry the first ship along, or be obser^'ed as the rate of the current past the ship at anchor, would probably not be above two miles an hour; and might not be even in the same direction with thai of the tide-wave. Any person may easily convince himself that the motion of waves is not necessarily accompanied with % 180 PROGRESSIVE READER. current of the water in the same direction, by throwing any light substance into the sea a little beyond the breakers, or into a piece of standing water, the surface of which is ruffled. He will see that such a floating body rises and falls with the motion of the waves, but does not perceptibly move towards the shore. A field of corn gives another very good instance of waves, without any advancing motion of the parts which form them. We may see the waves chase one another over the bending tops of the corn ; but every ear that is bent down comes back to its first position. In the tides, however, there is usually some current occasioned by the advance of the tide-wave : and this tide is stronger in places where the sea is shallower, or in funnel-shaped channels, such as the mouth of the Severn, or of other large rivers. It must be carefully observed, however, that the change in the direction of this current is quite a different thing from the change in the rise and fall of the water. The nature of the tide in large rivers will be easily understood, after what has been said respecting the tide in narrow seas. Whenever the top of a tide-wave reaches the mouth of a river, it raises the water there, and sends an undulation up the river which advances with greater or less rapidity, (according to circumstances, checking the current, but not always driving it back), and causing high-water in succession, as it reaches the different parts of the river. The tide- wave advances up the Thames at about twenty miles an hour. We have no rivers in England which are long enough to shew the whole effect of the tide-wave in its progress; but in the great rivers of America, and in other parts of the world, it may be distinctly traced. Thus, in the river Delaware, upon which the town of Philadelphia is built, it is high water at Philadel[)hia at the same time as at the mouth of th river, one hundred and forty miles distant: and about half-way down there is low water at the same instant. As-ain, when it is hicjh water at the middle point, it is low water at the two extremities. The surfiice of that part of the river which THE TIDES OF RIVERS. 181 lies between the capes, at the mouth of the Delaware, and the city of Philadelpliia, forms a long wave, the distance from ridge to ridge being one hundred and forty miles : when it is high water at Philadelphia and at the mouth, the wave has the position re])resented in fig. 1, in which P represents Philadelphia and C the Fig. 1. capes : and when it is low water at the same })oints, the surface has assumed the position represented in hg. 2- the water having sunk at the two extremities, and risen in the middle. In rivers of very great length there may be several of these tide-waves going on at once, causing high water ■M 1. Fig. 2, at every ridge, and low water at every hollow; and pro- ducing the different variations of the tide at the corre- sponding points of each wave, in the manner represented in fig. 3. It is therefore a great mistake to suppose that when it is high water, for instance, at London Bridge, the water is at the same level all the way down the river. The water will continue to rise at London Bridge some time after it has begun to sink at Gravesend, and again will be sinkinof at London Bridoe for an hour after the water has begun to rise at Gravesend. It will be seen, also, that although the water is much deeper at any j^^ace, at high water than at low water, 182 PROGRESSIVE READER. yet, in a Avliole river of great extent tliere may not be mucli more water at one time than at another; and that the currents caused by the tides will, upon the wliole, act as much one way as another. On the coast of Suffolk, near where an opening has been made into the sea, to form a canal which shall be navigable for ships to Norwicli, a circumstance is said to occur which shews very clearly the motion of the tide-wave up the channel of a river. Upon a great part of that coast the sea is constantly throwing up a shingly beach, which stops the straight course of the rivers into the sea, and causes them to run along within a few yards of the sea before they can find an outlet. Such a river runs near the coast at C, wliere its mouth originally was: but it is there turned to the southward by the high beach, and really enters the sea at M, some miles lower down. Now it is high water in the sea at A when the tide-wave, coming from the north, arrives there; it is high water at M somewhat later; but it is not high Avater at C, m the river, until the tide-wave from INI has been propagated along the narrow and winding bed of the river from M to C. It so happens, that nearly six hours are taken up in the progress of the tide- wave from A round M to C; so that by the time it is high water at C in the river, it is low water in the sea at A, only a few yards distant; and, again, Avhen it is low water at C, it is high water at A. The height of the tides at different places depends upon the direction and form of the coast, and other t)ISTRIBUTION OF PLANTS AND ANIMALS. l83 causes, wliicli vary with almost every different situation. Tlie highest tides upon the coast of England occur in the Severn, where the tide-wave comes in in one larcre ridge, accompanied witli a roaring noise, and with such violence as often to prove destructive to the small craft. It rises there to the height of forty feet. The reason of the height of this tide is easily seen. The mouth of the Bristol Channel is very wide, and opens to the south-west, so as to receive the tide-wave from the Atlantic Ocean; but the Channel becomes narrower by degrees, and near Chepstow is very much contracted; the water is, therefore, heaped up at the other end of the Channel, much above the level to which it would otherwise rise. — /S, M. DISTKIBUTIOK OF PLANTS AKD ANIMALS. How many different kinds of plants one sees in the fields ! What endless variety exists ! Each nook con- coiils from our view some stray plant, found only after close examination. And if so many arc found in one field, what immense numbers there must be in Great Britain ! And, what must be the number of varieties of trees and plants found throughout the world ? And yet all these apparently endless varieties are arranged with great taste and skill by the hand of Nature ; and each plant and each tree can be assigned to its own class by the botanist. Every country possesses its own vegetation; every country produces that for which its climate is best fitted Walk through a botanical garden, and at once you will set the marked contrasts presented by the vegetation of different countries. Here are tall, towering palms from Africa, there are the sweet-smelling balsams ot Arabia, here are the long narrow-loftve<:l plants of Australia; there is the 184 PROGRESSIVE READER. woody interlaced work of the climbing plants of South America, while in another part are the shady trees of our own dear Ensjland. What causes these differences'? Climate. Why do not all countries possess the same kind of vegetation? Because they do not all possess the same climate. No two places on the earth's surface possess exactly the same climate, and the further we proceed from the equator, or the higher we ascend mountains, the more do we find the face of nature to change. It is as though the earth assumed various dresses to suit her various climates. Now, let us take a few of the terms used with regard to plants and animals. Plants and animals can be viewed ' as distributed either in horizontal or vertical space; the former refers to their distribution, at the sea-level, from the equator to the poles, the latter refers to their dis- tribution up the sides of a mountain. The entire vegetation of a country is called its Flora. The entire group of animals peculiar to a country, is called its Fauna. The general aspect of a country's vegetation is called its fades, thus we may say that the facies of North American vegetation resembles that of Northern Europe. Plants which belong to similar classes, but have developed differently under the influences of climate, are said to be 7'ej)resentative, while plants peculiar to certain countries are said to be characteristic. The same terms are applied to animals. Man has effected many changes in the distribution of vegetable and animal life. He has removed and trans- planted, to such an extent, that in many cases the old floras have ceased to exist. Australia has, for instance, a characteristic flora. Its ve£(etation resembles that of no other part of the world. When men first visited it, they said it was a land of anomalies, every thing grew the wrong way; the cherry grew with the stone outside; many trees grew with their roots in the air, ferns grew to the size of trees. But these stories proved untrue. DISTRIBUTION OF PLANTS AND ANIMALS. 185 Those who brought them were deceived. The species of plants that they saw in Australia were totally different to the species they saw in England. They belonged to different classes. The hot, dry, parched soil of Australia could only produce the tall, thin shrivelled-up plants they had seen. Since then, Australia has been colonized; methods of irrigation have been introduced, and plants, similar to our own, now flourish. The Soi:th American forests are rich in flowers of gorgeous colours, and thickly interwoven trees ; the climbing plants form su-ch a complete net-work, that in many ])Sivts the forests are impassable. In the tropical regions of Asia, vegetation is equally rich, but dovelopes itself differently under different inffuences. There the banyan-tree flourishes, the camphor-tree, the cotton-tree, the rice plant, and all kinds of palms and tree ferns. The Tropical regions of Africa, on the other hand, are remarkable for the scantiness of their vegetation. From America and Western Asia we, in Europe, liave received the greater portion of our plants and trees, and yearly more plants are transplanted and ac- climatized. The colder the climate gets, the lowlier the species of vegetation that exists, until, on the shores of the Atlantic and on the tops of the highest mountains, the only life existing consists of lichens and mosses. Many animals depend upon vegetation for their exist-; ence. Change the flora of a country, then, and you will at once change its fauna. Since the colonization of Australia the old animals have begun to die out. A few more years will see the extinction of the kangaroo, the dingo, and some other species of animals now found there. Animals are also representative and characteristic. The three just mentioned are characteristic of Australia; they are found only in that continent and the islands immediately to the north of it. The lion of Asia differs from the lion of Africa, while the puma (a much smaller animal), represents the class in America. Tigers again 186 PROGRESSIVE READER. differ in the two continents, and are represented in South America by the jaguar. The gorilla of Western Africa differs from the ourang-outang of the East Indian Archipelago. Two species of camel exist. Western Asia is the " true home of the horse and the ass." Animals are more migratory in their habits than plants, since they possess methods of locomotion, but still they are restricted to certain districts, only leaving them when the climate becomes too severe. Swallows and cuckoos are examples of this class. Europe is the home of singing birds ; South America of talking birds ; and Tropical Asia of birds of brilliant plumage. Insects abound more even than birds or beasts. No less than 300,000 kinds are known. Humboldt, the great German traveller, when travelling in South America, could always tell the time by the kinds of in- sects flying about. Tropical regions are peopled with thousands of insects. *' There they fill the air with their hum and make the landscape glow and sparkle with light at night. As the navigator ploughs through somo seas, his keel leaves a broad bright wake to mark its passage, owing to the immense multitudes of phosphor- escent insects it has disturbed in its silent path ; and, when the sun sets upon Central America, where insect life most abounds on land, the forests and plains resound with their hum, which is said to have been heard by mariners several miles out at sea. There, too, the curtain of night is spangled with the most glittering jewels of the insect world Fireflies, bearing their green, red, and white lanterns, and shewing them, now as fixed, now as sinking lights, cause the darkness to glow and sparkle again with countless flashes. In Brazil the insects present the most brilliant colours, s\irpassing even the plumage of the birds and flowers — gorgeous as these are." — Maury. The inhabitants of the sea, also, have their bounds, which they cannot pass. The "right" whale, as it is termed, of the northern seas differs from the whale of the southern seas ; neither of them cross the Equator. THE LION. 187 Each thousand feet of descent has its special plants and its special inhabitants. The ocean has, representatives of all the great classes of animals, from the highest to the lowest represented by the sponges. THE LION. The most interesting object of a menagerie is probably its lion: and there are few persons who are not familiar with the general appearance of this most noble animal. To behold, in perfect security, that creature which is the terror of all travellers in the regions where he abounds : which is said to be able to bear off a buffalo on his back, and crush tlie skull of a horse by a single stroke of his paw ; this is certainly gratifying to a reavsonable curiosity. The appearance of dignified selfpossession which the lion displays when at rest; his general indifference to slight provocations: his haughty growl when he is roused by the importunities of his keepers or the excitement of the multitude: his impatient roar when he is expecting his daily meal, and his frightful avidity, when ho is at length enabled to seize upon his allotted portion, — these are traits of his character in confinement which are familiar to almost every one. To comprehend the habits of the lion, we must follow with attention the narratives of those travellers who have seen him in his native haunts. From the Cape of Good Hope, for instance, an adventurous naturalist sets forth to explore the immense plains of the interior of Southern Africa. His journey is performed partly on foot, and partly in a waggon drawn by eight or ten oxen. His escort consists of a few sturdy Hottentots, accustomed to the country into which ho desires to penetrate — excellent marksmen — and expert in follow- ing up the track of every wild or ferocious beast. Further and further he rolls on from the abodes of 188 PROGRESSIVE READER. civilization, and soon finds himself surrounded by tribes of Bushmen or Caffres, who live in a rude but contented manner, dej^ending for subsistence upon their flocks and upon the chase, and knowing very few of those agricultural arts by which their arid plains might be partially redeemed from sterility. At length he reaches those parts where ferocious animals abound; and where the lion particularly is an object of dread. Having passed the borders of European colonization, his fears are first excited by viewing the footmarks of the lion. His Hottentot guides have their tales of terror ready^ for the traveller, who beholds for the first time the impress of those tremendous feet upon the sands of the plain which he is to cross ; and they are ready to shew their skill in tracking, if necessary, the prowling savage to his lair. A lowering evening comes on; thunder clouds collect in every quarter ; and the night becomes extremely dark. The most vivid flashes of lightning are intermingled with the heaviest torrents of rain. The cattle are restless; and the Hottentots are pre- vented making their evening fire for the cookery of their supper, and for defence against the beasts of prey. On such nights as these the lion is particularly active. The fury of the elements appears to rouse him from his ordinary torpidity. He advances upon his prey with much less than his usual caution; and he is not at once driven off by the barking of dogs and the sound of muskets. The oxen of the caravan, who ajipear to scent the distant approach of their terrible enemy, struggle to break loose from their waggons to escape their dangei by instant flight — an escape which would prove their destruction. It is only by keeping with man that they are safe. The repeated discharge of fire arms has the remarkable efiect, not only of keeping off" the lion, but of abating the restlessness of the cattle. They apjoear to feel that their enemy will retreat when he hears this demonstration of the powers of the only creature that is enabled by superior reason to cope with him. Nights of such harassing watchfulness are not unfre* quently experienced by the African traveller. * THE LION. 189 To the traveller in Africa the lion is formidable not at night only ; he lies in his path, and is Avitli difficulty disturbed to allow a passage for his waggons and cattle, even when the sun is shining with its utmost brilliancy or he is roused from some bushy place on the road side, by the indefatigable dogs, which always accompany a caravan. Mr. Burchill has described, with great spirit, an encounter of this nature : — " The day was exceed- ingly pleasant, and not a cloud was to be seen. For a mile or two we travelled along the banks of the river, which in this part abounded in tall mat rushes. The dogs seemed to enjoy prowling about and examin- ing every bushy place, and at last met with some object among the rushes which caused them to set up a most vehement and determined barking. We explored the spot with caution, as we suspected, from the peculiar tone of their bark, that it was, what it proved to bo, lions. JIavinGj encourasced the doo;s to drive them out, (a task which they performed with great willingness) we had a full view of an enormous black -maned lion, and a lioness. The latter was seen only for a minute, as she made her escape up the river, under concealment of the bushes; but the lion came steadily forward and stood still to look at us. At this moment we felt our situation not free from danger, as the animal seemed preparing to spring upon us, and we were standing on the bank at a distance of only a few yards from him, most of us being on foot and unarmed, without any visible possibility of escaping I had given up my horse to the hunters, and was on foot myself, but there was no time for fear, and it was useless to attempt avoiding him. I stood well iipon my guard, holding my pistols in my hand, and with my finger upon the trigger; and those, who had muskets, kept themselves prepared in like manner. But at this instant the dogs flew boldly in between us and the lion, and surrounding him, kept him at bay by their violent and resolute barking. The courage of these fixithful animals was most admirable ; they advanced up to the side of the huge beast, and stood making the greatest clamour in 190 PROGRESSIVE READER, his face, without the least appearance of fear. The lion, conscious of his strength, remained unmoved at their noisy attempts, and kept his head turned towards us. At one moment, the dogs perceiving his eyes thus engaged, had advanced close to his feet, and seemed as if they would actually seize hold of him, but they paid dearly for their impudence, for, without discomposing the majestic and steady attitude in which he stood fixed, he merely moved his paw, and at tlie next instant I beheld two lying dead. In doing this, he made so little exertion that it was scarcely perceptible by \yhat means they had been killed. Of the time which we had gained by the interference of the dogs not a moment was lost; we fired upon him, one of the balls went through his side just between the short ribs, and the blood immediately began to flow, but the animal still remained standing in the same position. "We had now no doubt that he would spring upon us; every gun was instantly re-loaded ; but happily we were mistaken, and were not sorry to see him move quietly away : though I had hoped in a few minutes to have been enabled to take hold of his paw without danger. This was considered, by our party, to be a lion of the largest size, and seemed, as I measured him by com- parison with the dogs, to be, though less bulky, as large as an ox. He was certainly as long in body, though lower in stature; and his copious mane gave him a truly formidable appearance. He was of that variety which the Hottentots and Boors distinguish by the name of the black lion, on account of the blacker colour of the mane, and which is said to be always larger and more dangerous than the other, which they call the pale lion. Of the courage of a lion I have no very high opinion, but of his majestic air and movements, as exhibited by this animal, while at liberty m his native plains, I can bear testimony. Notwithstanding the pain of a wound, of which he must soon afterwards have died, he moved slowly away with a stately and measured step." At the time when men first adopted the lion as the CRUELTY TO ANIMALS, 101 emhlem of courage, it would seem that they regarded great size and strength as indicating it; but they were greatly mistaken in the character they have given to this indolent, skulking animal, and have overlooked a much better example of true courage, and of other virtues also, in the bold and faithful dog. — Library oj Entertaining Knov:ledge, CRUELTY TO ANIMALS. I WOULD not enter on my list of friends (Though grac'd with polish'd manners and fine sense, Yet wanting sensibility), the man Who needlessly sets foot upon a woi'm. An inadvertent step may crush the snail, That crawls at evening in the public path ; But he, that hath humanity, — forewarned, Will step aside, and let the reptile live. The creeping vermin, loathsome to the sight, And charged, perhaps, with venom, that intrudes— A visitor unwelcome — into scenes Sacred to neatness and repose, — the alcove, The chamber, or refectory, — may die : A necessary act incurs no blame. Not so, when, held within their proper bounds, And guiltless of offence, they range the air, Or take their pastime in the s])acious field : There they are privileged ; and he that hunts Or harms them there, is guilty of a wrong, Disturbs the economy of nature's realm. Who, when she form'd, designed them an abode. The sum is this : If man's convenience, health. Or safety, interfere, his rights and claims Are paramount, and must extinguish tlieirs. Else they are all — the meanest things that are — As free to live, and to enjoy that life. As God was free to form them at the first; 192 PROGRESSIVE READER. Who, in His sovereign wisdom, rarade them all. You, therefore, who love mercy, teach your sons To love it too. Tlie spring-time of your years Is soon dishonour'd and defiled; in most By budding ills, that ask a prudent hand To check them. But, alas ! none sooner shoots, If unrestrained, into luxuriant growth. Than cruelty, most brutish of them alL Mercy to him that shews it, is the rule And righteous limitation of its act. By which Heaven moves, in pardoning guilty man ; And he that shews none — being ripe in years, And conscious of the outrage he commits, — Shall seek it and not ^nd it, in his turn. — Cqwper. MAN. Man presents a vivicl contrast to all plants and animals. While they are restricted in their range, while they are confined within certain limits, he wanders unrestrained by extreme heat or severe cold. He alone, of all Creation, is adapted to wander from Pole to Pole when- ever he pleases. Alone, but not quite alone. One single exception, with regard to the distribution of animals, exists; that exception is the dog. He, man's fiiithful companion, accompanies him in his wanderings beneath the burning sun of India or amid the snows of Lapland. The human race is divided into a number of classes. The study of the differences, which decide to which of those classes every member of the race belongs, forms a separate science. It is called Ethnology. The human race has been divided into five varieties. Each division is distinct from the rest by its own special character, the differences between them being either structural or facial. Structural differences are those caused by various arrangements of the bones which MAN. 193 form tlie skeleton. Facial differences are those caused by the features of the face: thus the races differ in the nature of the hair, the character of the forehead, the nature of the lips, the prominence or receding of the eyes. Facial differences are manifest to all of us. Compare an Englishman and an African, and you will see how wonderfully they differ. These five varieties of the human race were tlie Caucasian, the Mongolian^ the African, the American, and the Malay, 1 Caucasian 2. Mongolian. 4. !Malayaa 5, Otto Indian of Xoith America. I. The Caucasian Yace iS the most advanced and the most civilized of all the nations at present existing. They possess a white skin, varying in shade according to the districts they occupy, black or light-coloured hair generally straight, a higli forehead, an oval face, and a small mouth. They occupy all the southern part of S. VI. N 194 PROGRESSIVE READER. Asia, (except tlie Malayan Peninsula,) and the whole of Europe. Wherever located, the Caucasians have become the prominent race. They seem to be continually extending their territories. Tlie term " Caucasian" is rather misleading, because it makes one suppose that the model Caucasian is found among the Caucasian mountains. But this is quite wrong. The inhabitants of that part of the world belong to the Mongolian class. Dr. Latham thus speaks of the circumstances under which the name was given: *'The author of the above divisions had a solitary Georgian skull, and that skidl was the finest in his collection. Hence it was taken as the type of the skull of the more organized divisions of our species. More than this, it gave its name to the type, and introduced tlie term, Caucasian. Never has a single head done more harm to science than was done by the head of this well-shaped female from Georgia." II. The Mongolians are easily distinguished. The Chinese belong to this class. They have straight fore- heads, long straight hair, broad and flat cheek-bones, and yellow skins. A few Mongolian nations have exceeded the district they originally occupied, which consisted of northern and central Asia; the Turks, the Magyars of Austria, and the Laplanders of northern Europe are examples of this variety. III. No one can mistake an African. His woolly hair, his prominent cheek-bones, hit" thick lips, and his black skin mark him as distinct from the fair-complexioned Caucasian or the sallow-faced Mongolian. The northern parts of Africa are peopled by descendants of Caucasian races, so that if we wish to see a true negro, we must ascend one of the large streams that empty themselves into the Gulf of Guinea. There the African race is seen in its purity. The Negro race has been the most unfortunate of the five. From early times its members have been enslaved. The present century saw, however, the release of the slave in all civilized countries, and lingland's eifovts to stop the slave-trade, that wicked RUN. 195 traffic in the bodies of men, are now nobly as,oiiit, until the whole of the v/ater has disappeared. Thus the addition of heat to the solid body, ice, has changed it into a fluid, and the addition of more heat has chano;ed the fluid into a vapour; so that we may say, without much impro- priety, that heat and ice together produce water, and water and heat produce steam. If the vessel be suspended during the experiment, and bal- anced by a weight, it will be found to have neither gained nor lost any weiglit, — which shews that the very same matter, v,^liicli was first in the form of ice, and then of water, is still contained only it is converted into steam. The Fig. 1. in the vessel, ^VATER. 211 Bamc flict may be proved by exposing the vessel again to cold, when the very same weiglit of ice will again be obtained as was oi-iginally placed in the vessel. Hence, it is very far from being a matter of course that water should be found in a fluid state. The limits of tem- perature, between which that condition is fulfilled are very small. Had the heat of the earth beei: compara- tively but little less than it is, watei wouk liave existed, naturally, only as a solid substance; the ocean would liave been a mass of ice. Plad the heat of the earth "been much greater, every drop of water would have been dissipated into va[)Our, There is another very remarkable circumstance con- nected with the communication of heat to water. All fluids are expanded by the addition of heat; and wo liave already seen that this jiroperty, in mercury, enables lis to measure the cpiantity of sensible heat by the degree of expansion. If mercury be gradually lieated, it cjiitinues to expand very nearly equally, till it reaches n temperature of 660'' of Fahrenheit, and boils. Other fluids expand also, although not so ec[ually, by the addition of hoat, and contract by being cooled; tait in water there is a striking deviation from this otherwise general law. Suppose a large thermometer -tube, A T, to have been filled with boiling distilled water, and then hermetically sealed, or closed by means of the blow- pipe, at A, and that, at the temperature of 60°, the water stands at the point marked in the figure. If the bulb be now plunged into a freezing mixture, the fluid will be observed to contract, until it lias attained a temperature o. about 40", After the degree of coolness has been reached, the water will be observed to rise as;ain in the tube, indicating an expansion in the rluid, until just below it is cooled down to the freezing point, 32^, it stands at the same height as it dul at the temperature of 48°. Fit In the act of freezing, water expands with great 212 PROGRESSIVE EEADEil. xapidity, and if confined, with irresistible force. Every one must have had experience of the breaking of a bottle, or other vessel, by the freezing of water in it; and an iron bombshell has l)een burst by the same means. The Florentine academicians succeeded in burstinsf a brass globe, the cavity of which was an inch in diameter, by filling it with water and freezing it. The force necessary to produce this effect was calculated at 27,720 lbs. Tlie quantity of expansion is sucli, that eight cubic inches of water form about nine cubic inches of ice. The deviation from the ordinary law of expansion in the case of water is a fact of immense importance. If water continued to be compressed until it froze, as in the case of other liquids, large bodies of Avater, instead of being covered witli a coating of ice, Avould be con- verted into solid masses; a state which would destroy the existence of almost all living creatures, which now pass the winter under water in security and comfort. The cold, which congeals water, is usually applied at the top: as soon as a small quantity of water is cooled, it becomes specifically heavier than the rest, and sinks, thereby exposing a fresh surface to the action of the atmosphere. Thus a constant current is kept np, the cooler water descendins;, and the warmer ascending nntil the whole reaches the temperature of 40° (or &© less than freezing). After this point, the cooler stratum of water at the surface expands, and becomes specifically lighter than that below; it therefore floats, and so con- tinues, until a .sheet of ice is formed at the top, while the tem})erature of the water below may be seven or eigiit degrees warmer, — a degree of heat quite sufiicient for fish and other water animals. — /S. M. THE LEVEL SUKFACES OF LIQUIDS. 21 "> BRITISH FREED03I. It is not to be thoiiglit of tliat the Flood Of British Freedom wliich to the open sea Of the world's praise from dark antiquity Hath flowed, '•' with ])omp of waters, iinwithstood," Boused thougli it he full often to a mood Which spurns the check of salutary bands That this most famous stream, in bogs and sands Should perish, and to evil and to good Be lost for ever. In our halls is hung 'Armoury of the invincible knights of old We must be free or die, who speak the tongue That Shakespeare spake, the faith and morals hold Which Milton held. In every thing Ave are sprung Of Earth's first blood — have titles manifold. — Wordsworth. THE LEVEL SURFACES OF LIQUIDS. There is not presented to us in the whole range of our exi)erience any instance of a level surface more perfect than the gentle surface of a liquid. A still lake or pond, or the water in our cisterns and water-jugs, are iill equally level at the surface. They require none of man's agency to make them so, for they become so ■whether he wills it or not. AVe take advantage of this property to assist us in determining the level of a piece of ground in surveying. A bubble of air is enclosed in fi tube, containing a liquid; and the surveyor places thy tube horizontally, and knows when it is quite level be observino^ that the bubble of air is in the middle of the length of the tube. The liquid has then no tendency to drive the air bubble in one direction more than another, and therefore the bubble remains in the middle, from which circumstance the surveyor knows that any piece of wood or other surface on which the tube is resting is level. This tube he calls a spirit level. Tlie liquid employed in the tube is usually coloured spirit, because 2l4i- PEOGEESSIYE EEADER. pure spirit, or alcoliol, is never frozen, however great the cokl may be to which it is exposed. The reason of this perfect level to which the surface of a liquid attains, is that liquids, like every other body, tend towards the centre of the earth; and that as the particles of water move freely among themselves, any imequal pressure is soon communicated to surrounding parts. Suppose now that v.^e had a large cistern of water, and that the surface of the water were three or four inches higher near one end of the cistern than near the other, there would be a larger amount of water, a greater number of particles pressing on the bottom of the cistern at the former part than at the latter. Each particle presses on that which is beneath it ; and as there would be a loftier column of particles at the one part of the cistern than at another, those particles which are near the bottom of the heavier column would press on those that surround them, and force them upwards, in order in fact, to allow room for themselves to escape from some of the pressure which they expe- rience. There continues to be this pressure until the •surface is level in every part, when, as all parts of the liquid near the bottom are equally j)ressed, no one can. yield to another, and they all remain in equilibrium (a word which means equally balanced). It appears, therefore, that as soon as the surface of the liquid becomes, from any cause, out of the level direction, a commotion and a kind of a struix^le takes place, and does not cease until the level is again attained. There is a very good experiment which shews this tendency of liquids to maintain a perfect level, and to descend whenever an o})portunity offers for so doing. Fig. 1 represents tlie section of a vessel or basin, which exhibits the J-^ip:- 1- paradoxical property of never becoming full, however much water may be poured into it. The vessel looks neither like a sieve nor a cullender* ; no holes- * More correctly spelt colander. THE LEVEL SURFACES OF LIQUIDS. 215 can be seen in it, and no water is seen to flow from it. A little ins2:)ection of the construction will, however, enable us to solve this riddle. It may be seen that the vessel is sufficiently thick to have a groove or channel cut in it. At the bottom of the vessel, at a, there is a small opening, which leads into a channel ascending to the point h, and from thence descending to the point c, where it is enclosed in the foot or stand of the vessel, which is hollow. Now, when water is poured into this vessel, some of it enters the little channel at a, and ascends as fast as more water is poured into the vessel ; just before the vessel is quite full, the water ascends to that part of the channel which begins to turn down- wards, and immediately on attaining that level, the water flows down the outer channel as fast as it is poured into the vessel, provided that is not done too quickly. There is a conveyance for carrying off the water from the lower cistern at c, by a concealed pipe, not shewn in the fio'ure. Here, then, we have an instance of the tendency of water to keep a constant level, whether it branch out into two or three streams, or remain in one body. The' wa-ter ascends in the narrow channel just as fast as iii the broad open part of the vessel ; and when it arrives at the level of the bend in the channel, instead of rising still higher in the vessel, it turns into the descending part of the channel, and so flows out. This property has been made the groundwork of an amusing experiment. Fig 2 is a philosophical toy, called the Cup of Tantalus. A little figure of a d^^ man or boy is sitting in the cup, and his face is made to express great anxiety to ^ig. 2. obtain somethino; to drink ; but that he can never obtain. If we pour water into the cup it will rise just to the level of his chin, but no higher, and the little martyr to thirst is obliged to keep his lips dry, whether he will or no. The mystery is ingenious, and is very similar to the experiment which we last described. 21G rROGRESSIVE READER. A double tube passes tlirougli the body of tlie figure, having an ascending part, Avhose mouth is within the cup, and communicating with the water ; and a descending part, whose mouth M, is concealed in the hollow, D C, of the vessel. When the water is poured into the vessel, it ascends the tube in the interior of the figure; but as the tube bends downwards when it reaches the level of the chin of the figure, no sooner does the water in the vessel reach that level than it begins to descend the tube to jM, and so escapes, leaving the head of the figure quite untouched by the water. The tube in the figure being very small, its course cannot well be traced; but the subjoined figure (fig. 3) Vvdll shew the principle more clearly. The shorter leg of the bent tube is open to the water, and Avhen the latter ascends to the level of the bend in the tube it flows over that bend, and escapes at the exterior mouth of the tube. — S. M. Tig. 3. THE FLAME OF A CANDLE. Part I. What a pretty invention is a candle, especially a wax or a composite candle! So beautifully white, so truly rounded, and so nicely moulded into a jioint round the top of the wick ! I I could give you a good deal of curious and useful information about the manufacture of so simi)le an article as a candle ; but I am now going to l>urn it, and to shew you a little of the chemistry of its flame. Let us liglit the candle, then. See how steadily the flame ascends, sharp and pointed, like a spear or arrow-head. Why does the flame take this form ? — why might it not be round, square, or oval, or any other shape ] THE TLAME OF A CANDLE. 217 / I will tell you wliy. A candle cannot burn Avitliout air, any more than you can live without air. If you wi.sli for a proof that air feeds the flame of the candle, Ave can easily make an experiment. A short bit of candle will do best for our purpose, about an inch long, lighted and stuck upon tlie table. There, now, cover it over with that large tumbler, quite over, so that the edgr of the glass rests upon the table. Look how dim the fiame grows — vet dimmer : it flutters, it dies ! Why, it did not last for a quarter of a minute I No, nor anything like it ; for if the tumbler held a full quart instead of about half-a-pint, the flame would scarcely have lasted fifteen seconds. I know this, because I have tried the experiment before. The flame goes out because it is in a confined portion of air, and the glass being close upon the table i)revents any fresh air from getting in to supply the flame. But, see ! the other candle burns on freely, because it can get a proper supply of air from all parts of the room ; but if you stopped up the fire-place, windows, key-holes, and every crack or crevice in the room, this candle would go out just the same as that under the glass did just now, only it would be a longer time doing so, because it is in a larger portion of confined air. But as the air always rushes into a room through the crevices of the doors and windows, the candle always gets as much as it wants. Hold the lighted candle opposite the key-hole of the door. There, see how the flame is blown towards you by the air whistling through the key-hole. Well, then, the air comes about the candle to support the flame, and after it has done so, and got very hot, it ascends towards the ceiling; more air comes forward to supply its place, and so on during the whole time that the candle burns, So you see the flame is i>laced in the centre of an ascendin^j draught of air, which ur^es it upwards into a sharp and pointed form. Chemists find that the quiet of the air is disturbed by the heat of the flame, that the hot air is lighter than colder, and that, tlierefore, the flame is unequally pressed upon. The pressure is stronger at the lower part, weakest 218 ITxOGRESSIVE EEADER. towards tlie upper part, and, therefore, tlie pointed form results from this nnequal pressure. The flame would be as round as a marble if it could burn without disturbing the air, because then it ^vould be equally pressed upon from all sides at once. There are methods of shewing this form of flame; but these I do not think you would be able to understand yet, and I am sure you could not put them into practice. Look at the beautiful devices lio-hted with Q-as durinsj public illuminations ; there the gas flames, although for the most part forced out in a straight direction, bend upwards, to assume their natural position. This pointed form of flame attracted the attention of the old chemists, and in many of their curious books, instead of Avriting the word Jlame, or fire, they put a mark or sign for it, shaped like this, A, — no bad representation of the form of a flame; and as tvater was the element opposed to fire, they reversed the mark or sign for it like this, y; these sorts of signs were used to prevent people from understandino; their curious works. Well, then, the ascent of air towards the flame is the cause of its pointed form. But naw observe how nicely the melted wax remains around the wick, confined in a sort of little cup. But why should not all the wax melt and run into a mass by the heat of the flame? Why does only that portion melt vdiich is close to the flame, and why is it there held in this regularly shaped cup? I will endeavour to explain why, as familiarly as I can ; for it is a very beautiful process, and depends upon the air. See, now, the flame melts a portion of the wax; very Avell, the air immediately rushing upwards, as I haA^e just told you, cools and keeps cool the wax around the outside of the candle, forming, in fact, a little circular wall, within which, as within a cup, the melted v/ax nearest the flame is safely kept. If I destroy this cup, I instantly spoil the burning of the candle. I will hold this red-hot poker near it, so as to melt down the wall of the cup. Tliere, now, it melts away; and look, the flame cannot get its proper su2:>ply of THE FLAME OF A CANDLE. 219 fuel, for the me] ted vrax runs awfty from tlic wick, and " gutters " all down the candle. How T^eautifuUy and how effectually, then, does the air act round a candle, not only supporting its ilame, but also supporting its melted fuel. If the air could not keep the outside of the candle cold, and thus form a cup, a candle Avonld burn very badly, and would be of very little use. I was at a great public meeting, in a large room, the other nioht, and there were five or six hundred candles burning, but not steadily. They were running and guttering, although of the very best manufacture. How was this? Why, the company and the flames of the candles had heated the air of the room so much, that it was liot enough to melt down the walls of each candle- cup, and therefore they could not burn properly. In the chandelier holding two or three rows of candles, the upper rows were burning languidly, and guttering away; the bottom rows were burning better, but not well. How vras this? Why, they were getting the most benefit of the aii*, and sending it up hot and vitiated to the rows above them. You never see the branches on a chandelier set exactly over each other, but alternately, so that the hot air from the lowest row may ascend vrithout annoying the roAvs above it; and this answers very well for two rows ; but when there arc five or six, and the chandelier is hung near the ceiling of the room, the guttering and destruction of the candles is un- avoidable. The candles on the table in a hot room burn better than tliose in the branches around the walls, or in the chandelier at the ceiling, because they are in a cooler situation. The wick novv^ requires notice. Why does it raise the melted wax from the cup and deliver it to be burnt in the flame? I will tell you. The wick possesses a peculiar power, called capillary attraction; I mean by this term, the rise of fluids in very small tubes, — yes, oven in tubes or pipes as fine as a hair. But I will make an experiment to illustrate my meaning. There 220 PROGRESSIVE READER. is a Lit of cane, al)Out an inch long; see, it is full of small holes; I can easily Llow tlirongli it. Well, there is no difficuHy in calling these holes very small tubes. Look, then, I just put the bit of cane so as to touch the surface of the water in this tea-cup. Wait a moment ; and now some of the water has risen through the small lioles in the cane; it is quite wet on the upper part. There is another bit of cane, and there is a tea-spoonful of turpentine ; I will make a similar experiment with it. Now the turpentine lias risen, and I will light it ; but as it burns with a good deal of smoke, put it on the hob of the grate, that we may not be annoyed. Look now, all the turpentine is drawn out of the spoon and all burnt. But you ask me where are these little tubes in the Avick of a candle? You can easily imagine that the cotton threads of the Avick are laid side by side, and therefore leave little spaces between each other. Well, then, these little spaces are the tubes, and when the ■\vsix is melted they attract it upwards, just the same as the small tubes in the cane attracted up tlie water or the turpentine. Thus the flame is supplied with liquid fuel, and as it is burnt, the wick becomes charred and useless, forming the " snuff" of the candle. I will tell you about the hollow nature of the flame and its luminosity on tlie next occasion. — *S'. J/. FAREWELL OF THE DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. Buck. All good people, You that thus far have come to pity me, Hear what I say, and then go home and lose me. I have this day received a traitor's judgment. And by that name must die ; yet, heaven bear witness, And if I have a conscience, let it sink me. Even as the axe falls, if I be not faitliful ! The law I bear no malice for mv death; It ]ias done upon the premises, but justice: THE DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. 221 But thoRG that songlit it I could wisli more Cliristians; Be wliat tliey wil], I heartily forgive them : Yet let them look they glory not in mischief, Nor build their evils on the graves of great men, For then my guiltless blood must cry against them. For further life in this Avorld I ne'er hope, Nor will I sue, although the king have mercies IMore than I dare make faults. You few that loved me. And dare be bold to weep for Buckingham, His noble friends and fellows whom to leave Is only bitter to him, only dying. Go Avith me, like good angels, to my end ; And, as the long divorce of steel falls on me, Make of your prayers one sweet sacrifice. And lift mv soul to heaven. Lead on, o' God's name. Lovcll. I do beseech your grace, for charity. If ever any malice in your heart Were hid against me, now to forgive me frankly. Buck. Sir Thomas Lovell, I as free forgive you As I would be forgiven ; I forgive all ; There cannot be those numbei-less offences 'Gainst me, I can't take peace with : no black envy Shall make my grave. Commend me to his grace ; And if he speak of Buckingham, pray, tell him You met him half in heaA'en: my vows and prayers Yet are the king's, and, till my soul forsake me, Shall cry for blessings on him : maj he live Longer than I have time to tell his years ! Ever beloved and loving may his rule be I And when old time shall lead him to his end, Goodness and he fill up one monument ! Lovell. To the water side I must conduct yourgraco. Then give my charge up to Sir Nicholas Yaux, Who undertakes you to your end. Vaux. Brepare there ! The Duke is coming : see the barge be ready; And fit it with such furniture as suits The greatness of his person. Jjitck. N- stances .iispended by threads; and suppose some of the 2:)lates have the property of attracting water, and others CAPILLARY ATTRACTION. 229 tlie property of repelling it. The left hand fignve, A, "vvill represent the effect of dipping into the water a plate which attracts it; the water is raised a little on each side of the plate. The next adjoining one, B, is a Fig. 4. plate having a repulsive tendency, so that, on dipping it into the water, a depression is seen on each side of the 2^1ate. Suppose, now, that we have two plates of the former, i.e.. the attractive kind, and that we dip them into the water near each other, as at c and d; there is then an elevation of water on each side of each plate, and as the plates are drawn nearer together, in the direction of the arrows, the surflice of the water between them gradually assumes a concave form, which becomes more decided as the plates approach each other. Lastly, if we have two plates with what wo call the repulsive tendency; on dipping them in near each other, as at e and /, the licpiid is depressed at those two 2:)oints; and on making the plates approach each other, the surflice of the water between them will become more and more convex. If two dissimilar plates, such as D and E, be used, the water will rise round one and sink round the other. "VVe may frecpiently see that, if a lumj:) of white sugar be placed on a wet part of the table, the whole lump will become wetted. We may take a little water in a 230 PROGRESSIVi: READER. teaspoon, and place a lump of sugar in it, v/lien we sliall see tlie water gradually rising througli tlie sugar, until the latter is all wetted. Tliis is wholly caused by capillary attraction. The sugar is full of minute pores, throuo-li which the water ascends. If water coloured with red ink be employed, the experiment becomes more pleasing. The same may be said of a sponge. If we place the lower part of a sponge in water, the Avliole of the sponge becomes speedily Avetted, by the ascension of the Avater through the little channels which pervade the sponge in every direction. If we observe the mercury in a barometer, its surface is sometimes flat, sometimes convex, and sometimes- concave. It is convex Avhen rising, concave when sinking,, and flat v/hen it has just begun to sink. These various appearances greatly influence the observer in predicting any changes in the weather. The various appearances of liquids in capillary tubes are collected in fig. 5. The first three tubes are curved at the bottom; the first tube is of unequal bore, being wider at the level li than in the straight part of tlie tube. If mercury be poured into it, the fluid will rise considerably above its level; it will rise to a, and form a convex sur- face. In the second tube, the mouth s is wider than the- straight tube, and the latter is larger than an ordinary capillary tube. If water be poured in, it will be con- cave at 5, and rise in the straight part of the tube to s', where it is also concave, but if the straight part of the tube bo capillary, the water will rise up to «, as in the third tube, and its surface Avill be concave. The three straight tubes represent the elevation of different liquids above the level of the liquid into Avhich they are plunged. If Kg. 5. THE fla:\ie of a candle. 231 The first stralglit tuLo rc])resents one end in -water, and the level at A is raised to S in the tube; the second straight tube represents a tube lifted out of the water, and tlie formation of a drop of that fluid at the bottom part of the tube. This drop is formed by the attraction of gravitation, which draws all bodies down to the earth; but in this case the drop will not fall, because the capillary- attraction is superior to that of gravitation. In the tliird straight tube the level, S, is higher than in the other cases, because the tube is supposed to be narrower. Capilhiry attraction is of A^ast importance in nature. By its means the sap ascends the trees, and at some seasons of the year the force of the ascent is so great that if a bough be cut off from a vine, for example, and a bladder be firmly tied to the mutilated stump, it will in a few hours become full of sap, and even burst if not removed. It has been remarked that timber trees which are cut during spring or summer, when the sap is in action, yield very bad timber, which would have been good if cut in the winter; the reason probably is, that the sap decomposes, and thus injuriously aft'ects the wood. Capillary attraction also influences the distribution of the animal fluids, and it extends its influence over mineral bodies, and greatly assists in their decomposition, and in the formation of soils. We see, then, that a small force, Avhich is almost unnoticed and unknown by the great mass of mankind, becomes, when developed by the inquiries of science, one of the most important processes in the three kingdoms of nature. — >S'. J/. THE FLAME OF A CANDLE. Part II. I WILL now point out to you a very curious matter about the flame of a candle. Let the candle burn steadilv. ISTow, look at it atten- tively. Do you see that dull pointed spot in the middle of the flame? There, just above the middle of tlie wick. Well, that is vv'hat I am now going to speak about. 232 PROGRESSIVE READER. The vapour is Liirning all round tlie wick, but that wliich rises exactly over its centre does not burn, because it can get no air, the flame ■svhich envelopes it prevents any from o-ettino; in; therefore the middle of the flame remains unburnt, and gives no light, but forms a dull spot in the centre of a bricjlit flame. I think you will , under- stand me better if I resort to a familiar example. Here is an almond in its shell; see how closely it resembles the pointed shape of the flame. Well, now imagine the shell to be the outside (the burning or light part of the flame), and the kernel to be the inside (thq unburnt or dark part). This will give you a very correct idea of the structure of the flame of the candle; it is a sort of a natural model of it. I can shew you, in a very decided w'ay, that the in- side or kernel of the flame is unburnt vapour. I take this piece of very thin window-glass. It is about four inches square. I place it thus on tlie point of the flame, and lower it down very quickly upon the wick. Now, look down upon the glass before it gets smoky; quick! You see a dark central spot, with a luminous ring round it. Now, if the whole of the vapour of the flame was burning, there would be no dull spot in the flame, it would be equally light throughout; but, as I luive just now told you, the vapour in the middle cannot burn, because of the thin shell of flame around it preventing the access of air. In further illustration of this curious matter, I will make a very simple, yet a very pretty experiment. I will cut a little strip off this thin card, about two inches long and one-sixteenth of an inch wide; and now, When the candle burns steadily, I hold it across the flame THE YOUNG CHEMIST. 233 near the wick (wliicli, 3^011 see, I liave .smified ratlicr sliort). I liokl it only for an instant. I tak(; it out. There, now h)ok at the card, it is only Kcorched where the outside of the fianie lias touched it; the inside of the flaino has had no effect upon it, because there is no fire there. Try the experiment. Perhai)S you may fail once or twice, for it requires some little dexterity, and so does tlie next I am aljout to mention; l)ut you will be sure to succeed in both, after a few patient trials. Here is a bit of glass-tube, about four inches long and one-eighth of an inch in the bore, it is open at both ends. I will just warm it first, by moving it gently through the flame of the candle two or three times, for perhaps it would break if too suddenly lieated. This being done, I now hold it slanting upwards in the ilame, so that one end may be completely in the dark part. Watch the result. Look, the unburnt vapour rises up the tube. There, now it is coming out at the top. Quick I Put a light to it, but do not agitate the r.ir as you move your hand. See' the vapour kindles; an I thus we get a second flame by leading away the inside unburnt portion of the first — i. beautiful experiment. Such, then, is the curious structure of a candle-flame, and all flames fed by a bunch of wick have dark s])ots in their ccnti'es. The same thing is seen in the flames of torches, links, or flambeaux, and also in the flame of coal-gas, when it is Inirnt at the end of a pipe, after the manner in which yo\i so often see it blazing away in butchers' and greengrocers' shops about London. — THE YOUNG CHEMIST. I HAVE another pretty experiment, to shew you that there is no fire in the centre of the flame of a candle, and it is one that you can very easily make. 234 PROGRESSIVE READER. Here is lialf a slieet of writing-paper. I will hold it flat down upon the flame of this wax candle, so as very nearly to touch the wick, only for a moment, then take it away; now, look how the paper is scorched in the form of a ring — the shell of the flame has done this ; but the paper is not a bit scorched in the middle of the ring, because there is no fire in the kernel or centre of the flame. I now wish to tell you something about the heat of the flame. This candle has been burning for about half an hour, and it therefore has a verv longr " snuftV I will now blow it out with a sharp and sudden puff* of breath.' See, the snuff" remains red-hot, and the vapour of the wax rises plentifully for a little while. "What does this prove % Why, it proves that the heat of the snuff" or vv^ick, although it is quite (nay, more than) sufficient to make the wax into vapour, yet it is not hot enough to fire the vapour so as to m.ake flame. "Whilst this wick remains red-hot and glowing, if I gently blow ujDon it, or still better, if I take the candle in my hand and suddenly raise it in the air, the chances are that I light it again ; — look, I have succeeded \ What is the reason of this? Why, the breath, or the air, has caused the wick to become much hotter than a red heat (just the same as if I blow or fan this bit of red-hot tinder, it becomes very much hotter), and this greater heat is strong enough to make the vapour catch fire and burn. On a foo-ory nio-ht when the flame of a torch is acciden- tally blown out, if the end of the torch happens to keep red-hot, you see it easily lighted again by the link-boy Avhirling it quickly in the air. I can do the same thino; v/ith this bit of stick or roll of brown paper, if I light them and let them burn a little vvhile, then blow them out and whirl them rapidly round and round. Look at those dying embers in the fire-grate, they are scarcely visibly red-hot ; I put some fresh sticks of wood upon them, which only become scorched, not Lurnt, with the flame. I now use the bellows and HEAT. 23.> Inow gently; tlio embers get mucli hotter; now they are hot enough to kindle the vaponr of the fresli wood; it bursts into flame. The same observations hold good in reo-ard to a fire of coals. You very frequently hear of thatched buildings, or ricks, being accidentally set on fire from the si)ark from a steam-engine wafted to them. The spark is not hot enough to do this immediately, but by remain- ing in the thatch or hay for a little while it is fanned into flame by a gentle breeze, and sad destruction of course ensues. It must be evident to you, from these very familiar and every-day examples, that the heat necessary to produce flame is very great. See, I cannot light the candle with this dull ember. I blow u]X)n it so as to make it hotter, and I get a light directly; a dull and red-hot cinder will not light the candle, a bright red-hot one will do so easily. In his laboratory or work room, Avhero a furnace is almost constantly at work, the chemist is in the habit of lighting a candle or lamp with a bright red-hot coal from the fire ; and when the vapour of the wax or the oil is once fairly kindled, the flame rapidly gains a little white heat by the air rushing around it, fanning it, as it were. HEAT. In the present state of our knowledge, it is impossible to determine whether heat should be regarded as a substance endowed with extraordinary i)owers, by which it penetrates and infuses itself along the particles of every other element, or as a quality inseparable from matter, and de2:)endent on certain conditions for those unceasing fluctuations which constitute its most remark- able phenomena. The resistless energies of this omnipotent and all- pcrviiding agent are in constant operation. There is 236 rPvOGRESSIVE DEADER. not an instant of time that heat is not performing some important duty in fulfilment of the Divine purposes. Among all the works of God we know of none on which the evidences of design are more conspicuously inscribed. Whatever may be the nature of heat, be it a peculiar substance or a peculiar jjt'operty, we know that it exists. To its influence we are indebted for the due per- formance of all the functions of life — for all that cheers the eye, delights the ear, and gratifies the taste. Nor is it to heat only, but to its being supplied to us in due proportions, that Ave owe so much. Its excess or its deficiency would be equally fatal to vegetable and animal existence. In one case the earth would become a parched desert, in the other an ice bound plain. It is important that we should distinguish between ?ieat itself and the sensation of heat. The first is a cause, the second its effect. With a view to prevent mistakes by the frequent interchange of terms meaning sometimes one thing, and at other times another, the term caloric is now extensively employed by scientific writers to denote that condition of bodies by which the sensation of heat is produced, or, in other words, to define the cause of heat as distinct from its effects. Wishing to refrain as much as possible from scientific phraseology, we shall restrict ourselves to the ordinary term (heat), requesting our readers to remember that, unless the contrary is distinctly stated, it always means heat as an element, residing in, or operating upon matter, withont any regard to our feelings. By the continual use of the terms heat and cold, in the affairs of common life, we sometimes employ the latter term, as if it were descriptive of an element or agent, equally energetic in its effects as any other with which we are acquainted, but whose properties are directly the opposite of those possessed by heat. €old is only the absence of heat. It is easier, (and, because we are accustomed to it,) more natural, to say, " It is cold," than it is to describe that condition by jsaying, " There is a deficiency of heat." The latter, however, is a correct definition. We know by experi- HEAT. 237 ence that the gradual aLstraction of heat from a hody, "which at first may possess so mucli of it as to be iin- approacliable, induces the sensation we denominate cohl. But cokl is only a relative term. We know notliing of matter where heat is not present. There is less heat iu one substance than in another; but of absolute cold we have no conception. Temi')erature is a term that will very often occur whilst treating of the properties of heat. We think it right at once to explain its signification. The temperatiLre of a body means its sensible lieat ; that is, the heat of which some estimate may be formed by a thermometer, a useful instrument that we have already described."' In com- j)aring two different substances, or two distinct parts of the same substance, if we find the first communicates to the thermometer more than tlie second, we say the temperature of the former is higher than that of t]ie latter, or that the temperature of the latter is loiver than that of the former. Higher and lower, as applied to temperature, are terms that evidently owe their origin to the operation of the thermometer ; since the smaller tlie quantity of sensible heat ])resent in any substance, witli which the bulb of a thermometer is placed in contact, the lower will the column of mercury, or other fluid within the tube, descend; the greater tlie quantity of sensible heat, the liigher will it rise. The sensible, or, as it is commonly termed, /I'ce heat, thus discoverable in any particular substance by the aid of a thermometer, must be viewed as entirely independent of the heat which permanently resides in that substance, or which may be temporarily combined with it in a latent, that is, a concealed state. We may satisfy our- selves that a vast quantity of heat has entered into some particular substance, but we can neither detect the presence nor estimate the quantity of that which is latent by our ordinary perceptions, nor through the agency of a thermometer. Heat is communicable from one substance to another by radiation and by cGnducticn. Eadiation takes place * See pnge H4. 23S TROGKESSIYE EEADER. between two bodies Aviiose temperatures are unequal at sensible distances. Contact is a condition essential to conduction. If a piece of heated metal be fixed in the centre of a room, midvy-ay between the ceiling and the floor, heat will be disengaged from it equally in all direc- tions, upwards, downwards, horizontally, and obliquely, which may be proved by the melting of a small quantity of tallow placed at certain distances around the metal. This is an instance of radiation. When the bowl of a metal spoon is left for a fev/ minutes in a cup of hot tea, the handle o£ the spoon acquires the same temperature as that of the tea. Here we have an instance of con- duction. In one case the heat separated from the metal will affect the tallow a,t some distance, passing readily through or among the particles of the intervening air; in the other case, the lieat, first communicating with that part of tlie spoon in contact vvitli the tea, is, if we may employ the expression, pushed forward from particle to particle of the metal, until it reaches its extremity. As radiation and conduction commonly operate to- gether, tliey may be considered as different parts, or rather, different forms of the same process, both equally dependent on that property, peculiar to heat, by which it tends to diffuse itself in every direction, and among the particles of every species of matter, whatever may be its form, size, colour, or quality. Thus, if any number of vessels (some constructed of metal, others of wood, others of stone, and others of glass), each vessel containing a liquid of a different kind and at a different temperature, be placed in the same room, the liquids and the vessels containing them will, in a few hours, all arrive at the same temperature, which v,-ill be that of the air in the room. The same v/ould, of course, be the result wdth solid or aeriform bodies as v/ith liquids. Hadiation and conduction may be further explained by considering the former as operating at the surfaces of bodies, whilst the latter goes on througlicut their interior parts. The rate, at which Iieat is radiated and MATTER. 239 conducted by any Rubstanco, depends very mucli on the nature of the materials of Avhich that substance is composed. Radiation is also influenced in a remarkaljlo deo-ree by the colours and other conditions of the surfaces of l3odies. Those bodies into v.diich lieat enters with facility, and among whose particles it is transmitted i-apidly, are called good conductors.- Those, on the contrary, which offer considerable resistance to the progress of lieat among their particles are termed had conductors. The hitter are frequently denominated oion-conductors, a description not i)hilosopliically correct, since every sub- stance with which we are acv^uainted Avill conduct lieat, although in some its transmission is exceedingly slovr. Among good conductors the metals are the best; of these, gold, platinum, silver, and copper are nearly equal. The next in order are iron and zinc, then tin, and the slowest conductor of them all is lead. Wood, stone, and bricks are among the bad conductors of this class ; the most perfect are wool, hair, cotton, the fur of animals, the feathers of birds, and especially the down of the swan. Liquids and aeriform bodies, when there is no motion among their particles, are bad conductors of heat. If freedom of motion be established, they become good conductors. It is attention to this power of conduction which is our guide in the selection of clothing and building- materials to suit different climates ; bad conductors being selected for cold, and good conductors for warm countries. MATTER. By matter we mean the various things on this earth that we see and handle, and which we use for our own comfort. So the food we eat, the liquid we drink, the clothes we wear, and the things from which they are made, 2 -10 PROGRESSIVE READER. the ground ^ye tread upon, the wood, iron, stone, brick, from wliich we buihl ourselves houses, make tools and machinery, and the coal we burn in our fire-places — all these are matte)-; or, as we call them, when we turn them into use, materials. Thus wood, stone, brick, ttc, are building materials; wood, coal, coke, are materials for fuel ; gold and silver are materials for exchange or ornament ; and cotton, wool, silk, and linen are mate- rials for clothing. We cannot mahe matter ; it is created for us, either being found in the ground naturally, produced by the ground naturally, or grown upon the bodies of animals, as Avool, hair, etc. And as we cannot mahe matter, so we cannot destroy it. I daresay you think when the coal is burnt in the grate, or a piece of paper, or an old shii't in the fire, c^r a candle on the table, it is destroyed. You never see it again, and cannot find it ; but it is not destroyed, it is only changed into other inatter. You will find some aslies left on the hearth after the burninor, and a sjood deal of soot in the chimney, and some of the heat in the room and sucked into your own body, or into the water in the kettle, or the joint roasted in the oven, while some smoke has ofone into the air outside. So the cool has only changed into ashes, soot, heat, and smoke. If I were to burn a cajidle in a o-lobe containins: a little lime water, this lime Avater at first will be quite clear, but as the candle burnt^ it would turn muddy or milky, which shews that the candle has put something into the air in the globe that was not there before. It has really ])u+ some carbonic gas into the air, and it is this that has made the lime-water look like milk. This carbon is part of the matter of Avhich the candle is com- posed. If we Avere to weigh a candle before lighting it, and then Aveigh all the parts left after burning, A'iz,, the carbon, ash, &c., Ave should find the Aveight after the burning greater than it Avas before. Suppose I Aveighed the globe and lime-water Avith the candle in it first, and then lio-hted the candle, and then Aveiojhed it ac^ain, Avhen the burning was over, wo should find the globe had ' MATTER. 241 gained weight. But we can no more increa?;e matter than we can destroy it, so this additional weight is caused by the air added to, or, as we say, combined with, the carbon in burning. Force is also indestructible. We can neither create force nor destroy it. When a l)lacksmitli liauimers a piece of iron and turns it into a horse-shoe or a Hat knife, or when a railway navvy lifts a huge piece of iron with a great crowbar whicli he could not raise without, neither of them creates any force: he only expends the force in his own body ; and we find that we cannot get force loithout expendinr/ labour. So it is impossible to invent perpetual motion, which some people have tried to do, for there must be something to move any mechanical contrivance, ana that something can be traced to one source, viz., Jieat. Now, let us see what some of the most common mechanical contrivances are, by which we seem to get a force which we cannot obtain without them. 1. An inclined plane. I want to get a cask of sugar or a bale of wool into a warehouse, which is three steps above the street. I cannot lift either ^^r:c^0^ V'ivr^''^' '' of them ; but I find I can roll them till they reach the bottom step, which Fig. 1. bars them, and I cannot either roll them up Its edge, or lift them on to its tread ; but if I get a strong board. A, and lodge one end on the top step and the other on the ground, I can then roll either of them up it, but I shall have to spend more labour and take more time than when I was rolling them on the level street. So this inclined plane, A, has only helped me to iise greater force. If I let go, when the cask is half-way up, it will not go on to the top, but will roll down to the bottom. 2. Lever. I might raise the cask one step at a time by means of a crowbar, or a beam of wood, by putting S. VI. Q 242 PROGRESSIVE READER, Fig. 3. 'T.tAiUkS^^^I one end under it, thus (see fig. 2), and then raising the other end of ____________ the bar until I could fix •^ a stone, E, under the Fig. 2. bar a few inches from the cask. By pulling down the end, C, to the ground, D, I should raise the cask up one step ; but you will see that I have need to expend labour enough to move the bar from C to D, in order to move the cask the little distance from B to A. So you could not lift a boy your own size very easily, but by means of a lever you do it often in play, at what is called rantipole. The plank on which two boys are seated is a lever; and it is just the same as the bar of a pair of scales where the weight in the plate hung to one end raises tho sugar put into a plate hung at the other end. 3. Wheel and axle. Again, I could raise the cask or bale of wool, not only up three steps, but up three stories of a warehouse, by a wheel and axle, which is a more powerful kind of lever (but it is only a lever). The lever is a bar resting on what we call a fulcrum^ with power or force at one end, and a weight to be raised at the other. In the rantipole the fulcrum is the stone in the middle, the weight to be raised is a boy at one end, and the power, a boy at the other. In raising the cask up the step, the stone on which I rest my bar is the fulcrum ; the cask is the weight to be raised; and I am the power. Now, if I wanted to raise the cask up three stories, I might string it to one end of a rope, pass the rope over a wheel, and pull at the other end of the rope. ^ Then my pulling at P (fig. 4) would be the power, the cask would be the weight, W, and the centre of the wheel, a, the fulcrum. But I should have to use very great force to raise it by this means. But if I were to wrap the S w Fig. 4. MATTER. 243 Fig. 5. rope ronnri the axle (as in fig. 5), and jnill at an endless rope running over the circumference of a large wheel, F, I could then raise it more easily; but if 1 lb. of my weight would raise 10 lbs. of sugar in the cask for 1 inch, I must pull the rope down 10 inches to raise it that 1 inch, so that I have not really gained any force. If we multiply the number of wheels or pulleys, we can lift a greater weight with smaller power. For instance, if we liaveyb?^?* pulleys (as in fig. G) we can raise the weight with" owe fourth of the power, but we shall only raise it owq fourth of the distance ; so ivhat ice gain in 2)0wer we lose in distance. It is on the same principle that we raise water from a well, or a large stone in a quarry. The wheel and axle in both cases are only different applications of the lever (%• 7). I said the ultimate source of all force was heat ; but we do not create heat, we only transfer it from one place to another, call it out and use it. When a blacksmith hammers a piece ofC cold iron (as a good blacksmith can) till he has made it red-hot, by the force only of his own arm, he has transferred the heat in his own body into the cold iron and made it red-hot. So when a railway train is drawn along at great speed by a steam engine, it is the heat from the coal burning under the boiler that is Fig. 7. the source of all this force and rapid motion. That heat is latent heat sucked up by the coal from the sun ages ago, when what is now coal was living vegetable matter growing upon the earth. It has lain concealed for 244 PROCxRESSIVE READER. centuries, and now we call it out into activity. Sup- posing the grease in the box over the wheels runs short, you may see sparks flying out from the axle, and the carriage above might be set on fire, that is only the expenditure of some of the heat of the coal on the iron axle instead of its being used in drawing the train, and the speed of the train is relaxed by just so much as the waste of the heat on the axle of the wheel. This will give you a few general ideas about force, heat, and mechanical contrivances. I shall supply you with a few more in the followinof lessons ; but the particular details of machinery you must learn from special books on these subjects. — Rev, J. Ridgway. CENTRE OF GRAVITY. "When we have determined the exact spot where the centre of gravity is situated in any solid, a perpendicular line drawn from such ce-ntre to the centre of the eai'th is called the line of direction; and along this line every unsupported body endeavours to fall: if the line fall within the base of a body, such body will remain at rest ; if otherwise, it will fall. This will explain to us, why it is that a body stands firmly and steadily in proportion to the breadth of its base ; and the difficulty of supporting a tall body upon its narrow base. It is not easy to balance a peg-top upon its peg; nor a hoop upon its edge; while, on the contrary, the cone and the pyramid stand firm and immovable, since the line of direction falls within the middle of the base, and the centre of gravity in such bodies is necessarily low down near the base. All the art of a rope-dancer consists in altering his centre of gravity upon every variation of the position of his body, so as to preserve the line of direction within the base. He is assisted in this by means of a long pole, tlie ends of which are loaded with lead ; this pole he holds across the rope, and fixes his eyes steadily upon some object near the rope, so as to detect instantly CENTRE OF GRAVITY. 245 the deviation of his centre of gravity to one side or tlie other. If this centre deviates for an instant to one side, he woukl be liable to fall oif the rope on that side; but he preserves his position by lowering the end of the pole on the opposite side, and thus constantly maintains the line of direction within the very narrow base on which he stands. We frequently use our arms in the same manner as the rope-dancer uses his balancing pole. If we stumble with one foot, we extend the opposite arm. In walking along a very narrow ledge, we balance our bodies by means of our arms; a man carrying a pail of water, therefore, curves his body away from the pail, and extends the opposite arm, and thus maintains his centre of gravity in its proper position. A man carrying a sack of wheat on his back, leans forward, and thus prevents the weight from throwing the line of direction beyond the base behind him. Numerous other examples of a similar kind will readily occur to the intelligent reader. We now proceed to supply instances which are not so obvious. In fig. 1 a weight, G, is attached to a bent wire F, and the latter is fixed at its upper extremity to a piece of wood which rests at its edge upon the table. Now, nothing more is necessary in order that the weight should fall to the ground, than that the small piece Fi.?. 1. of wood should tilt over ; but a careful attention to the figure will shew that, in order to overturn the board, the weight, G, must rise toward? the inner part of the table ; and as almost the entire weight (and subsequently the centre ol gravity) of the whole, resides in the w^eight G, it is contrary to the law of gravitation for G to S46 PROGRESSIVE READER. ascend, and as tlie board cannot iipset "witliont raising the weight, G, the whole may be made to swing to and fro without falling. A similar fact is more strikingly shewn by suspending a pail of water, as shewn in another part of fig. 1. The pail, G, is supported by a string or handle, H, which is secured to a board or stick, rather more than half of which rests upon the table. If the pail were allowed to hang with the handle upright, the whole assemblage would, of course, iipset, since the greater part of the weight would be beyond the edge of the table, and the stick is not at all fixed to the table. But the whole acquires stability by merely placing a stick, F, in the position E G. The upper end is inserted into a notch in the stick at E, while the lower end presses against the pail, and forces the handle, H, out of the vertical position. Now, no motion can be given to the pail without raising the centre of gravity of the whole arrangement, and such an elevation being contrary to the laws of gravity, the position of the pail is one of stable equilibrium, which a slight disturbance is not sufficient to destroy. Eigs. 2 to 9 are additional illustrations of the truth that the centre of gravity always seeks the rig. 2. lowest part. They seem, at first view, to be exceptions to the law ; for a body does not naturally roll uphill, as in the following cases, but we shall find that they are as perfect illus- trations of the law, as any that we have before given. Fig. 2 is a double cone of wood, which rolls up the inclined plane A B C D, fi^. 3. Ficr. 3. Tlie sharp edge formed hy the two bases of the cones CENTRE OF GRAVITY. 247 IS placed at C, and the although they ai')pear to plane, they actually move or down a line slightly declined, as may be seen by inspecting fig. 4, where ce is the line along which the cone moves; c a is the upward inclina- tion of the bars of the frame, which deceive the eye in the eflect produced. cones move along roll to A B: but up the inclined a horizontal line, KpT. 4. But cf is actually the path of the lowest part of the cone, and d a the path of the axis, both of which incline downwards. In fig. 5, the cylinder of which A K I is a section, if placed on an inclined plane, C, will roll down, because the centre of gravity not l)eing supported in the line of direction H I D, it falls beyond the point of support, F, and the line F A does not coincide with the line of direction. But if the cylinder be not homogeneous; if it be formed partly of Avood and partly of lead, as in figs. G and 7, Avhere the shaded parts F F represent the lead, the centre of gravity is no longer the centre Fi L'. a. of magnitude of the mass, but is on one side of it as at E. Now, in fig. 7, the point of support is D, and a perpen- dicular from the centre of gravity, E, falls above the point of sup- Fiff. 6. FI-. 7. port, so that the cylinder rolls upwards until it falls to 24S PROGRESSIVE READER. the position shewn in fig. 6; such, that a perpendicular from the centre of gravity meets tlie point of contact D, when it will station- remain on an plane. ^ -^ is a further illus- tration of this although inclined Fiff. 8 Fig. 8. interesting ex- periment. The dotted line is the path of the centre of magnitude of the cylinder up hill ; but the curved-line is the path of the centre of gravity, so that it will readily be seen that the cylinder has a tendency to roll a short distance upwards, in order that the centre of gravity may assume the lowest possible position whereby stability is acquired. The same principle has been applied to make a watch shew time by rolling slowly down an inclined plane. Fig. 9 is the section of a cylinder, which would roll down the inclined plane quickly but for a heavy body, P, which is so ad- justed that the cylinder turns round once in twelve hours, "while the weight, P, maintains a constant direc- tion with respect to the axis of the cylinder; so that the wheel to whose axis it is attached does not move round, but allows the cvlinder to move Kg. 9. round it. The other wheels are under the control of the central wheel, THE PHILOSOPHY OF A PUG-TOP. 24D knd act the usual parts of clock-work. On one end of the cylinder is a clock-face, the hands to which are attached to the axis of the central wheel. — S. M, THE PHILOSOPHY OF A PEG-TOP. We trust that our young readers will not bo disposed to spin their tops with less zest when we assure them that this toy px-esents a very difficult problem to the natural philosopher; that the theory of its motions has engaged the attention of very eminent men ; and that the questions arising therefrom are by no means satisfactorily answered. The boy who loves his peg- top because it is an ingenious toy, will, we hope, be taught by the present article to regard it with a higher degree of interest ; and the man (if such there be) who despises the peg-top, because it is a toy, will have an opportunity of learning, that much philosophy may be gathered from childish things. The simple contrivance, whereby a top is set spinning, need not be particularly described. The string which is wound round the top, and suddenly uncoiled with a jerking kind of action, has the effect of imj)arting circular motion to the top. Now, circular motion is always the result of two forces, one (.f which attracts the body to the centre around wliich it moves, and hence is called the centripetal force ; and the other impels it to move off in a right line from the centre, and this constitutes the centrifucjal force. In all circular motion, these two forces con- stantly balance each other : if it were not so, the revolving body must evidently approach the centre of motion or recede from it, according as one or the other force prevailed. This is well illustrated by tlie action of a sling. When a stone is w^liirled round in the sling, a projectile force is imparted to the stone; but it 250 PROGRESSIVE READER. is prevented from flying off on account of the counter- acting or centripetal force of tlie string; the moment, however, that the string is unloosed, the stone ceases to move in a circle, but darts off in a right line; because, being released from confinement to the fixed or central point, it is acted on by one force only, which always produces motion in a right line. We need scarcely inform our young reader that it is im- possible for him to set up his top, so that it shall stand steadily on its point without spinning it. He can never keep the line of direction within its narrow base : but when the rotating motion is once established, there is no difhculty in preserving it for a time in its position. Why is this 1 When a top is spinning, we have an example of circular motion round a central axis ; and the more rapidly the top spins, the greater is the tendency of all its parts to recede from the axis; or, in other words, the greater is the centrifugal force: the parts which thus revolve may be regarded as so many powers acting in a direction perpendicular to the axis; but as these parts are all equal, and as they pass with great rapidity round the axis, the top is in equilibrio on the end of its axis, or point of support, and thus its erect position is maintained. But the top soon falls, on account of two great impediments to its motion, — viz., the friction of the peg on the ground, and the resistance of the air. If the top could be made to revolve on a point without friction, and in a vacuum, it would continue to revolve for ever, and always maintain the same position. But, as it is impossible to comply with these two con- ditions, let us see what results have followed the attempts to reduce the retarding forces as much as possible. About the middle of the last century Mr. Serson contrived a top, which, instead of the usual pear-shape of the common peg-top, presented a horizontal surface similar to what we should obtain by piercing the centre of a disk of wood (or a trencher), with an axis or peg. The upper surface oY this top Avas polished, and it presented, while spinning, a true horizontal plane. It THE PHILOSOPHY OF A PEG-TOP. 251 contimied to spin for thirty-five minutes. On being spun (after the manner of spinning a humming-top), on the table of an air-pump, it was covered with a gh\ss receiver, from whicli the air was then removed, and the top continued to spin during the space of two hours and sixteen minutes. Mr. Roberts, of Manchester, a few years ago made a top which would spin in the air forty-two minutes. He made another, and, in order to give it a neat appearance, covered it with lacquer; when he found it would not S2')in more than seventeen minutes. Ho removed the lacquer, and the top continued to spin as at first. He found that the lacquer, although it im- proves the appearance of surfaces, yet im2:)arts to them a vast number of minute roughnesses, scarcely, if at all, appreciable by the touch, yet sufficient to offer so much additional resistance to motion in the air. We will now return to the common form of the peg- top, and endeavour to explain the means by which the top is enabled to rise from the oblique position (whicli it always assumes more or less when first set spinning), into the truly vertical position, which produces the effect called sleejnng, when the motion is so steady that it scarcely seems to move. When the top is sleeping, its centre of gravity in situated ^perpendicularly over its point of support ; but in rising from an oblique to a vertical position, the top must have its centre of gravity raised. The force which effects this change has been a subject of contest in the ])hilosophy of the peg-top, and we believe that Dr. Paris was the first to offer a satisfactory explanation of it. He considers it to depend upon the form of the extremity of the peg, and not upon any simple effect connected with the rotating or centrifugal force of the top. If the peg were to terminate in a fine (that is to say, in a mathematical) point, the top could never raise itself Let A B C (fig. 1.) be a top spinning in an oblique position, having the end of the peg, C, on which it 252 PROGRESSIVE READER. Fig. 1. S2)ins, brcnight to a point. It will continue to spin in the direction in which it reaches the ground, without the least tendency to rise into a more vertical position and it is by its rotating force that it is kept in this original ])osition* for, if we conceive the top divided into two equal parts (A and B), by a plane passing through the line X C, and suppose that at any moment during its spinning the connection between those two parts were suddenly dissolved, then would any point in the part, A, fly off with the given force in the direction of the tangent, and any corresponding point m the part B, with an equal force in an opposite direction. While, therefore, these two parts remain connected together during the spinning of the top, these two equal and opposite forces, A and B, will balance each other, and the top will continue to spin on its original axis. Hence the rotating or centrifugal forfee can never make the top rise from an oblique to a vertical position. But in order to be satis- fied that the change in posi- tion depends on the- bluntness of the point, let ABC (fig. 2.), be a top spinning in an oblique position terminating in a very short point with a hemispherical shoulder P a M. It is evident that in this case, the top will not s}3in upon a, the end of the true axis, X a, but upon 0, a point in the circle P M, to Avhich the floor I F is a tangent. Instead, therefore, of revolving upon a Pig- 2. fixed and stationary point, the top will [roU round upon the small circle P M, I M l THE PU^IP. 253 on its hlunt point, witli very considerable friction, the force of which may be represented by a line, O P, at right angles to the floor I F, and to the spherical end of the peg of the top. Now, it is the action of this force, by its pressure on one side of the bhmt point of the top, which causes it to rise in a vertical direction. Produce the lino P, till it meets the axis C; from the point C draw the line OT per- pendicular to the axis « X, and T parallel to it; and then, by a resolution of forces the line T C will repre- sent the part of the friction wliicli presses at right angles to the axis, so as gradually to raise it in a vertical position, in which operation the circle P M gradually diminishes, by the approach of the point P to a, as the axis becomes more perpendicular, and vanishes when the point P coincides with the point a, that is to say, when the top has arrived at its vertical position, where it will continue to sleep without much friction or any other disturbing force, until its voluntary motion fails, and its side is broiight to the earth by the force of gravity. —S. M. THE PUMP. Every boy knows what a squirt is, and how it is used. You puN up a rod by a ring at the top, hold the nose in water, and then raising the squirt, push the rod down, and the water is forced out in a stream. Now, let us look into the squirt and see how this is done. I have cut a squirt straight down from the top to the bottom, that you can see how it works. The rod that moves up and down is called a ^^ jnston-rod,^^ because it works a round sort of button, called a piston, fixed on the bottom of it, and covered with thread so as to make Fig, 1. it fit tightly to the sides of the barrel, and keep the air from passing between it and the barrel (or, as it is pro- perly called, the cylinder). When you put the nose of the pipe into a bucket of water, no air can get in through 254 PROGRESSIVE READER. tlie opening, because tlie water closes the entrance; and as soon as you 2)ull up tlie handle you leave the barrel empty of air, or cause what is called a vacuum. But as the air is pressing with great weight upon the surface of the water in the bucket, it pushes it up into the vacuum, till it is filled. You can easily try for yourselves how water will be forced up to fill a vacuum. Take a common tea saucer and fill it with water, and then get an empty tumbler ; put a little bit of lighted paper into it, and turn it gently upside down with its mouth into the water, and you will see the water run up into the tumbler till it is nearly full ; because you have burnt up most of the air in the tumbler and made a vacuum. A pump is on the same principle. There is a piston and a piston-rod ; the air is drawn out of it, a vacuum is made, and the water rushes up into the barrel or cylinder. But a pump is too heav37^to be lifted out of the water each time to squirt it out, and it would be a great waste of time, if we could do so. Another contriv- ance is made, then, to send the water out of the top part of the barrel without letting in the air, and this is by means of valves. Let us put one of these valves into our squirt, just where the pipe of the nose goes out of the barrel. You see it fits like a cork into the neck of a bottle, and keeps any air or water that gets into the barrel from running down into the pipe. At the point A there is a hinge, so that OpenVaire. this valve Can open upwards like ^ig- 3. the lid of a box, but it cannot open downwards (fig. 3). Now, if we pull up the piston-rod, the water rushes up, raises the valve, and fills the barrel. But how are^we to get it out ? We might put a pipe Fig. 2. THE PTBIP. 255 into the barrel at B, and tlien, when the piston got above B, the water woiikl run out, but only in a very small quantity, because air would come in at the spout and the water would stop rising in the barrel ; so we make a spout higher up, above tJte piston, at C We must now see the way in whicli tlie water gets above the piston. There is a valve again in the piston, and this valve only opens upwards. As soon as the piston has been drawn to the top, and the barrel below it is filled with water, we push the piston down again, and the pressure of water shuts the lower valve A, and as the piston goes down it forces up the valve in the bucket, D, (fig. 2), and the water rises into the upper part of the barrel. We now pull Fig- 4. the bucket up again, and a fresh lot of water rushes in below ; but the weight of water above shuts down the valve in the bucket, and so it is raised as the bucket ascends, until it flows out of the spout. This will be easily seen by the two figures at the side. In fig, 5 the water has been raised by the first lifting of the piston to the top of the bar- rel. The bucket is now descend- ing for some more, and the water below it is risincj throuo-h the valve. A, into the upper part of the barrel, the pressure of Fig. 5. the water closing the valve B 'en Fig. 6. We now raise the bucket again by another stroke of the handle, water 256 PROGRESSIVE READER. rushes up tlie pipe C, (fig. 6), forces the valve B open, and fills the barrel between A and B, and as the water above A keeps the valve A shut down, the water is lifted by the piston till it flows out at the spout D. As a 23ump is larger than a squirt, and the water raised by it is much heavier than that raised by a squirt, we could not readily pump by standing on it and pulling the piston-rod straight up by a ring at the top, and therefore we have to make use of a lever, in the shape of a pump-handle, which prizes up the piston when we throw our weight upon the piston and press the handle down. — Bev, J. Ridgioay. THE STEAM ENGINE. After our lesson on the pump we shall be able to understand a little about the steam engine. We must go back again to our old friend, the squirt, which you will remember I told you was made up of a cylinder, with a piston fitting tight into it, and worked ^ip and down the cylinder by a piston-rod. You know that you work this piston up and down the cylinder by pulling the ring at the top with your finger, and then pressing it down ; but we want now to see how we can work it up and down without touching it. You have seen a kettle, when the water in it boils, how the steam rushes out of the spout and makes the lid dance about; and the steam comes frothing out all round it. If we were to put a cork into the spout of a boiling kettle full of water, the steam would blow the lid quite off by the force of the steam. Suppose we cork up the spout, and, instead of the lid, fix a large cork bung into the top of the kettle, and then, through a hole bored in this bung, push down the nose of the squirt, Fig. 1. what will happen'? Why, the force of steam will push the piston of the squirt quite up to THE STEAM ENGINE. 257 Fig. 2. the top (just as it would fovea tlie lid ofT), and if you do not pull it out quickly, it will either "blow out the bung or burst the kettle. So you see what force steam has. But we want to get the piston pushed down again ; and if wc cut off the nose at the bottom of the squirt, and fix in a flat bottom with an opening at the side, B, we can let in the steam to raise the j)iston. A, and then, by putting a pipe into it at the top, C, admit steam above to push the piston down again. Now, this would work very well oncej but then the cylinder would be full of steam, and, as soon as we let fresh steam in, it would burst j so we must have some con- trivance to let the steam out, as soon as it has pushed np the j)iston, and let it out again when it has thrust it down. This is managed without putting any more pipes into the cylinder, and we have only to carry on our drawing of the squirt in the last figure, to see how these two pipes are made so as to both let the steam in and let it out again. But as we have cut off the nose of the squirt we cannot 2^ush it through the bung at the top of the kettle, so we must put it at the side, and as we do not want the kettle spout we ^viil cut it off, bung np the hole, and insert a pipe, D, into the lid so as to get the most steam, (as steam always rises to the top). A look at the figure above will explain how the steam is made to do its work, and Ihen go off to play. Wc have our kettle on the fire and the squirt at its side. These are now the boiler and cylinder of a steam engine. As soon as the water boils, the steam rushes up the pipe D, descends to B, in the direction of the arrows, and pushes np the piston, A, till it gets to the dotted line F. As soon as it gets there, a little rod at the top of the piston turns the stoj)-cock, E (which is on the same principle as a water tap), in the opposite direction (see fig. 4), and S. VI. R 258 PKOGRESSIVE EEADER. Fig. 3. Fig. 4, THE STEAM ENGINE. 25D lets in the steam from the boiler above the piston at C, and pushes it down. As it descends, it forces the steam, tliat had raised it, doivnwards, and sends it up the pipe, B, and out of the ^'steam-escape,'* G. Again it turns tlie cock, E, wliich lets the steam run down the pipe, B, under the piston, which sends it up again, forcing the steam above it out at the pipe, C, and after going almost in a circle (see fig. 3), it escapes also by the pipe, G. If you will study each of these two figures, and follow the direction of the arrows, first in one and then the other, you will very easily understand how these two pipes first let the steam in, and then out again, by merely turning the stop-tap, E, after each admission of steam. Well, but what is the use of all this lifting up and forcing down of the piston ? How does that make an engine draw a train of carriages, or turn the machinery in a factory? We shall soon see. Every time the piston goes up it moves the piston-rod up, and every time it goes down it moves the piston-rod down ; so you see we have this rod constantly kept working backwards and forwards, or up and down. I daresay you have watched a knife-grinder, or a man at a turning- lathe, working the wheel to grind the knives, or to turn the piece of wood that is to be cut. He turns the wheels above by "w^orking his foot up and down on a piece of wood (a treadle). Working his foot up and down is just what the steam Fig does, and the foot and the steam both work a straifrht piece of iron (a piston-rod) up and down. Let us Avliat it is like in a knife- grinding machine. The treadle. A, pressed down by the foot, moves the piston-rod, B. The hook at the end tits on to a loop in another iron bar, which is the axle of a wheel. This loop is called a crank, 0, and every pressure of 5. see Pi-. G. the foot pulls the crank down; and, lettinsc it g^; 260 PROGRESSIVE READER. the bottom of the line. These side swings it lip again by the impetus of the wheel, D, at the end of the axle. This wheel is called the ^fly- ivheel, which in a factory is very large, so as to get a great impetus, and it is by Aie whirling round of this great wheel that all the machinery is kept working. The way in which the piston-rod works the crank will be seen by fig. 7. Attached to the end of the rod is a piece of iron, shaped like the letter T, the two little drop pieces falling from the top bar of the T beins: lengthened below centre pieces are attached, one to the fly-wheel, and the other to the crank of the axle, so that as it rises and falls it pulls up or presses down the wheel. y But in a locomotive engine this T-piece is attached to a wheel on each side of the engine. Fig;. 7. " so that it is working two wheels at once ; but those used on a railroad have generally two cylinders, one to work the wheel on one side and the other that on the other. Now, if these worked exactly together, and they happened to start with the two pistons pulling the cranks straight at the same time, they would not turn the wheel at all. If you watch the knife-grinder you will see he gives the wheel a spin round with his hand before he begins to use his foot, just to start it ; but we cannot do so with a steam engine on account of the weischt, so the two pistons work alternately, and when one is at the weakest point, where the engine has no power to turn it, the other is at the strongest, and carries the other on with it. You will see this by tlie figure 8. When tlie crank. A, is in a straight lino with the piston-rod, B, it cannot turn the wheel at all ; but you will see the piston is at the bottom of the cylinder, and will be soon MACHINERY AT THE EXHIBITION, 1872. 261 moving upwards to push back the crank, A. It cannot do so, however, till the crank has fallen a little (as, to the dotted lines, C). Now, look at the other wheel and you will see the crank, D, is just in such a position, that the rod, E, can pull it towards the cylinder with all its might, and the piston is at the to^) of the cylinder, ready to go down again and pull the spoke of the wheel towards it; in doing so it Avill also turn the other wheel until it has got it into position for its comrade piston to push it back. Then the other wheel pulls the upper spoke of its wheel, while its companion pushes back the lower spoke of the corresponding one. You will now be able to understand the workinor of an ensrine, and if you look on each side of a locomotive the next time you go to a railway station, you will see these two cylinders, which I have been describing. — I-lcv. J. Ridyway. MACHINERY AT THE INTERNATIONAL EXHIBITION, 1872. Machinery used in connexion with cotton and cotton fabrics, with paper, stationery, and printing, is arranged in the rooms on the ground tioor of the West Galleries, in the " East Machinery Annexe," and in rooms at the south-east corner of the Exhibition. The visitor at all familiar with the manufactures, the processes of which 262 PROGRESSIVE READER. are thus represented^ will, except in the printing depart^ nient, not find very mucli that is new to him, but those who have never been in the way of such knowledge will follow with interest the folding of an envelope, the printing of an engraving, or the winding and weaving of cotton yarn. Beginning with the cotton machinery in Room I. of the West Galleries, we take the ojiportunity of turning aside to the cotton-growing house in the West Grounds, in which Major Trevor Clarke exhibits varieties of American, Asian, and African cotton. The tall, graceful plants are just coming into flower, and seem to thrive well in their pots and in a hot-house air at 95 deg. Persona inclined to take a lesson in com- mercial botany in such a class-room may study the similarities and differences between the several growths of Borneo, China, Assam, and India, and those of the most favoured American soils. Returning to the West Gallery, Room I. begins with 25 varieties of dried cotton in glass cases, also exhibited by Major Clarke, and with a case illustrating every stage in cotton manufactures, from the plant to the woven calico. Near at hand are samples of cotton from those South Sea Islands, which must one day be the Indies of Australia; cotton cleaned by patients in the Palermo Lunatic Asylum; cotton pods from Algeria, Egypt, Aleppo, Peru, the Bahamas, Italy, Ceylon, Trinidad, Abyssinia, Queensland, and every other soil, (whether North, South, East, or West), which nourishes the plant that not only clothes mankind, but is ready to feed the lower animals ; witness *•' cotton-seed cake for cattle food." Turninoc to the machinery,, we may contrast the cotton-cleaning " churkas" from India, lent by the Secretary of State, with the new machine for the same purpose exhibited by Piatt Brothers. Into Room II. we pass from cotton to paper, and the general visitor may here watch, with some gleams of intelligence, the different processes of fine art and letter- press printing, and may catch a glimpse in advance of the Good Words^ engravings. Turning to the other side, MACHINERY AT THE EXlIILiTION, 1872. 2G3 \ve have the not less ingenious, if more commonplace, ruling of account books practised by Letts and Co. The blue ink runs from a saturated flannel down fluted pens set in a row, and the paper takes its lines as it is drawn quickly under these. Entering Eoom HI., we find almost the whole of the left side occupied by John Dickinson and Co.'s envelope machinery, shewing us the complete process of envelope making, beginning at the " web," or endless roll of paper, and ending with the finished envelopes in packets. First of all, here is the paper, as it arrives from the mill in rolls, which can be made of one continuous sheet scA'eral miles long, but which, for convenience sake, are limited to a weight of 4 cwt. and a length of three-quarters of a mile. This sheet is fixed to the " cutting machine." The cutters can be altered to any size, and nothing can exceed the celerityand convenience of their action. The paper leaves them in a state too rough for writing purposes, and has next to be "glazed." This gives it the required surface, and we next see it being punched into "blanks" (the shape of an envelope open at all sides) at a small press; then comes the " gumming on the nose," which is done by girls at the rate of 40,000 an hour, or about one a second ; then the stamping in relief or cameo, the black- bordering (for mourning stationery), and, finally, the folding, done at two machines which work on difterent principles. Man's ingenuity seems to have exhausted itself in devising machines to fold envelopes, and in this room several patents may be seen doing the same work in difierent modes. By the account of the makers, each is in some way the very best machine of all, and by our own observation each appears to do its work marvel- lously well. Messrs. Dickinson shew us also the banding of the envelopes in packets, the making of boxes for those Avhicli are black-bordered, and tell us that their machines in this room will turn out 300,000 and more finished envelopes in one day. Messrs. Goodall fold and finish envelopes, with extreme neatness and fascinating precision, in a machine which stamps the '' blanks " into shape in the successive apertures of a 264 PROGRESSIVE READER. revolving dial. Messrs. Willis chop countless playing cards into their exact width from long strips of card- board; and Messrs. Eenner turn out from their machine sixty complete envelopes a minute. We do not know that we can give our readers a better idea how manifold and cemplex mechanism is made to do the work of human fingers, than by quoting the account of the work- ing of this rapid little engin.e : — '■' A pile of envelope blanks is placed upon a plate on the left-hand side of the machine, which may be done either when at rest or when in motion. A hollow brass tube, with the end of a peculiar shape, descends upon the envelope blanks at the side nearest to the folding- box; to the other end of the tube is attached an india- rubber pipe communicating with an air-pump, which, coming into action at this instant, causes the blank which is upon the top of the pile to attach itself to the brass tube, which, risilig, carries the envelope blank with it; a pair of grippers then run forward, and, seizing the blank, carry it into its proper position over the folding-box ; it is then stamped, and the gum applied in the proper places upon the two side flaps. A plunger then descends and carries the blank into the folding- box; upon the plunger rising, slides, working in the thickness of the folding-box, run in and enclose the flaps in their proper order; the bottom of the box now rises and completes the operation by pressing the envelopes against the slides; the bottom of the box then falls and allows the envelope to drop in an upright position into a trough running under the machine, when it is met by a simple contrivance, which secures the envelope with its flaps in their proper position in the trough, and as each suc- cessive envelope is j^laced in front of it, it gradually works along the trough, until removed by the attendant and banded." Here also the Graphotyping Company exhibit their exceedingly ingenious method of engraving. In graplio- type the artist draws with chymical ink upon a surface of prepared chalk, Avhich has been sifted upon a zinc plate and com.pressed by hydraulic power so as to give ''the Walter" printing press. 265 a smooth surface. The ink is prepared so as to harden the chalk wherever it touches it; when the sketch is completed, the sjmces between the lines are removed by a soft brush; the drawing, thus left in relief, is washed in a chymical solution which renders it as hard as stone; a mould is then taken, and from that again an electrotype ready for printing. " THE WALTEK " FEINTING PRESS. The composing and distributing machines, exhibited by Mr. Walter, call for special notice, since they are both effective and new, and likely to come into use. The dis- tributing machine is themore remarkable, as being exceed- ingly simple, and yet the first instance in which such a machine has been brought to do good work. Composing machines of more or less clever construction have been from time to time patented, but the bar to their use has always been that either the type had to be distributed by hand, which necessitated the retention of a staff of com- positors, or that, if distributed by a machine, the -type was required to be of some S2:)ecial construction. The new machines work with the ordinary type, and when we say that they are now in use in The Times Office, and that the composing machine is worked by two boys, who can comi30se as fast as three highly- skilled com- positors, and that the distributing machine, worked by one lad, can distribute rather faster than a highly- skilled compositor, the value and importance of this patent will be at once seen. A new invention cannot well be described without illustrations, but it will give our readers some idea of these machines if we say that in the composing machine tlie different letters, &lc., are arranged vertically in a series of cases ju^t of a size to hold them, and in connection with pianoforte-like keys. Before these a lad sits, and as he reads his copy so he strikes a key with his hnger, upon which the letter wanted drops into its place iu a groove. lu this groove 26G PROCIRESSIVE READER. tlie type gradually forms a long line, wliicli is puslied along the slide by means of a treadle motion, wliicli tlic boy keeps np with his foot, till it fdls into the hands of another boy seated with his face towards the groove. This second lad "justifies" the long line of set-up type as it moves towards him — that is, he cuts it into lengths equal to the breadth of a column of the newspaper or page of the book, and fixes it in a " form," which is then taken away and stereotyped or printed from, as the case may be. Each lad has his task smoothed by all sorts of simple and handy little mechanical contrivances, difficult to describe, but easy to manipulate j and the rate of work is as we have said. The distributing machine, or machine for separating the type after it has been printed from, so that it may be used again, works by the same method reversed. A lad sits at a key-board, the keys of which are marked with the various letters, &g., and reads the type as each line is cut off from the " forme " and pushed up into a groove under his eyes. Striking the key corresponding to the letter he wishes to put back into its place, it slips down a groove and into a case exactly similar to that from which it fell on the key being struck in the other machine. These cases are movable, and correspond in each machine, so that, when a case of some particular letter has been filled at the distributing machine, it can be removed (an empty case being put in its stead) and placed in a rack till needed for the composing machine, when it has only to be fixed in its proper position, there to stay till emptied by repeated striking of the key which causes one of the letters it contains to fall iiixo the proper groove. — The Times. THE EXPEKIMENTS WITH H.M.S. " GLATTON." The triumphant march of progress in the matter of guns has been for the moment brought to a stand-still. THE EXPERIMENTS WITH H.M.S. "GLATTON." 2(j1 Ever since i\Ir. Armstrong invented liis little gun — for although bi£C at the time, it is little with what we have seen to-day — ever since the Admiralty Lords found out that against such guns they might as well build ships of paper as of wood — tliey have been in a state of alarm and suspense. They may be said to have begun a neck and neck race. The " Warrior" was built firstly with 4 1 inches of armour and 18 of wood. A new gun soon reduced her to a position not very superior to the old line-of battle ships. Then came the " Agincourt," with an inch of iron added to the armour, and 9 inches of wood taken off. A third gun necessitated still stronger defence, and the " Bellerophon," the " Penelope," and others of that class were launched with G-incli armour and 10 inches of wood. A fourth gun was turned out. The armament of the " Warrior" consisted entirely of 4-ton guns, considered at the time of their construction unparalleled productions. They failed to pierce her own target at 200 yards' distance; but now the 6^-ton guns would pierce that target at 500 yards, and the gun that has been fired off to-day would scatter it in all directions at a range of 4,000 yards. It seemed at one time, indeed, as if the construction of ironclads must be given up in despair, for even the " Hercules," with 10 J of iron and 10 of wood, was considered unsafe against the 25-ton gun in construction for the " Hotspur." At last, however, Sir Spencer Robinson designed the three monitors that may be considered to have brought this race to a standstill, for a larger gun than the 25-ton is not at present considered feasible for general purposes ; and there is some pleasure in being able to report that, at a distance of 200 yards, closer than which it is not probable that any action would take place, the turret of the " Glatton" lias perfectly withstood the mass of GOO lbs. of iron and steel that were hurled against it with a charge of 70 lbs. of powder. The turrets of the *' Glatton," the " Thunderer," and the " Devastation," are constructed of 14 inches of wrought iron, 16 inches of teak, three iron plates on the inside, each |-inch, and last of all a ''thin" covering of iron to prevent 268 PROGRESSIVE READER. bolt-heads and rivets from flying about and hurting the men that are working the guns. A small and select party of gentlemen who are interested in these experiments, and had been invited to attend them, flocked into Weymouth and caused a temporary overflow of the somewhat limited hotel accommodation which this beautiful little town afibrds. The morning sun rose over the bay with rare beauty, and dispelled all the fears of sudden storms overnight that might have been entertained. The time had been so arranged that breakfast could be ordered at the decent hour of seven, the first train for Portland leaving at half-past. At the landing-stair at Portland the steam pinnaces of the " Vigilant," the *' Salamander," and the ''Boscawen" training ship, were in-waiting to convey the favoured holders of red, blue, and white tickets to their respective ships. The trial took place in that piece of water — whether it glories in the name of harbour we have not been able to ascertain — which is enclosed on one side by the Chisel Beach and on the other side by the breakwater. The scene here was magnificent. On the water, the surface of which pre- sented not a ripple, and which, in its light green basalt colour, was so splendidly transparent that mountains of pebbles and whole forests of seaweed could be observed many fathoms down, o-n that smooth and liquid mirror lay a small fleet of steamers. There, in the centre, lay the " Salamander," a wooden frigate of the good old style, that did splendid service in the bombardment of Acre some fifty years ago. Further ofl", towards the fort that sullenly overlooks these extra- ordinary proceedings, lies the ''Boscawen" training ship, rising fully 30 feet out of the water. In the olden days, when every one of Nelson's men did his duty, she must have been a most formidable antagonist, but her ports are now closed, or j^erchance there peeps through some square black hole the laughing face and curly head of one of our young sailors, looking the picture of health and life, such as a few years ago lie did not, and could not, dream of in the hopeless misery THE EXrEPJMENTS WITH H.IM.S. "GLATTON" 2 GO of a London conrt. Then came tlie two Admiralty yachts, the " BLack Eagle " and the '' Vigilant," with their graceful and slender outlines, and last of all, close to the breakwater, two ugly, shapeless, surly-looking masses of gray-coloured iron, the one apparently 100 yards from the breakwater, and the other immediately in front of her. The former is the observed of all observers — the lion of the hour. The " Glatton" lies moored at a distance of about 100 yards from the inner side of the breakwater, and the " Hotspur" immediately in front of her. It is reported that the distance betAveen the two vessels was 200 yards, but from our point of view it scarcely looks fifty. In the meantime, while wo survey all this, the steam pinnace has brought us alongside the '' Salaman- der;" we follow the- leader up the ladder, lift our hats to the captain and to the quarter-deck, and feel our tempers and temperatures immediately brought down to a pleasant level by the shade of a cool awning spread from mast to mast, and elaborate preparations for an entertainment of some kind, which smiles upon us underneath, and we cannot help remarking immediately what fine fellows surround us. Everybody had brought with him a goodly store of patience, for it was said that the arrangements would not be completed till past eleven. It was, therefore, with satisfaction that we noticed some commotion on board the two monitors, and mysterious signalling going on between the '* Hot- spur" and the Admiralty yachts. Presently there came from the former a sound of pipes and bugle, and we began to look out with all our might. On the stei'n of the " Glatton " a piece of canvas had been put up on a framework, so as to present a target marked with half-a-dozen black spots to the " Hotspur's " gun. Precisely at a quarter to ten the first shot was fired at this target. The bolt nuTst have passed clean over, for the canvas was not touched, and the water could be seen spurting up seaward to a considerable height at the point where the iron struck it. At intervals of about twenty minutes five shots were now fired at this 270 PROGRESSIVE READER. target, tlie result of wliich we could of course perfectly discern; but knowing notliing of tlie intention with wliich the gun was aimed, we were unable to pass an opinion upon the correctness of the shot. The *' Glatton " had in the meantime been getting her steam lip, and these preliminary trials evidently proving successful, a red flag was hoisted on both vessels, and a longitudinal piece of wood was erected on the *' Glatton's " turret, after which every living creature was seen to mysteriously vanish through sundry holes and crevices; the bugle sounded, and ofl:' went the monster, hurling its COO pounds in mid-air. We were told that the piece of wood had been erected on the edge of the turret, so as to mark the exact spot where the shell should strike that eds-e. If this be true the marker must have mistaken his bull's eye, for the turret was not touched, and the wood was taken clean away, having been hit exactly in the centre. Seven bells were about to be struck when the first real shot was fired. All glasses were directed to the turret, and at about 3 feet from the top there suddenly appeared a vicious hole, with glittering pieces of iron flying back- Avards in all directions. Presently came the report, and for some moments a volume of smoke hid the object from our sight. From the "Salamander" it could be plainly seen that the iron outside-coating had been thoroughly penetrated, and that a large seam appeared in the joining of the uj^per and second plates. The ubiquitous little pinnace, which had been A^ery busy all this time, kindly took us in tow, and shipped lis on board the " Glatton." The hole certainly Avas immense. The e-ntire 14-incli plate had been cut through, the pieces of the shell which filled it remaining fixed in that position. The other part of the shell had burst, and several pieces were hurled with great violence back on to the " Hotspur," Avhere anybody at that moment on deck would have been in 2;reat danger. The inside of he turret, Avhich contains two 25-ton guns, was somewhat blocked up by large wooden supports, which had been knocked up against the port- THE EXPERIMENTS WITH H.M.S. "GLATTON. 271 holes to protect tlie guns from possil)le damage, but the damage couhl be easily inspected. The outer " skin " had burst open altogether, the pieces yawning with 5 or 6 feet apart. The two inner thicknesses of 1 inch each had also burst inward, though not breaking altogether, for it was only through the gash that thin })ieces of timber protruded. One large nut of a screw- bolt, which must have weighed many pounds, was broken right off, with about two dozen smaller ones, and hurled to the other side of the turret. The piece where it broke off being of course glittering, induced the first inspectors to consider it the top of the Paliser shell coming through, until the mistake was discovered. The wall was not pierced at all. The iron outer part was pierced, and the shell was still hot with the tre- mendous resistance it encountered. The teak had been forced in, the bolts and rivets sent flying, but so much strength was left that it would have required a second shot exactly in the same place to entirely penetrate the turret. Captain Boys, of the gunnery ship "Excellent," who conducted the operations, in conjunction Avith Mr. Crossland, of the Council of Construction, and Mr. Eames, chief inspector of the machinery at Chatham, were of course highly pleased with the success, the turret working as smoothly by hand or steam as ever, Caj)tain Boys was in the captain's cabin of the " Glatton " at the time of firing, and assured us, that had he not known w^hat was happening, he would have thought a tea-tray had dropped, while several of the men testified that the shock was nothing. This con- trasts very favourably Avitli the report of an American captain on board, who said that the turret to which he belonged came under fire, and the men were temporarily converted into " how^ling idiots " — a phase of insanity which seems by no means exclusively the property of turrets. To what the men may have been reduced if they had been compelled to remain in the turret it would be impossible to say, but a young goat which had been left there, and had placidly taken up its position at the foot of one gun, although looking somewhat 272 PROGRESSIVE READER. nervous about tlie eyes, was enabled to cliew and apparently enjoy its cud. A rabbit and a fowl wliicli had also been left did not protrude themselves on our notice ; probably some of the men had been moved by compassion to usher them into a more peaceful life. They were not wounded, however, and that was all it was required to ascertain. The second shot, fired at two, proved to be so success- ful that a third was found to be unnecessary. It struck the turret at the juncture with the deck, the weakest point. Indeed, from the upward direction of the penetrated holes, it would seem as if the missile had first struck the deck and turned off upwards. The spot selected was between the two ports, but the damage was even less. Inside nothing whatever could be seen of the effect, but on going lower down it was found that the base of the turret, or that part of the armour, rather, which ceases just below deck, was bulged downward. This was found to be equally the case with the first, and had they bulged a couple of inches more downward they must have jammed with the rain gutter which runs underneath it. This, however, could be cut out easily even during the action, and unless the friction was very severe, the steam-power could overcome that. On deck it was found that a few ansfle- irons had been smashed, and a flange loosened; but no other damage was done. The dimensions of the hole were — depth 13*5, and breadth 11 inches; the resistance of the armour beinQf so terrific as to force the steel head of the shell back again on to the deck. Great satisfaction was expressed by all those present, and a third shot was deemed unnecessary. — TliQ Times. CHARCOAL. Charcoal is made by burning wood in such a manner that but little air shall be admitted during the operation, that is, only sufficient to keep up the combustion of the CHARCOAL. 273 more easily destroyed parts of tlie wood. Tlic best result is produced, when tlie wood is quite excluded from the air, as in making acetic acid; but where large quantities of cliarcoal are used for common fuel^ as in France, of course this process is too expensive. The usual way is to pile up billets of wood, and cover the whole with turf; when fired, the wood consumes gradu- ally, and the charcoal is left behind. It is light and porous, and of a shining black colour; it weighs about one quarter as much as the wood iised, and burns with- out flame or smoke, givinor out a stronor heat. When charcoal burns, it combines with part of the air, and i^ converted into a gas called carbonic acid, which, although invisible, is much heavier than air, and is a deadly poison; it is therefore necessary, when it is burning, always to have some opening at the bottom of the room. Many fatal accidents have arisen from people sleeping in a small room with a pot of burning charcoal, and no outlet for the poisonous vapour but the chimney, up which it will not pass on account of its weight. Char- coal enters into the composition of gunpowder, and is used for several other purposes. It is an excellent sweetener of foul water, and a few pieces should always be kept in the top of the filter when the water has any bad odour, or in the cistern, (where a filter is not used). A sort of cage, with a bottom of wire-netting, filled with charcoal, should always be fitted into the top of a cess- pool, to suck in the poisonous gas that rises from it. When powdered, it has also the power of taking away the colour of many liquids, as well as the bad smell ; vinegar, if warmed with powdered cliarcoal and then strained, will be almost colourless. AVater-butts are sometimes burnt or charred inside, that the Avater may be better preserved in them. Chemically considered, charcoal consists of carbon, with a certain amount of earthy matter, the ashes or earthy part of the wood from which it was made, but these ashes may be easily removed by maceration in an acid, the charcoal then remains unaltered in appearance, and consists of carb©n, but its structure is exceedingly porous, s. VT. s 274 PROGRESSIVE REAPER. ILLUSTRATIONS OF LIGHT. Sir Chahles Bell has described some curious pheno- mena in optics, which will be very easily comprehended by the previous knowledge of two or three acknow- ledged facts. Vision, or sight, is produced by the rays of light, (which fall from the sun or any other source of light, on an object,) being reflected from thence, so as to fall on the retina or back part of the eye; thus the moon is seen by the rays of light (which fall on it from the sun), being reflected back to the eye, and a tree, a house, or any other object is seen by the daylight (which falls on the tree or the house), being in like manner reflected on the eye. A ray of light is compounded of many rays, and may be divided into seven, capable of causing to the eye the sensation of so many clifterent colours; red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet. If all these are reflected together, they produce on the retina the sensation of white, as from this paper. If these colours, in their proper order and proportion, be painted on the broad rim of a wheel, and that wheel be swiftly turned round, it will appear of an uniform and white colour. Black is the absence of all colour, when the rays are all absorbed and none reflected. The separation of a ray of light into colours is a beautiful experiment, and easily performed. Get a prism, which may be procured at any optician's for a trifle; it is a piece of glass a few inches in length, with three sides in the form of a triangle. Place this prism, P, opposite to a hole in the closed window shutter or screen, so that a beam of light, S, from the sun may pass through, and be received on an opposite screen, E. The image of the sun will appear on the paper of an oblong form, rounded at the extremities, and straight at the edges; this image is called the prismatic spectrum, the principal part of which will be composed of seven parallel spaces ILLUSTRATIOXS OF LIGHT. 275 of different breadths, and exliibiting seven different colours. The lowest colour is red, and above it appears successively, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and v;iolet, which is the highest colonrod space. If we suppose the coloured part of the spectrum to be divided into one hundred parts, the red space is found to occupy eleven of those parts, the orange eight, the yellow fourteen, the green seventeen, the blue seven- teen, the indigo eleven, And the violet twenty-two. The retina is the internal coat of the eye; it consist'i of a delicate pulpy nervous matter, which is contained between two membranes of extreme fineness, and these membranes both support it and give to its surfaces a smoothness mathematically correct. The matter of the nerves, as well as their supporting membranes, are perfectly transparent during life. Vision is not excited by light, unless the rays penetrate through the trans- parent retina and reach the exterior surface from within. The retina is subject to exhaustion. When a coloured ray of light impinges continuously on the same part of the retina, the retina becomes less sensible to it, but more sensible to a ray of the opposite colour. When the eye is fixed upon a point, the lights, shades, and colours of objects continuing to strike upon the 276 PROGRESSIVE READER, same relative parts of the retina, tlie nerve is exhausted j but when the eye shifts, there is a new exercise of the nerve. The part of the retina that was opposed to the lights is now opposed to the shades, and what was opposed to the different colours is now opposed to the other colours, and the variation in the excitino; cause produces a renewed sensation. From this it appears how essential the incessant searching motion of the eye is to the continued exercise of the organ. ' The familiar fact which we have to carry with us into this inquiry, is, that if we throw a silver coin upon a dark table, and fix the eye upon the centre of the coin, when we remove the coin there is, for a moment, a white spot in its place, which presently becomes deep black. If we put a red wafer upon a sheet of white paper, and look upon it, and continue to keep the eye fixed upon the same point, upon removing the wafer, the spot where it lay on the white paper will appear green. If we look upon a green wafer in the same manner and remove it, the spot will be red; if upon blue or indigo the paper will seem yellow. These phenomena are to be explained by considering that the nerve is exhausted by the continuance of the impression, and becomes more apt to receive sensation from an opposite colour. All the colours of the prism come into the eye together from the surface of the white paper when the wafer is removed; but if the nerve has been exhausted by the incidence of the red rays upon it, it will be insensible to these red rays when they are thus reflected together with the others from the white paper; the effect of the rays of an opposite kind will be increased, and, consequently, the spot will be no longer white, but of the prevailing green colour. Let us see how the loss of sensibility produces an effect in engraving, where there is no colour, and only light and shade. Is it possible that a high tower, in a cloudless sky, can be less illuminated at the top than at the bottom? Yet, if we turn to a book of engravings, where an old 1LLX;STRAT10NS OF LIGHt. 277 steeple or tower is represented standing up against the clear sky, we shall find that all the higher part is dark, and that the effect is picturesque and pleasing. Now, this is perfectly correct, for though the highest part of the tower be in the brightest illumination, it is not seen so; it never appears so to the eye. The reason is that when we look to the steeple, a great part of the retina is opposed to the light of the skyj and on shifting the eye to look at the particular parts of the steeple, the reflected light from that object falls uix)n the retina, where it is exhausted by the direct light from the sky. If we look to the top of the tower, and then drop the eye on some of the lower architectural ornaments, the effect infallibly is, that the upper half of the tower is dark. For example, if looking to the point A, fig. 2, we drop the eye to B, the tower from A to B is seen by that part of the retina which was opposed to the clear sky from A to C ; and it is dark, not by contrast, as it would be thoughtlessly said, but by the nerve being somewhat exhausted of its sensibility. MLc.^ Fig. 2. 278 PROGRESSIVE REyVDER. ELECTEICITY. Electricity is tlie term employed to designate that important brancli of experimental philosophy which relates to the properties exhibited by certain substances when rubbed against, or by some other means made to communicate with, each other. It is derived from electron^ the Greek word for amber, electric j^henomena having been first observed in that body, when rubbed against flannel, or on a coat sleeve. Of the true nature of electricity we are compelled to acknowledge our ignorance. There is no doubt that it pervades all material bodies, animate as well as in- animate, but in what it consists or how it is constituted are questions too difficult for us to solve. We do not even know whether electricity is material or not. If it be, it is so subtle and refined in its nature that it passes with inconceivable velocity through the hardest sub- stances, and if allowed to accumulate in them, it does so without making any difference either in their weigh b or their dimensions. On this account it is that electricity (as well as light and heat) is denominated an iinjoonderable element, to distinguish it from those forms of matter which possess the qualities of length, breadth, and thickness, and consequently 'weight. Electricity is developed in a variety of ways; but whatever be the nature of the materials, or of the process employed, we may justly conclude that the principle is in all cases identical, however different it may appear to be either in its cfi*ects or its mode of operation. When a piece of glass is rubbed with silk, or a stick of red sealing-wax with woollen cloth, each substance acquires a propex^ty not possessed by it whilst in a quiescent state, and which consists in alternately attracting and repelling feathers, straws, dry leaves, fibres of cotton, and many other light substances. The electricity thus excited is called ordinary, and sometimes common electricity. ELECTRICITY. 270 Tlic following simple apparatus will illustrate quite sufficiently for our purpose electrical excitement : — Let a clean and very liglit downy feather be attached to a piece of white sewing silk aljout three feet long, and suspended from the ceiling or other part of a room in such a manner, that it shall be eighteen inches or two feet distant from all surrounding bodies ; then provide a piece ®f glass tube, say, three-fourths of an inch in diameter, and thirty inches long, the tube being perfectly clean and dry. If it be rubbed briskly Avith a warm and dry silk handkerchief, it will be electrically excited, and on advancing it slowly towards the feather, the latter will be attracted by and adhere to it ; but on separating them, and again bringing the tube near the feather, that body will be as promptly repelled as it was before attracted. After a little time the feather will again approach the tube and again be repelled by it, and this alternate action will continue until the whole of the electricity excited on the surface of the tube has been dissipated ; but a fresh supply may be obtained, as often as required, by rubbing the tube with the handkerchief, as already described. One of the most important principles connected with the science of electricity is indicated by the preceding experiment, v.diich is, that there are two kinds, or, if not two kinds, two opposite states of electricity. Thus, wdien the feather has received a portion of the electricity wliich is excited by friction on the glass, it is no longer attracted by the latter, but, on the contrary, repelled; whence it is inferred that the electricity of the feather whilst in a quiescent state, and that of the glass after being rubbed with silk, are dissimilar, and therefore it is concluded that bodies imbued with opposite kinds, or wliich are in opposite states of electricit}', attract, and those in similar states repel each other. The distinction to wdiich we have just referred will be more satisfactorily shewn, if wc take a large stick of red sealing-wax and excite it by rubbing it with a piece of dry and warm woollen cloth. On presenting the excited wax to the feather it will be first attracted, then repelied^ 280 PROGRESSIVE READER. as noticed with tlie glass ; but when the feather is repelled by the wax, if we approach it with the excited glass it will be instantly attracted, and Avhen repelled by the glass it will be attracted by the wax. It is hence sufficiently plain that the electricity developed by glass differs from that produced by wax ; and whether the difference is described as being dependent on opposite kinds, or O2)posite states of electricity, the effect is the same. ^« If we take a piece of glass tube, rub it with a silk handkerchief, and hang it to a piece of string, then rub a piece of sealing-wax with a bit of woollen cloth, and present one end of it to one end of the glass tube as it hangs, the wax will attract the glass towards it. On the contrary, if we rub a piece of glass and present it to one end of the suspended glass, we shall find it drive the latter away from it, or, as we say, rejjel it. So, if we suspend a piece of sealing-wax in the same way, after rubbing it, and then put a piece of rubbed sealing-wax to one end of it (so as just not to touch it), we sliall find it rej^el the other, while a piece of rubbed glass will attract the wax. We might use many other substances instead of wax, such as sulphur, amber, shellac, gutta perclia, resin (or what are called o^esinous substances); and, instead of glass, we might use crystal, diamond..* or other precious stones of a glassy kind (or what are called vitreous substances), and we should find the general law, — that resinous sub- stances when rubbed repel each other, and vitreous also repel each other, but that resinous attract vitreous bodies, and vitreous attract resinous; or, in short, that like repels liJce, and opposite attracts the 02yposite. This, then, is the fundamental law of electric action, electricities of the same nature repel each other, electricities of oi^posite natures attract each other. The electricity on glass used to be called vitreous, and that on wax resinous, but now the former is called positive and the latter negative; so the feather, when charged with electricity from the glass, is said to be positively, and when charged from the wax, negatively ELECTRICITY. 281 olectrifiefl. By the terms positive and negative is implied, that in one case tlie substance electrified con- tains more, and in the other less, than its ordinary proportions. Many common substances used by us in the common affairs of life are susceptible of electrical excitation, and we often produce electrical phenomena without being conscious of it. We may give an example or two. In cleaning glass mirrors with an old silk handkerchief, or a very dry linen duster, it generally happens that small fibres and particles of dust accumulate on their surfaces, the more rapidly in ])roportion to the labour bestowed in removing them. The same thing occurs in wiping decanters and other articles of glass, and especially the glass chimneys used on gas-burners. In all these cases electrical excitement is produced by friction, and the fibres disengaged from the duster, as well as the dust floating in the surrounding atmosphere, are attracted by the glass, and adhere to it, as already shewn with the glass tube and feather. Silks of all kinds are highly electric, as are also most of the precious stones, and a great variety of resinous substances, the paste of which false gems are made, the hair and fur of animals, paper, sulphur, and some other minerals, India rubber (caoutchouc), and certain descrip- tions of wood, when thoroughly dried by baking. Among domesticated animals the cat furnishes a remarkable instance of electrical excitabilitv. When dry and warm the back of almost any full-grown cat (the darker its colour the better) can be excited by rubbing it with the hand in the direction of the hair, a process which is accompanied by a slight snapping sound, and in the dark by flashes of pale blue light. The substances, which were just now mentioned as highly electric, must be understood as being intended merely as specimens. All subjects, without exception, are undoubtedly capable of being electrically excited ; but some require more complicated arranajements than others. Those which allow the electric fiiiid (as it is called) to pass over them most easily are called conductors. 282 PROGRESSIVE READER. All metals are good conductors, and so you will see often on the top of a church steeple a lightning conductor, of metal wire, to attract the electric fluid, and conduct it down to the ground without any damage to the building. Other substances hold it fast, and do not let it pass freely. These are called non-conductors, or insulators. All resinous substances are non-conductors. This is ■why, if you rub a brass rod on your sleeve as you did the sealing-wax, you will not find it attract or rq^el the feather. No electric fluid remains on its surface, because tt has rapidly been conducted along the rod to your arm, and through your body down into the ground. THE ELECTRIC TELEGRAPH. The most useful practical purpose to which electricity is applied is that of sending messages by telegraph, or, as they are called, telegrams. You have seen those y»^ires stretched from post to post along the sides of a railway, and you know that telegrams are sent by them, so that almost as soon as they are sent from London they are received in America. But you must not think that a letter is sent along this wire, as it is through the post, and that the same paper you give in at a telegraph office is delivered to the person to whom you sent your message; and you must not imagine that the clerk who receives it from you really sends anything. He reads your message, and shakes a wire in a particular way, and the clerk at the other end of the wire knows that one particular shake means, we will say, the letter A, and another means B, and so on. Now, let us see what causes this shake or vibration, and how people can tell one shake from another. If ever you have looked about you, either in a railway station or a post office, you may have seen a thing standing on a shelf, and looking very like a small American clock, with two faces and a hand to each, and two little handles below them, or, as is now more common, only one face with its hand and one handle. THE ELECTRIC TELEGRAPH. 283 Fig. 1. There is a kind of electricity produced by metals in contact with chemical liquid, which was discovered hy an Italian, called Galvani, from whom it gets its name, Galvanism. I daresay some of you have been galvanized by taking hold of two brass handles fastened to two wires, and have felt the shaking vibration making all the nerves of your ai'ms quiver. This is caused by putting a plate of zinc, B, and another of copper, r, in a vessel containing sulphuric acid and water. They must not touch one another in the liquid, but, if connected at the edges, which are dry, l)y a piece of wire, a current of electricity runs constantly through the liquid from one plate to the other, and comes back again along the wire, A. It does not at all matter what the distance is between the plates, as by lengthening the wire the current still passes through any distance, and it travels at the rate of 288,000 miles in a second of time. But as a single pair of plates would not aflbrd a sufficiently strong current for the transmission of mes- sages to a great distance, the for- mer can be in- creased to any ex- tent by multiplying the number of pairs of plates. For this purpose a long trough is made, in which these pairs are placed side by side (fig. 2). This is called a galvanic lattery. A wire is attached to one end of the battery and continued to a distant station, being supported by high posts along the side of the railway, say, from London to Edinburgh, where its other end is attached to a similar battery. It has been found that, if a wire from the other end of each Ficr. 2. 284 PROGRESSIVE READER. of these batteries be attaclied to a metallic plate sunk in the ground, the electric current is conveyed through the Battery in London. Edinburgh. Fig. 3. earth to any distance, so completing the circuit. Thus the electricity travels along the wire from London to Edinburgh, and returns, through the earth, from the latter to the former, as shewn in fig. 3. You know that a magnet hung on a pivot will turn always towards the north, because of a constant natural current of electricity going round the earth from east to west. You can see this in a mariner's compass, which is a magnet needle, or by rubbing a needle with load-stone, and then floating it on a tumbler of water. About the year 1819 it was discovered that if such a needle were to be hung over a wire along which a current of electricity could be made to run, this needle would be made, by the electric current, to turn across the electric wire more or less at right angles to it, moving to the right hand or left, according to the direction in which the electricity was sent back- wards or forwards along the wire. This has been applied to form electric telegraph machines. Here is a coil of wire, covered wdth silk so as to prevent the coils from touching. In the centre a steel needle, A, is hung on an axle which is lengthened at one end so as to hold a similar needle out- side, B. The lower ends of these two needles are made rather heavier than the upper ends, so as to make them swing back again to the perpendicular position, when they have been moved by the current. As soon as the wire Tier. 4. ' THE ELECTRIC TELEGRAPH. 285 from tlie copper plate is connected with the end of the coil of wire to the right hand, and the zinc plate with the end towards my left hand, the current speeds like lightning along the coil from right to left, and makes the needle move towards the left. On reversing the com- munication by connecting the rigid end of the coil with the zinc and the left with the copper plate, the needle turns towards the right. It is evident that the needle, A, moving inside will also turn the outer needle, B, in the same direction, but B is only the pointer to shew how the inner one, A, is moving. Now, if we look inside the clock-like machine, which I mentioned as being often seen in a railway station, we shall find one of these coils behind the clock-face, and the finger we see is the pointer; below we shall find a pair of wires, one descending to the battery and the other running on to the terminus at the distant point to which messages are to be sent. The outer finger or pointer, B, is that which is seen on Fig. 5. the clock-face, and marks the direction in which the inner finger, A, turns. When the finger. A, in the machines we are working, is made by the current to turn towards the right, as in fig. 5, the current is continued along the whole of that Fig. 6. wire, however far it extends, and sor turns all the fingers on every machine in the line in the same direction and at the same instant. Thus, if we have a number of coils placed at diff'erent towns along the line, as London, Peterborough, York, Edinburgh, represented by 1, 2, 3, 4 (fig. 6), and the left hand wire of the coil (1) in London is attached to the copper plate, and the wire of its right 286 PEOGRESSIVE READEK. side is connected to the left side of tlie coil (2) at Peter- borough, and its right wire to the left of (3), and its right to to the left wire of (4) at Edinburgh, and then the right wire of (4) carried back to the right side of the London battery, and connected with the zinc plate, or, as we said before, merely attached to a zinc plate sunk in the earth, the current is complete, and when it turns the needle at (1) to the right, it turns them all (2, 3, 4), as Fig. 7. in the figure, precisely in the same direction. On reversing the current all these pointers will turn to the left. If the batteries at intermediate stations were all kept in constant connection with the wires, the needles THE ELECTRIC TELEGRAPH. 287 along tlie wliole line would alwayft point in one direction and communication Lc stopped. By a very simple me- chanical contrivance, each Lattery can be connected or disconnected with the main wires when required. But we must now close up the clock face and study it more closely. I will take the one now in general use in the Post Offices. This face has not really a clock-face dial but the letters of the alphabet are painted upon it in regular order, half on each side, as in the accompanying figure 7. The handle is used to connect or disconnect the wire of the coil and the battery. By working it to the left the current is sent one way, and by working it to the right it is reversed, — i.e., sent in the opposite direction : and the electricity running through the coil moves the needle to the right or left; when disconnected, the needle stands upright. Now, look at the face of the apparatus (fig. 7.). To the left is the letter A, with one short line under it slanting towards the left, one long line slanting to the right. To telegraph the letter A, then, the needle must be moved so as to send the current once in each direction; the first movement will cause the needle to point to the left, the second to the right. So with letter B, the needle must be pointed once to the right and thrice to the left. Let us take the word "face" we must make the needle go twice to the left, once to the righb and once to the left for F; once to the left, once to the right for A ; twice to the right and once to the left for C; once to the left for E. Then the clock will stop, and the needle will stand upright, because it is disconnected, and the receiver will understand that a word is finished, and if he imderstands it, he telegraphs one beat to the right: if he does not, he telegraphs to the left and the word is repeated. So each word in a message is spelt out, letter by letter; and, where great accuracy is required, the whole message is tele- graphed back by the receiver to the sender, to make sure that he has understood it correctly. This is often desirable, as in telegraphing quickly two letters may 288 PROGRESSIVE READER. follow one another so rapidly, that they may appear to the receiver to be only one letter; thus, C E might be received as Z: but mistakes are sometimes made by the clerk receiving the message at the instrument reading off each word, as it is transmitted, to another, who writes it down from his dictation. An instance of this occurred not long ago, where the head of a large brewing firm telegraphed to his wife — " I am hrewing to-day, and cannot come home to-night." The clerk who wrote this message down from the receiver mis- understood the word hrewing, and wrote — '^ I am 7'uined to-day, and cannot come home to-night." On receipt of this intelligence the distracted wife hired a post-chaise and posted off some thirty miles to the brewery, where, on arriving in the middle of the night, she found her unconscious husband in his shirt-sleeves presiding over the mashtub. As messages to a foreign country are more liable to mistakes, from the clerks misunderstanding the lan- guage, a printing apparatus is attached to the instru- ments, which, according to the working of the needle, stamps each letter on a strip of papei' at both instru- ments, and this is cut into words and pasted upon a message form and delivered to the person to whom it is addressed. In calling attention to any office to which the clerk wants to send a message, he telegraphs two letters marked on what is called a code of signals, pasted up by the side of the instrument, which signals represent the office he is calling. These letters are generally either the first and last letters of the name of the town, or the first and most peculiar letter in the name : thus, O X stands for Oxford. He keeps on telegraphing X, until the clerk at Oxford moves his needle one stroke to shew he is attending, when the sender of a message telegraphs the signal of the office at which he is stationed, and then begins his message. It will be noticed, that on the dial all the long strokes denote movements of the needle to the right, and all THE BODY AND ITS PARTS. 289 short ones movements to tlio left. They are thus written in the book of instructions : — A B C D E F G H K M N O Q R S Y Z A telegraph clerk has lately discovered, that by twisting the coils of wires that unite the needle to the battery, it is possible to transmit two messages with the same instrument in the two opposite directions of the same wire, e.g., both to London and Edinburgh. — Bev. J. Ridgway. THE BODY AND ITS PARTS. The bones of the human body (including the teeth) are 255 in number, and are so united as to combine the greatest strength with the most perfect freedom of motion. How is it that these parts are held together in constant action, for GO or 70 years without wearing out ? The body is capable of existing and moving for even 100 years, during which its parts are constantly worn out and restored, so that about every seven years all tliQ old materials are entirely gone and new ones put in their place. How is this waste supplied, and the woru-out S, VI, T 290 PROGRESSIVE READER. substance restored? How is it that action, which de- stroys most things, only strengthens the human body? You know that any machine, if it is always running, wears out, and wants a new wheel here and a new rivet or spindle t)iere, and we say " it is worn away;" but the more you work your arm or your leg, the bigger and stronger the muscles of the arm or leg become. Before we answer these questions, it is necessary to know a little about the sti'ucture of the body, which con- sists of three great parts, viz. : the head, trunk, and limbs. 1. The head surmounts the fabric, and is a sort of ball, formed mainly of plates of bone, so arranged and fitted together as to unite the greatest possible strength with the greatest possible lightness. The interior of the skidl (which consists of eight bones) is entirely Convolutions of Lf ft Heiuispliere of ^ Cueiji'uiu. Scalp. Centrum (body) of Cervical Vertebra ' Cerebellum. ^Medulla Oblongata. Bplne of Cervical Vertebra. SpinalChordwithSplnal Nerves passing offt Fig. 1. filled with brain, which is the root of all sensation and life. It is the centre in which all tlie senses meet, through which the brain gets all its ideas. THE I30DY AND ITS PARTS. L'Ol There are five of these senses, viz. : touch, taste, smell, sight, and hearing, of which Ave shall speak more jiarticularly presently. Each lias its own nerve, or set of nerves, running from the brain to the organ of sense. Thus, there is one for smell running to the nose, one for sight to the eyes, one for hearing to the ears, while those for touch are more numerous, because the sense of touch belongs to the whole surface of the body. Tho/ace is composed of fourteen bones, which are in pairs — (except the partition between the two nostrils and the lower jaw-bone) one to each side of the face; tluiS; there are two cheek-bones, two to form the upper jaw, two to the palate, two lower s^Dongy bones, two pro- tecting the eyes, and two forming the nose. Besides these main bones in the face, there are thirty- three of a peculiar construction, called teeth, formed of a softish bone-like matter, covered with a polished enamel. They are thick in the part that is visible, and taper to one or more spiked roots or fangs, which fit into sockets in the jaw. Circulation takes place through a hole in these roots to the soft inner body of the tooth, and it is this part of the tooth which causes tooth-ache. Of these thirty- two teeth there are three distinct kinds, differing in shape l-ang or Uoot. Molars. Bicuspid. Canine, Incisors. ? Fig. 2. according to the purpose for which they are used, and they are arranged in pairs. The two front are Incisors, or cutting teeth (with edges like chisels), for biting off a 292 PROGRESSIVE READER. Parietal Bone. Fj'isutal Cone Temporal Bone. lower Maxillary Boue. Clavicle. 10 pairs of Rih";, ami Sterimiii oT Breast Buiie. ,7 Cervical Vertebroe. - — Scapula. ----- Humerus. B TUeta-carpal Bones.- — "atella or Knee-cap. 7 Tarsal Bones, ^ 6Meta-tarsal Bones.-^ ^x lirhalangesof theToes ., Orbital Plates. Upper Maxillary Bone. —5 Lumbar Verlebrw, \ 8 Carpal Bones. 14 riia^anges of th« Fingers. Femoral Bone Tibia. -Fibula Fie;. 3, THE BODY AND ITS PARTS. 293 portion of food from the main piece, as a moutliful from a slice of bread and butter; there are a pair, caniney or dog-teeth (one on each side), with a more pointed edge, for tearing anything; they are sharper than the cutting teeth: then follows another pair, bicuspids, resembling the former in having only a single root, but having double edges like the six molars, or grinders which masticate tlie food. 2. The trunk is the broad part between the head and legs, commonly catled the hochj. It is made up of a great number of bones. The principal is the spinal column: a chain of little bones strung, as it were, to- gether, like a string of beads, by a cord (called the BjDinal marrow) running up their centre. This gives the body its very easy movement, so that it can bend in every direction. You may have seen a toy in the shape of a snake, made of little bones, like buttons, strung together, and if you take hold of its tail, it will bend about and move its head as if it were alive. That is a very good illustration of the back-bone. On the top of the spine, the head rests on a sort of double pivot; branching off on each side are the hoop- like ribs, that make, as it were, the barrel of the body and protect the lungs and heart; behind them are the shoulder-blades, and above, in front, the two thin collar- hone^', below are the broad bones that protect the intestines, and to which the legs are hung. They form a sort of basin in the lower part of the trunk, and the chief bone is called a basin, or j^elvis, which is its Latin name. You can feel the top edge of it just below the waist. 3. The limbs of a man, and of all four-legged animals, are the same in number and in their general plan ; nor is there much difference in the number of bones composing each. In the latter we call them all legs, because they are all used for walking upon the ground, and none of them for grasping any object; but though the ox, horse, sheep, pig, (tc, make no such use of their fore-legs as we do, yet we see a gradual approach amongst quadrupeds to such a use; for instance, the do^ paws his master, holda 294 PROGRESSIVE READER. his food ; tlie monkey grasps the branch of a tree, and hokls nuts to his mouth witJi his fore-paw. But though all these bear a strong family like- ness, they differ in the upper limbs (fore-legs or arms), the horse having no fingers or toes, the cow, sheep, pig, &c., only two on each foot; while of those which make use of their fore-limbs for any purpose approaching to our use of the hand (as the monkey), there is a marked distinction in the position of the thumb, which in man is so placed as to give the greatest power in grasping ' ancl any one can see for himself how clumsy even a clever monkey is in handling a nut or a stick, compared with the delicacy with which a man can pick up a pin, or fit in the most delicate parts of a machine (such as a watch), or lightly paint a picture. A similar, but more marked distinction, is shewn in the position of the great toe, projecting backwards rather than forwards in other animals than man. The arm and leg of a man almost exactly correspond in the number of bones, as well as in their arrangement. This will be clear from the following table :— Ape's arm, Man's Fig. 4. ^""- Upper Limb. Lower Limlx Arm, . . * ," , 1 hone. Thigh, ...... 1 bone. Tore -arm, .... 2 bones. Leg, 2 bones. Hand, Foot, 1st Carpal row, . . 4 bones. ist Tarsal row, , 7 S boneg. 2nd „ ,, . . 4 „ 2nd ,, „ . . 4 „ Metacarpal ,, , . 5 „ Metatarsal, ,, . , 5 „ Isfc Phalangeal row, . 5 „ 1st Phalangeal row, . 5 „ 2nd „ „ . 5 „ 2nd ,, „ . ^ „ 8rd „ „ . 4 „ 3rd „ „ _ . 4 „ THE BODY AND ITS PAllTS. 295 Carpal. Meta-Carpal. Phalan-j goal. J Starting from the slioiilder of the arm aud the liip of the leg, the first length , consists of a single bone, working in a ball and socket joint, and tlie second, of two, capable of turning one over the other, so as to twist and roll the hand or foot. Between this length and the flat ter- mination (called hand and foot) there is a set of small bones (com- posing the wrist and cinkle)y so as to admit of free motion in the hand and foot ; then follow those which are seated in the broad part of the limb, and to which the fingers and toes are attached by joints working like hino;es. The joints. ^ These bones would be of very _. little use to us, except ^'S- 5.-FoitM of Haxd and Leg. for keeping the body erect, if it were not for the joints, which are like hinges fitting the various bones together, and enabling them to move one upon another. If it were not for these joints man would be no more able to walk than a lamp-post. There are three principal kinds of joints, viz. : the ball and socket (of which that between the shoulder and upper arm form an example), the hinge, F (fig. 6), as that at the elbow and knee, and the pivot, F (fig. 7), as that at the wrist and ankle. The bones at these joints do not stick together, but are hekl in tlieir places by certain tough strings fastened to the end ©f the muscles above Tnv=al Mcta-Tarsal- . Phalan- geal 20G PROGRESSIVE READER. and below the joint, so that the contraction or ex- pansion of either muscle moves the bone and bends V w Fig. 6. Fig. 7. ON DlGESTIO>f. 2^7 the joint, just. as your taking hold of the lid of a box and raising it works the hinges; or pushing the weight at the bottom of a clock pendulum makes it swing on the jnvot where it is hung. This will be seen by the accompanying diagrams. The contraction of the muscle, P, shortens and tightens it, which makes the joint, F, bend, drawing the hand up towards the face. At the same time, if we throw the body forward a little, the tightening of P (fig. 7), pulls the string (or tendon), and raises the heel, so that a step forward is made in walking. Then the contraction of the muscle of the thigh pulls its tendon, and straightens the femoral bone, drawing it into a straight line with the leg below the knee, thus pulling the body into an erect position. But as these joints would soon wear out by rubbing againsi one another, they are kept well supplied with a kind of oil that makes tliem work smoothly. Muscles are what we generally call Jlesh, being red from the blood-vessels in them. We could not do without muscles, as they cause all movement by con- tracting and expanding, so as to turn the bones on their joints, work the lungs in respiration, and keep up the pumping of the heart, the thinking of the brain, and the movement of the food in mastication, swallowing, and digestion; so that we can neither work nor play, stand, kneel, nor sit without them; and, as they.-aro equally required for circulation, respiration, and absorp- tion, we cannot even live, when asleep, without their aid. ON DIGESTION. You know that your bodies wear out by use, just as your shoes do by walking on them. But every now and then your shoes have to go to the cobbler, and a new sole is put on in place of the one that was worn off. Now, when we run, or walk, or play cricket, or think. 208 PROGRESSIVE READER. or talk, or breathe, or eat, we wear off some part of our bodies ; but we do not every now and then send the body to a workman to have a new piece put on here and a patch there, where the old parts have been worn away ; but we keep mending every bit of the body as fast as it wears off, and putting in fresh material as good as the old. The cobbler takes a piece of leather, and nails it or stitches it on to the shoe; but Ave cannot take a piece of meat and stitch it on to our arms to thicken them, if they have got thin, but we do get it on to our arms in another way. You may have seen people put wool or cot- ton into a machine at one end, and then have seen it come out in threads of worsted or cotton at the other; or you may have watched people in a paper-mill put a quantity of old rags into a large vat, and then seen it come out in large sheets of paper at the end of the machine. Your body is a machine which manufactures what you eat into flesh and blood and bone, just like the paper- machine turning rags into j^ape?:; only it manufactures everything it wants for ity own use, it does not turn it out for sale. It uses up all it wants to mend itself with, and only turns out what it does not want. Let us see how it does this. When your body has worn away some parts by your working or playing for a few hours, you feel tired and hungry. You come in and get your dinner, and by the time you have finished, you do not feel tired, but you are ready to run off and play again. "When you felt hungry, your machine wanted something put into it, and you were tired, because it was worn and almost standing still for want of something to work upon. So you put in more stuff, and it went to work again, and mended what was worn, and then you could run about as fresh as ever. What did you put into the machine? A piece of bread and butter, which you bit off a slice with your two front teeth (the cutting teeth). This was very quickly rolled by your tongue into the middle of your mouth, and you felt your mouth water, and the dry ON DIGESTION. 290 bread began to get moist. Your tongue and youv cheeks lve})t working it backwards and forwards between yorhr back teeth, till it was ground quite small, so those teeth are called grinders. Now, let us see what has happened to it? I daresay some of you have chewed some \vheat in that way, and then have taken it out of your mouth and found it a sticky paste, and made bird-lime of it. "You will find, too, that after you have begun to chew it, it tastes sweet. * This sweet taste is because it is changed by the moisture of the mouth (which is called saliva), into sugar, and it is sticky, because some part of it is also changed into gluteal. So we have these two changes of bread in the mouth into sugar and gluten, and this is the first part of digestion. This paste is now fit to make fat in your body, and keep you warm. The butter mixed with it is also fat. If you eat any potatoes, just the same thing happens to them as to the bread. But now you put a piece of meat into your mouth, and chew it in the same way till it is quite small and mixed with saliva, but it is not changed, like the bread, into sugar. You swallow them both by the action of the tongue, which rolls the food up into a little ball, and pushes it to the back of the throat, where it drops into the gullet. This gullet is a pipe fitted with rings, and as the food touches each ring, the ring closes and squeezes it on to the next, and so it is pushed gently down into the stomach. You may see these rings work- ing in a horse's throat, if you watch it drink. A little gristly curtain at the back of the mouth (called the palate) prevents any food from going up the nose, the entrance to which is closed by it in the act of swallowing. The same act also pinches together the sides of the wind- pipe, and covers them with another piece of gristle, called the ejngldttis. The stomach, into which the food falls, is a bag of muscle, something like a bladder, with a small pipe at each end. Its inside is lined with a velvety sort of cover- ing, like the rougher side of tripe and the rough part of 30d PROGRESSIVE READER. S. Salivary Plants. G. Gullet. W. "Windpipe. St. Stomach r. Pylorus, D. Duodenum. L. Liver. G. B. Gall Bladder Sw. Sweetbread. Fig. 8. C. Colon or Large Intestine. S.I. Smaller Intestines. A. Absorbents. Th. Thoracic Duct. ON DIGESTION. 301 our tongues. Tliis roughness is caused by little tubes with their pointed ends outwards. As soon as they are touched by food coming against them, they begin to sweat out a liquid, called gastric juice, which moistens the food, and changes its nature, separating the fluid from the solid part, and dissolving the latter (except fat). The food enters the stomach at the upper right-hand corner (c of the diagram), and the muscles contract- ing at that point, push it towards the left along tho upi)er surface {a a) till it gets to P, which is closed by strong miiscles. It then returns down the middle, b, and on reaching the end to* the right hand, divides into two streams, one going along the top, a a, the other along the bottom, d. This constant circulation, which is kept up by the two sets of muscles in the stomach (one working lengthwise and the other circular-wise) both grinds all the hard parts of food against the rough surface, so reducing it to a powder, and also thoroughly moistens it all with gastric juice, until it is brought to a thin milky pulp, called chyme. As each portion of chyme in a sufficiently liquid state comes to P, the pipe (called Pylorus) opens a little and lets it out, the rest continuing to circulate, until all that can be dissolved is thus passed out. During this process, the stomach contracts at each flow of liquid out of the pylorus, so that the remainder is always being rubbed by the coat of the stomach. When all has been passed out that can be dissolved, the pylorus opens wide and lets out the sediment, and the stomach remains at rest till the next meal. This chyme now passes through a curved pipe, called the Duodenum D, where the hile from the gtill-bladder (G B), of the liver (L), and the pancreatic juice from the sweet-bread (S w) are mixed with it. This mixture completes the digestion of the fat and sugar, wliich have not undergone any change in the stomach, and it is now called chyle, in which state it is ready to ])e poured into the veins to form new blood, and give nourishment to the body. 302 PROGRESSIVE READER. which next, through A set of very .small pipes, like hairs (called ccqnllaries) touch the smaller in- testines, into the chyle runs and suck ou.t the walls of the intes tines what is nourishing, and convey it into one larger pipe (the thoracic duct, Th, fig. 9) which carries it up by the spine to the left side of tlie neck, where it flows into a large vein iye'ria cava superior), mingling with the return blood from the head, and is carried to the heart, which pours it into the lungs for purification, when it is fit for restoring the waste of the body. The refuse or fibrous part of the food, which does not contain any nourishment, or is incaj^able of being digested, now passes from the smaller into the larger intestine, through a little mouth or valve. This large pipe is called the colon, and first ascends the body for a short distance (and is called the ascending colon); then crosses over the body (and is called the transverse colon), next goes downwards (getting its name of de- scending colon), when its form changes into a straight pipe (the rectum), by which the refuse matter is con- veyed away fi-oni the body; so this part of the intestines may be called the main sewer. The relative positions of the gullet A ; stomach, B ; liver, C (with its gall bladder, D); the duodenum, E; sweet-bread, F; smaller intestines, 04; larger intestines, or colon, H; and rectum, I, will be best seen by refer- ence to the accompanying figure. Fig 9. fit for ROLIDIFICATION. 303 CEsophagua. Liver. Gall Bladder. Ascending Colon-_ CiEcuin. - Veniiifiirra Appeuduu rancreaa. / Ileum. ~- ^I'leen. --Transvorse Owlon. II "'.Tejumim. — Descending Colon. _^ Sigmoid Flexure "~ of Colou. Rectum. Fig. 10. SOLIDIFICATION. We have now got the food Ave cat distributed all over the body in a liquid state, and there it lies ready to be made into flesh and blood; but it is soft and liquid, like milk, only coloured red by the oxygen of the air. How, then, does it become solid flesh and bone? This is the last process. I dare say you know that a fanner's wife takes her milk and cream, warms it a little, then puts it into a small shidlow tub, sprinkles a little salt^ some 304 PROGRESSIVE READER. colouring matter, and other things of that kind upon it, and then leaves it quite still to set, as she says, and in a few days it has got solid, and in time becomes a cheese, almost as hard as a piece of wood. Now, it is something like this with our food. This milk gets its colouring matter from tlie air, and a little salt and mineral matter is eaten with our food, and then it requires to be left quite still to set, until it becomes solid flesh and hard bone, like a piece of wood. This is why, when you have run about in the fresh air, and filled your blood with oxygen, you feel so sleepy. The milky food is ready for setting, and it wants to be left quiet and still to set. So you go to bed and are soon fast asleep. But what happens during sleep 1 Why, this new blood is set and made solid. The blood scarcely circulates at all during sleep; it is almost still, just moving a very little to keep up the current, and prevent the veins closing up or getting clogged with waste matter. The mind is at rest, the body does not move, the senses are all closed (you neither see, nor Jimell, nor hear, nor taste, nor feel, when you ai'^ asleep), the tongue is quiet; so, as there is no action, there is no work for the blood to do; but it is lying still to be set into solid matter. Sleep, then, is necessary for the repair of the body, as well as food and fresh air, for without it our food would remain liquid blood, and we should not restore the flesh and bone worn away by exercisa "We take in our material by day, but we manufacture it into the various articles we want for repair of the body, and put the new material into its proper place, only during the sleep of night. CIECULATION. We have seen how food is turned into blood; but it is not like blood at first, for it is wliite like milk, not red like blood. We have next to see how it gets its red colour. When it lias been poured into the vein on the left side of the neck, it runs into the heart, which acts like a force-pump, and sends it up a pipe into the lungs. CIRCULATION. 305 The liingf? are very like two large sponges, one on each side of the heart, and a little above it. . The heart forces the blood up the pipe (called the 'pulmonary artery), which then branches off into smaller pipes, and these divide into a great many very little ones, as fine as hairs, like the branches of a tree, and carry the blood into all parts of the lungs, just like those parts that form the substance of the sponge round the little holes. You can understand this if you dip a sponge into ink, and you will then see what part of the sponge is black, and that there are little holes where there is no black. The blood is not quite black, but it is blue. Look at the Fig. 11. veins on the back of your hand and you will see the colour. Now, draw in a breath, and the air rushes down S. VI. u 306 PROGRESSIVE RE^VDER. your windpipe, and is carried Ly two pipes, hy one to the right and by the other to the left lung. These two pipes branch out into very small hair-like tubes, and carry the air into the little holes or cells in the sponge of the lungs. So there are an immense number of cells filled with air, and surrounded by tubes of blood, only separated from this air by the finest possible skin. The air contains a great deal of oxygen gas, and the blood a great deal of carbonic gas (which gives it that dark colour). These two gases cannot come so close together without rushing towards one another; so the carbonic gas rushes through the skin of its tube to get to the oxygen, and the oxygen rushes through the skin to get to the carbonic gas, and in their haste they rush past one another. The carbonic gas fills the air-cells, and the oxygen is caught by the blood, gets mixed with it, and is retained in the veins. This has all happened in a very little part of a second, and we breathe out again, sending the carbon out of our mouths into the air outside, and it is got rid of from the body, because it poisons it. The oxygen has quite changed the colour of the blood, Avhich is now a bright red ; but it has also changed its nature. It was dead matter (for we do not eat live flesh), dead and flat, like milk; it is now life- giving, sparkling, and brisk, like ginger-beer, and in that state it returns to the heart. But we must now see what the heart is like, for it is the pump that keeps the blood moving all over the body. The heart of each person is about the size of his own closed fist. Every one knows the shape of a heart, and a bullock's or sheep's heart, lungs, and liver may be seen any day at a butcher's shop. But now let us see what it is like inside. Cut an orange in half, and you will see there is a white partition running across the middle, which divides each half into two portions, separating one from the other. The heart is very like that ; there is a partition between the upper and lower half, only there are holes in each partition fitted with valves, so as to let the blood fall from the upper half to the lower, but which close, so that it cannot CIRCULATION. 307 I'eturn from the lower to the upper one. Paste a piece of thick drawing paper over each half of the orange, and then fit the two halves together and you will have a very- good idea of a heart. These two thicknesses of drawing paper will make a wall between the two halves of the heart, so that nothing can j)ass from one half to the other. Blood can run from 1 to 2, and from 3 to 4, but none can go from either 1 or 2 into either 3 or 4; though if we were to get a curved pipe and put one end into 2, and the other end into 3, as is done with tlie pipe 5, we should then be able to get a flow of blood from 2 to 3. This is very nearly what is Fig. 12. done in the case of the heart. A pipe, like 5, carries the blood out of 2 up into the lungs, into which it empties the blood, as wo have seen, by a very great number of veiy little pipes, and then a great raany others suck the blood up again, pour it into one large pipe, which conveys it into 3. Now let us put the two halves to- gether again, turning the cut edge outwards, and »/^fTsX we have a very good representation of the heart ^i'y i'y in its position. Insert a quill through the rind ^-^— ^ into 1, and w^e have the great vein that brings ^ig- 13. the blood from the body into the heart. As soon as it has filled the cavity of 1, that cavity (which is called the right auricle, because it is covered with a piece of flesh, like one of your ears), begins to squeeze itself together, just as you do your hand when you double your fist. Put a sponge full of water into your hand and squeeze it. What happens? Why all the water runs out between your fingers. It is just so with the heart, when it squeezes the blood inside it, the blood is forced out through little holes in the wall between it and 2, pushing the valves open, until it has all run into 2, and filled it. Then 1 begins to open itself again, ready to receive some more blood, and 2 begins to squeeze itself, forcing the blood up a pipe (called the jmlmonary or lung artery) out of one side of 2; like the pipe 5, (Fig. 12; into the lungs, from which 308 PROGRESSIVE READER. It is carried by the indmonary vein to the other side of the heart, 3. As soon as 3 is full, it squeezes the blood into 4, just as 1 squeezed it into 2, and 4 squeezes it into another pipe from the bottom of it. This pipe is called the aortcty and carries the blood up towards the head for a little way, and then turns round, dividing itself into several branches, one going to each arm, one to each side of the head, and the main pipe going to the lower parts of the body. Let us now follow the course of the blood. Starting from the right auricle, No. 1, which we will suppose to bo empty, blood is poured into it from the great veins, (lower ve7ia cava and upper vena cava), the former of which brings back the worn out blue blood filled with carbonic acid, and the latter a mixture of waste blood, and the new chyle from the thoracic duct-. Fig. 14. raglit Pulmonar> Arch Left Pulmonary Artury. ^^^ of Aorta. / Artery. Lrper Vena Cava. t^^ \ \ / Left Pulmou-VTr .,, Veius. night PulmonaTyi Veins. Right Auricle. - Tricuspi d Val v e. — Lower Vena Cava.-- ..Left Auricle. Mitral V.avM. -Left Veiitriole. Eight Ventricle.*' eeptum Yentrieulorum. Aorta dowceudlng. Fig. 15. — Theoretical Section of the Iluraan Heart, seen ffom the front. As soon as the right auricle is full, it begins to squeeze itself, or contract, forcing tlio ])lood down into the rigJU ventricle (so called, because it is shaped some- cmcuLATio^f. 300 tiling like a man's stomacli or belly). WJien tliis ven- tricle is tilled, it contracts and forces iTp the blood into the right and left pulmonary arteries, and so into the lungs, where it is distributed by small cajnllaries, is purified ])y the air, and being sucked up again by similar capillaries, poured by the right and left jmlmona^y veins into clie left auricle, which contracts in the same way as the rigid auricle did, forces the blood down into the left ventrick^, wliich in its turn forces it up into the aorta. But why does not tlie blood at each contraction of an auricle or ventricle run back through the opening l^y PulmonaiT Senii-lunax Valves. Aortic Valre. Left Coronary Artery. •♦.. Kigkt Coronary Artery. lliUal Valve, Tricuspid Valve. Fig, 16. The Top of Heart, the Auricles being dissected ofiF. which it entered 1 Because each of those little holes only opens forwards in the direction the blood is to take, like the valve of a pump. Suppose a reservoir were to burst and send all its water in a great bulk against the front door of a house which was left a little open, it w®uld pour with a great flood into the house, dashing the door open against the passage wall. But 310 I'ROGRESSIVE READER. A. "Windpipe. Respiration. B. Bronchial tubes. Circulation. C. Lungs. I>. Fulraonary arteries. G. Renic artery. J. Artery to liver. JI. Ven.i Cnvi\. R. rulinouary veiuB. H. Benic Vein. K. Portal vein. N. Veinoflivor. F. Aorta. I. Kidney. L. Hepatic artery. O. Liver. r^S' 17. CtECttLATtON. 311 It dashed suppose It dasJiecl against the window of the room instead, forcing it in, it would fill the room, and if the door were a little open, it would get behind it and shut it up close. It is just so with the blood in the heart, it rushes in at the open door (which opens inwards), and when each ventricle or auricle contracts, that only forces the blood against the inside of the door (opening inwards) and shuts it up close j but when it l^resses against those that open outwards, they fly wide open, and out goes the blood. So there are doors (or valves, as we call them) between each auricle and ven- tricle, and at the entrance into the a( rta and pulmonary artery. Now let us follow the blood along the aorta downwards. It is forced along by constant pump- ing of fresh blood into it by the heart and descends till it gets about the middle of the body, when one branch goes off to nourish the liver; a little lower another branch goes to replenish the stomach and intestines, and the blood for the latter (after being distributed over them), is sucked up again and carried to the liver. The main trunk. however, of the aorta still goes down, carrying blood to the legs and on to the tips of the toes. It is thus distributed by very small pipes over every particle of the body, leaving fresh matter there, and taking back instead the worn out black matter (the ashes of the system). This waste, or dirty blood. IS ri?. 18. collected by little pipes, and carried into veins which convey it up to 312 PROGRESSIVE READER. the right auricle and pour it into the heart, to be~~sent again to tlie lungs to be purified. We have thus got it back to the right auricle from which it started. It has gone its round or circuit, and hence this constant flow round the body is called circulation. But there are two circulations : first, A, that from one side of the heart, through the lungs to the other side of the heart; and second, B, that from the left side of the heart round the body to the right side of the heart, and this is divided into two, viz., h, that which circulates to the parts of the body above the heart; and, c, that which circulates to the parts below it. EESPIRATIOISr. AVe have seen that our food, when made into blood in our bodies, requires to be changed from dead into living matter, and that blood which has circulated once through the body wants purifying by the black waste matter in it being discharged. Some of you may know that when gas is manufactured at the gas-works, it has to bo purified by being passed through lime, which discharges a black matter out of it, which is called gas-tar. Now, something like that is done with our ];)lood, and a black matter is discharged from it, called carbon (or charcoal) which is poison to the blood, and is dead matter. It is like the dirt on our hands, and in our clothes, which -wo wash off and get rid of; and it has a bad smell, as you may find out for yourselves, if you will go out of doors as soon as you are dressed in a morning, and then go back into the close bed-room where you slept. You will find just the same bad smell, (only rather worse) if you stand over an open cess-pool. You can prove this for yourselves if you take a glass of lime-water (which is as clear as spring- water) and blow into it for a few minutes through a quill, when the clear water will become thick like milk, the carbon having precipitated the lime. Whenever we breathe out (which is called expiration) we discharge this foul matter from our blood; and Avhonever we RESPIRATION. 313 breathe in (which is termed insjnration) we take in a fresh sui^ply of life-giving gas, which quickens tlie blood, and gives activity and force, as well as new substances, to the various organs of the body. The heart is a pump constantly forcing the blood into the lungs, and then, on its return, sending it on again round the whole body, working as regularly as the pendulum of a clock. The lungs form another set of machinery as constantly and regularly drawing in air and sending it out again. Place your hand on your heart, and listen luietly to your own breathing, and you will see how exactly and regularly each of these two machines act together. Let us now see what the lungs are like, and how they work. They have been already compared to a sponge; but they are of rather closer material, and more fleshy than a sponge. They are sometimes called "lights" (because they will float in water) and may be seen at any butcher's shop, hanging, with the heart and liver, from a long tough pipe. That pipe is the windpipe, the upper end of which is fastened just under the root of the tongue, and goes down the front part of the neck (the gullet being the pipe behind tliab), so there are two openings into it from the outside air, one through the mouth, and the other through the nose; the former open- ing is properly for the voice, and the latter for breathing (or resjnration, as it is properly called). A little below the chin is a hard substance in the windpipe (commonly called " Adam's Apple ") which is a musical instrument, like the mouth-piece of a clarionet or flageolet, fitted with two strings which vibrate (like the strings of a piano or Jew's harp) when the breath is forced through them. These strings cause the sound which we call voice. Below this the windpipe branches ofl* into two, one going to the right and the other to the left. These two tubes, like the windpipe, are fitted with a succession of gristly rings to keep them always open; they again branch off into others, shaped almost like young trees, two on the left side and three on the right. These are called lobes, and they divide into a great niimber of branches, till su l^ROGRESSIVE READER. they tarminate in \-ery fine liair-like tii"bes, which end in little bags like currants on the ends of their stalks. These little bags or lobules are the air sacs, and when we draw in breath, these air sacs are tilled with the air we draw in. Around them are the fine tubes of the pulmonary arteries and veins spread over them like Trachea. Bi'uuclius. Larynx. Brniii'lral Tubu LiiJ- Bioncliial Tubes. — Left Lung. Fig. 10. Left Lung and Air Tubes. very fine net-work. So when the sac? arc full of air, and the blood-vessels full of blood, the two arc onlv separated by the very finest possible skin, finer than gauze; and, as has been said before, the oxygen gas in the air, and tlxe carbonic acid gas in the blood rush through this fine gauze towards each other and change places. The oxygen combines with the blood, making it red, and the carbon mixes with the air, giving it an un- pleasant smell, and it is thus ])reathed out into the air. RESPIRATION. 315 We see, tlien, that to keep our blood pure, we want plenty of fresh air, so as to get as much oxygen as pos- sible, and also to get rid of as much carbon as possible. To effect this, we require exercise, so as to quicken the circulation of the blood, and bring it as rapidly as we Trachea. Eight Carotid Artery. »,___ raEtht Jugular Vein.--,.. Eight Subclavian — Veiu. Vena Cava. Right Lung. Spinal Column. I Hight AKricle (of Heart). Bony Axis of Arm Diaphragm. Liver, Large Intestine ^.•' Ti-diiBversc Colon). (EBophagns (Gullet). ».Left Carotid Artery. _---'Left Jugular Vein. Left SubclaTian Vein. . 'X"' Aorta. Right Ventric'9 (of Heait). Bladder, Small Intestines Tig. 20. can to the lungs; and but in the open air, from which we can obtain the greatest amount of oxygen. If any- thing happens to prevent this interchange of oxygen and carbon, we should die in less than five minutes; and it is this which does happen, when people are drowned, or suffocated bv the bad air of a room, as some- 316 PROGRESSIVE READER. times is the case vv^lien tliey sleep in a room where charcoal is burnt, ■\vhicli fills the air Avith carbon. The lungs are contained in a cavity or box, lying be- tween the neck and the waist. It is protected in front by the breast bone, behind, by the backbone (or spine), and at the sides by the ribs, which are two sets of props encircling it, fastened at the back to the spine, in front principally to the breastbone, though the lower ones are only joined to one another, so as to allow of greater ex- pansion of the lungs. There are twelve of these rib-bones on each side, fitted with a hinge to the back-bone, passing from the back to the front. They rather drop downwards, and the curved faces of the ribs hang flat towards the lungs (1) ; but when we draw a breath these faces are turned nearly straight outwards, (2,) twisting round a little on their hinges. This movement increases the size^Sbf the cavity, and by their being thus straightened they press out the breast bone sideways a little. thus enlarging the cavity from back to front; while at the same moment certain muscles draw down the elastic flooring (called the diaphragm) — which separates the circula- tory and res^^iratory organs from those of diojestion — thus lenojth- cuing the box perpen- dicularly, so that the movement of respira- tion increases its size Fig. 22. from back to fj"ont, from left to right, and frcwn base to summit. RESPIRATION. 317 „..-' When, however, we speak of " drawing in a breath," we do not suck in air, as we do fluids from a drinking-cup. The air in the atmosphere is some fifty miles high, and its own weight forces it down wherever there is a vacuum. Put an empty can on the floor, and the air at once, by its own weight, presses into and fills it. It Tig. 23. is just the same with the cavity of the chest, which is an empty can, which the pressure of the air fills when the mouth or nostrils are open. If then by muscular action the /' cavity is enlarged, fi greater volume of air rushes in, by its own weight, to fill the vacuum thus caused. Take a pair of bel- lows, and work the handles, drawing them asunder. As you pull the handles apart, the bel- lows do not suck in air, but it ,' rushes in from the pressure of.' the atmosphere, pushing open! the valve at A. You then draw*, the handles together, and force * out the air by compression of the bellows. We do much the same with the lungs. A set of muscles pulls the handles — the ribs — upwards, opening our bel- lows sideways, another set (like another hand) pulls down the diaphragm, lengthening the bel- lows downwards, and in rushes the air, till it has filled the en- larged cavity. Then the muscles relax, and let the diaphragm go back to its place, while another set of muscles ])ulls down the ribs, Position of Ribs during inspiration. Position of Ribs during expiration. Fig. 24. 318 PROGRESSIVE READER. pressing out tlic air through the windpipe, just as we force it through the nozzle pipe of thchellows; but with this difference, — we can squeeze the two sides of the bel- lows quite close together, so as to get out almost all the air, but we cannot squeeze the ribs on our two sides together till they touch, so there is always a cavity in which some au* is left, called ^^ residuary air;" and by extra exertion, we can draw them out wider than we usually do, and so admit a greater amount of air, as when we speak of *' drawing a long breath." You will have noticed, how, w^hen you run, your breath- ing is much more rapid; you pant, and sometimes "get out of breath;" that is because tlie circulation of the blood is quickened by the exercise of running, and therefore the blood keeps comiixg into the lungs in quicker succession. So a more constant change of air is required to purify it, and the respiration is of course quicker. Tliis shews that breathing during bodily exercise does more good than when we are sitting still. THE BRAIN AND SENSES. The centre of all sensation, as well as of thought, is the brain, placed, as we have seen, in the basin of the skull. It is the unseen governor of all our actions, which decides what is best for us to do; it is like the master in the school watching everybody and every- thing, and giving his orders what it is to be done next, and when to do it, repressing an action here, giving a warning there. But how can it watch, and know what is going on outside the body, when it is shut up close in the brain-pan] It has two windows, the eyes ; and two open doors for noise to reach it, the ears ; and two smelling- bottles — the nostrils — to bring it bad smells ; and two feelers — the hands — to tell the size, and hardness, and shape of objects, and some delicate little organs for test- ing the food of the body, situated in the tongue and back of the mouth. Tliese are tlio organs of sense, THE BRAIN AND SENSES. 219 — taste, toncli, smell, hearing, and sight; and all these cany intelligence to the Lrain of all that is going on around it. Then it turns all these over in its mind, and tells the various parts of the body, what to do. Suppose your mouth feels something put into it, or a boy offei-s you something to eat that you have not eaten before, those little pimples (papilice) in your tongue touch it, and telegraph, as it were, by some little strings that go from them to the brain, that it is bitter or sweet, and the brain telegrajjhs back by other strings to the tongue to spit out the bitter stufi and to suck the sweet. These sirmgs, as I liave called them, are the nerves of the body, one set running from the organs of sense to the brain, and another from the brain to difierent parts of the body. The latter set communicate with the muscles, which are large bundles of flesh, having the power to coil themselves up, or con- tract (making themselves shorter and thicker) and the power to stretch them- selves out again long and thin, or, as wa say expand. AVhen, for instance, your arm is stretched out at length, the muscle, A, in the u])per part of your arm, is long and thin ; but when you draw up your hand to touch your chin ov your shoulder, that muscle is shorter and' thicker. Stretch out your right arm, grasp the upper part of it with your other hand, and then double the right arm up and scratch your chin, and you will feel the muscle. A, in your right arm thicken, and rise like a lump. An illustration of a simple kind will shew you some- thing of the way in which this is done. You have, no doubt, seen a snail crawling along the ground, it looks thin and long, with its horns stretched out. Just touch it with a bit of stick, it will draw in its horns, till they vanish in its head, and it will coil up into a thick, short ball. 17] Of J- Jq. 320 PROGRESSIVE READER. It is very much the same with a muscle; the nerve is the stick that touches and gives it a sort of feeling that makes it coil up. You may have felt something of that kind all over your body when you have been frightened. I have seen a child coil himself up almost as a snail does at the sudden sight of something that has made him afraid. Touch is the first sense used by a child, which begins to feel and handle, and so gets ideas of things before it realizes any of the other four senses. Touch is felt all over the body on the surface of the skin both inside and out ; but it is not really the skin that feels, it is some little papillce, as they are called, on the skin, which you may see on the palms of your hands and tips of your fingers, looking like little holes set in rows, like the little dents on the end of a thimble. It is to these that the nerves run, which carry ideas to our brains. The earliest impression we get is that a thing is hard or soft, according as it resists our pressure; then, that it is rough or smooth, cold or hot; next, that it is round or square and then we come to distinguish wood from iron, stone, or marble; to judge of size, and feel the diflferenco between a piece of cord and a thread of fine silk. But all these judgments are the work of the brain, though practice teaches the fingers to detect even very minute differences, so that some blind men have so perfected their faculty of touch as to be able to tell accurately the colour of a number of skeins of wool by merely feeling them. Taste comes next, and is seated in the tongue and the palate at the back of the mouth. If you look at the surface of your tongue in a looking-glass, you will see some little dots on it like pins' heads, very much resem- bling those papillce I spoke of in the hand. There are two kinds of these : — one like those on the hands, and for the same purpose, viz., to convey the sensation of touch ; the other for the purpose of taste. These two senses are both exercised by the tongue, but they are quite dis- tinct. Put a marble into your mouth, your tongue will feel (l)y its orgcvilS of touch) that it is hard, round and THE BRAIN AND SENSES. 321 smooth ; but it will not taste it at all ] in fact, notliing can bo tasted, unless it can be dissolved in water, i.e., in the saliva of the mouth. So, if you put a lump of ice in- to your mouth, your tongue will feel by the touch that it is cold, and by taste that it is water and not milk. The object of this sense is twofold, ^/??'5^, to decide what is good for food ; secondly, how much saliva is required to moisten it ; so the taste tells us that a certain article is nasty, that we may either refuse it altogether, or, as in the case of medicine, take it only in small quantities; while, on the contrary, it pronounces others sweet, requiring a large quantity of saliva to commence their digestion, which, as we have seen with these substances, takes place in the mouth, not in the stomach, and immediately our " mouths water," as we express it. Smell is exercised by the nose, which is divided into two chambers, called nostrils, by a thin gristly partition, on which there is spread out a very tine net-work of nerves, the branches of one great nerve (the olfactory) Olfactory Lobe aad Fibrils. / Frontal Bone. Superior TuibmaJ'. >«;«?-^^%W// fioue. '''"W^^^y^^i^SBS^^^ ^,-- Middle Turtinal ""^^^J^iJ^^^^^^^A^^. Branches of the FifiJi Fiith Nerve. ^^^n^^*^^^^*^^**^t^ m ^'"'^' '^m \^^^^^~^^'^'^^" " liTv Inferior Turbinal Tifth Nerve Wl^^^^^s^^^'^r — '^^'"'" ••Cartilage of Nos* Palate. Fig. 26. Vertical Longitudinal Section of the Nasal Cavity. Show- ing Olfactory Lobe £.nd distribution of the Olfactory Filaments, and the Fifth (Trigeminel) Nerve on the Eight wall of the Nose. which runs straight to the brain. Any fine grains of matter, like dust, striking against this net-work set it vibrating, or all of a tremor, just like the strings of a piano when they are struck, or of a fiddle when the fiddle-bow is drawn across them. Now you know the feeling of vibration from the stinging of your hands sometimes when you hit a cricket ball with your bat j it 322 PROGRESSIVE READER. seems to run all up your arm. ^Yheu fine grains of dust hit these delicate nerves in the nose, they make it sting, and you feel a prickly stinging sensation right up into your head. Try with a bottle of smelling salts or some mustard. That is the vibration running along the olfactory nerve up into the brain; and practice teaches us to distinguish between the various kinds of vibrations, so that in time we learn to know what sort of things produce each of them, and without looking, we can tell whether we are smelling mustard or coffee. But we are not always conscious that there are any fine grains strikinfic ascainst our nostrils, as when we smell a flower. Wo must not wonder at that, as they are often too small to be seen ; yet if you look at a ray of light shining into a room, you will see thousands of little specks of dust floatinir ill the air, that you never see at other times. The use of smell is partly to guide us in the choice of food, and partly to keep us from poisoning our blood by breathino: foul air. Were it not for this we should stand without discomfort over a cess-pool, and keep our w^indows shut, when all the air in the room was poison- ous, and so be inhaling air that was killing us or giving us fevers. Sight is the effect of another vibration acting upon the optic nerve, and is caused by the effect of light. The optic nerve is a branch of the brain, running off in two arms, one to each eye. It pierces through the bone at the back of the socket of the eye, near the nose, and then is distributed over the skin of that socket in a sort of net-work (like that of the olfactory nerve), and this net-work is called the retina, which is like a mirror, placed behind the eye, receiving the objects upon it that are in front of the eye. The eye itself is only a little machine, like that box Avhich is used by photo- graphers to take views or likenesses. If you have your likeness taken, you stand in front of that box, opposite to a round hole, which is covered at first with a lid. When you are properly fixed, the photographer takes off the lid, and the light shining all round you, leaves your shadow on the glasses in that hole» THE BRAIN AND SENSES. 323 Tliese glasses reflect your image tlirough the Lox to a plate of glass behind, and, after a few minutes or seconds, your image is printed on the glass. The retina of the eye is like that plate of glass, and your eye is the box with the round hole and a glass [lens we call it), fixed Conjunctiva, i.^ornea, Crystalline Lens. ^-Sclerotic Coat. ^»'Choroid Coat. '"* Eetin^ -•«Ontie Nervs. Ciliary Processes. Showing the formation of inverted optical images on the Eetina at the back of the Eye. Fig. 27. behind the hole. But the retina is much more sensitive than a plate of glass, so it receives the image in front instantly, and this reception of the image on it, sets the roots of the optic nerve quivering and vibrating, and so they telegraph to the brain that something is in front of the eye; and by practice we learn to know one object from another. But our eyes are not glass, they are water, and you can tell for yourselves, that water will do as well for this purpose as glass, by looking at yourself in a basin of clear water, or looking into a pond or pool, in which you can Bee the trees, houses, or other objects around reflected, just as if it were a looking-glass. These objects are really impressed on the bottom of the pool (as they are on the retina of the eye), and not on the surface of the water. Hearing is the sense exercised by our two ears, and is also caused by vibrations. I dare say you have thrown a stone into a pond, and you have noticed that 324 PROGRESSIVE READER. where it falls into the water it makes a splash, and as soon as the splash has ceased, you have seen a ring all round the hole, where it went in, and this ring has gone on widening, larger and larger, till it has got to the edge of the pond. The same thing happens in the air (which is a liquid like water). An object strikes the air and causes a concussion, which sets the air vibrating, just as a stone thro\\n into the water disturbs the water. The air, too, vibrates in rings, spreading %vider and wider, till they are lost to our ears as the rings of Avater are to our eyes. When any of these rings come within the range of our ears, part of the wave of sound goes into the ears, uji the external meatus, pressing in a piece of line skin, the Vestibule. 3 Semi-circular Inetts or Anvil External Meatus Canals. Boiif. Auditonua Uelix. / 2, O o C o ? Feneslra Stapes, its Inside of MaUeuJi or Lobule. Kotunda. base over Meuibraue Haiuiuer Buue. Fenestra Tyiupaui. Ovali^. rig 28. Dia^qvam of Ear. memhrane Tympani, fitted at the end of it, like the parch- ment over the ends of a drum. Fixed to the inner surfiice of this drum-head is a little bone (called the hammer), working on a hinge, with another little bone (the anvil), which with a third (the stapes, or stirrup), form a sort of The brain and senses. 325 ct'ank which presses inwards another piece of skin, cover- ing a chamber, called the vestibule, to Avhich are attached the semicircular canals, containing water and sand. "When the wave of sound pushes in the skin of the drum, it works the crank, which pushes in the inner skin, and sets all the water in the bags moving, and shaking all the grains of sand. These little grains knock against the fine ends of the auditory nerve, (just as the grains of matter do on the olfactory nerve), and make them Anterior Lobe Coitus C'allosum Middle Lobe. Posterior Lobe. !? o O Spinal Kerv-es ":^^ from Bjuu al Cora. Fig. 29. Side View of Human Brain, slioA\'ing Cerebral Lobes and Cranial Nerves (of Eight Hemisphere), Cerebellum, Medulla Ob- longata, and Corpus Callosum. The observer is supposed to be looking at the right side of the great Loneitudiual Fissure.and the cut portion o£ the Corpus Cttllosum. vibrate; so the sound is carried to the brain. A very curious little instrument called the cochlea, or shell, like a very small piano, with different keys, is attached to these water-bags, and different sounds touch different 32G PROGRESSIVE HEADER. keys on ifc, niul so sefc different strings of the auditory nerve vibrating, and it is this contrivance wiiich enables lis to distinguish accurately one sound from another, and one note of music from another. The drum is kept full of air by a tube, passing from the throat, ■which carries on the vibration. Those who are deaf from any disease in the outer tube of the ear, of the small bones, or of the membrane covering the drum, are still able to gain some sense of hearing through this t\ibe, and by clenching with the teeth the wood of a musical instrument, for instance, they can enjoy the music played upon it. — Rev. J. Ridgwaij. WHOLESOME DRTKK. If wc were to separate the solid matter of our bodies from the liquid, we should find that a full grown healthy man of average size, Aveighing about 10^ stones, contains — lt)3. Mineral matter, for the hones, ..... 9 Fat, for heat, 54 Tlesh, for viovemeiit, loj Water, for moistening the tissues and transport of blood, 115 145 Itig. So, if we analyze the blood which is to replenish this body, as it wastes away by exercise, we shall find the same proportions, — i.e., in every 20 lbs. of blood, we shall find only about 4 lbs. of solid matter and 16 lbs. of water ; so that we have four times as much water in our bodies and in our blood as we have of all other sub- stances put together. We are all very eager to eat, when we are hungry, and if people cannot eat, they think they are very ill, and begin to fancy themselves very weak; but they only want one-fifth as much food as they do liquid. Some people drink a great deal. Some drink beer, some spirits, and others wine; and because these drinks contain some- thing more than water, which seems to give them a new life for a time, so that they can go on working at first with more power than they could just before, they fancy WHOLESOME DrJNi^.. 327 tliey have taken something that gives them strength, and that there is nourishment in beer, wine, and spirits. Let ns see if it is so. I. We want something to dissolve the solid food we eat, and make it into a very thin liquid, so that in the shape of blood it can run through those very fine tubes, like hairs, and carry nourishment to every part of the body. The only liquid that will dissolve solid food is water. Take a piece of cooked meat, and put it into a bottle of water, and place a similar one in a bottle of brandy, and see the difference. The former will soon be dissolved (especially if you shake it about), bub the other will become dry and shrivelled, as if put into an oven, but will never dissolve. The first thine; we want, when we have eaten our food, is to digest it as quickly as possible, and send it over the body to renew the wasted parts, and give us new strength. Before it can be digested, it must be dissolved and made into a liquid, like milk: but, as only water can do that, if we drink spirits with our food, w^e are putting what we want dissolved into a bottle of spirits, as you may some- times see frogs and little snakes preserved in spirits in a doctor's surgery. If we drink beer with our food, it is only the water in the beer that dissolves the food; and all that gives the beer its strp,ngt7i, as we call it, is a kind of spirit which stops digestion, until the stomach has got rid of it. The reason why we feel an effect from it immediately is, that our body does not want it, and tries to get rid of it; so the little veins in the stomach suck it out; but the blood does not like it, and so runs away with it, as fast as it can, to the lungs; and the breath smells of beer, or of spirits, and the fat is set on fire by it, so that heat is made, which opens the pores of the skin, and some is got rid of in that way, and the rest by the action of the kidneys. All this shews : — (1.) That the body does not require it or use it for the purpose of renewing its OAvn waste and (2.) That it burns up some of the store of fat we want for use in the body; and, as it cannot burn without using some of the oxygen in the blood, just as a fire, you 32^ tROORESSiVE READER. know, will not burn without the oxygen of the air, it follows that such drinks carry off some of that very oxygen that gives ns force, and so really diminish our power of work, after the first few minutes. So, when the strength of the sj^irit is gone off, a man feels himself weaker, and he wants more, until he soon uses liimself up fur that day. ; ^Vlien we want water, we feel thirsty. Now, what is it that causes thirst? It is the dryness of the skin lining the mouth, throat, and stomach : so that to quench our tliirst, we must drink something that will moisten that dry skin. The word "quench," which we use, shews that this dryness comes from some burning heat within us. Take a tea-spoonful of brandy, and hold it in your mouth. Does it moisten the skin, or quench any lieat there? No, it makes it burn, and smart, and blister, till the skin peels off. AVell, if you drink it, even when mixed with water, it will do the same by your throat and stomach, and they will feel dry and parched, and make you feel more thirsty. But drink a glass of pure cold water, and your thirst is gone, your throat is moist, and your food digests. So we find water is the most wholesome drink : — 1. Because it alone dissolves food in the throat and stomach. 2. Because it assists all the functions of the body. 3. Because it forms all the fluid of blood. 4. Because it forms the only real liquid in the body. 5. Because it alone takes up the decomposed particles, and conveys them from the body, by the system of sewer- age, through the lungs, pores, kidneys, and intestines. II. That spirituous part of various drinks used by men is called alcohol, a name given to it by some Arabian chemists, who first discovered it. Alcohol is caused by fermentation, and is really made out of sugar in a process of decomposition. It is a liquid, and easily mixes with watei ; in fact, it is hardly possible to get it without some water being mixed with it. What we usually call ** spirits," as whisky, rum, brandy, and gin, have little water in them, more than half being alcohol; so we say, WHOLESOMU DRINlt. 329 tliey are strong; but what do we mran, wlien we call them strong. "VVe do not mean, that they give us any strength; but that there is a great projiortion of alcohol in them compared ivith the water, — i.e., they are strong in alcohol, just as we say, when a man has been drinking spirits, that his breath smells quite strong of brandy, Arc. But do not they give us any strength ? Many a person thinks he cannot go on working (especially if his work is very hard) without a drop of something strong, or a glass of beer, to give him strength ; and when he has had it, he smacks his lips, and says, " There, now, I can go on ; " and he feels to have new life in him, and lor a short time he does work more quickly. Now, let us see why this is. If he were to eat some bread ana meat instead, and drink a glass of water, it would take a little time before any of the food were dissolved and digested in his stomach, so as to find its way into his blood, and circulate "about his body, and refresh him with new strength. All substances that are thoroughly dissolved in water are taken up into the vessels of the stomach as quickly as water itself; so spirit, being thoroughly dis- solved in the w^ater, finds its way into the blood as soon as it is swallowed; and as the blood does not want it, it circulates, as fast as it can, to get rid of it. The same quick circulation takes place after the food has found its way into the blood, because the circulation is intended by nature to carry refreshment to each part of the body. When a man has drunk his glass of brandy and water, it begins to circulate rapidly in his veins, and he feels very mucli as if he had digested a good dinner. It has produced heat in his blood, and consumed some of his fat. Now, we have learnt before, that this burning in the blood produces force; therefore, he feels strong and able to use great force, and when he gets partly drunk, he often commits acts of great violence. But has he gained any strength ? No, not a bit ; he has drawm a great deal of sjKire force out of himself. I dare say, you have sometimes thought you could get home from school faster if you ran all the way, and have oiiered to run a race with another boy to get you along 330 rriOGRESSTVE r.EAB-ETl. quickly. AYell, you might do so, if it were for a short distance; but supposing you had three or four miles to go, liow would it be then? You would both run as fast as you could, perhaps for a mile, and leave all your com- panions a long way behind. Then you would get out of breath, feel very hot and very tired, and sit down on the road-side to rest yourselves. You would feel you could not go any farther, and you would rest till the companions you left behind overtook you, and still you would want to rest longer, while they seemed cool and fresh and ready to go on. That is just like what liappens to a man when ho drinks fermented liquor at his work. He runs hard for half an hour or so, and then he begins to get hot, and tired, and wants to rest. He must either have some more drink to set him off again, or he goes lazily through his work. He has used up some of his spare strength, and has not added any to his stock. Any one who thinks about it, will find in himself that this is true. He will notice that he can go on at a good steady pace all day, and do a very good day's work, if he eats his meals of good nourishing food, and drinks^ water enough to dissolve it; but if, instead of eating solid food, he takes a glass of spirits, he can only work a short time at full speed, and then must go only half- speed the rest of the time. Now, let us see if this is the case. Y^ou will hear a man say, when he is hay-making, that he must have some beer, it is so hot. Then, on a winter's day, a labourer comes out of the field and wants some beer,because he is so cold. There is some truth in both of these . the one feels dry and parched, because he has lost a great deal of moisture from perspiratixjn, and his blood is less liquid than it ought to be; the other is cold, because he has parted with heat by evaporation and his blood circulates too slowly ; the latter wants vmrmth, the former moisture. But there is no alcohol in the blood naturally, water is what it wants; and, as we have seen, the alcohol only heats the blood, which on a hot day requires to bo cooled. Any man. who works in a shop where they smelt iron and steel, or in those great forges where the large iron plates aro WHOLEf^OME DRINK. 331 rolled out, that are noAv fitted on to our iron-clad men- of-war, knows very well he could not endure the great heat at his work, if ho were to drink even beer; so, if you were to go into any of those works at Sheffield, you would see the men, pouring out melted steel, with very little clothing on, their breasts all exposed, and running with perspiration; but they never drink beer at their work, only any quantity of cold tea. But, why is it that tea is better for men so employed than beer ? They must lose a great deal in the form of perspiration, when they work in such a hot place. We generally think that excessive perspiration loeahens people; but we do not really get weaker in the hottest part of summer than we do in the coldest part of winter; we are really weaker, more liable to illness, colds and fevers, in winter than in summer. The weakening, then, of our bodies from perspiration de- pends upon the composition of the sweat (as it is com- monly called) which comes through the pores of the skin. If it is only water, we only lose water; if it contains decayed matter from the body, mixed with the water, we lose that amount of the substance of our frames together with the water. When perspiration is caused only by external heat, we lose scarcely anything but water. Now, let us see what is the composition of tea. It contains a substance which it draws up from the soil, in which the plant is grown, on the hills of China under a very hot sun. If you take a little tea, powder it very fine, then put it into a small plate in the oven, and cover it entirely over with a piece of paper, twisted into the form of a sugar-loaf, as soon as the powder has become very hot, a vapour will rise from it and settle on the inside of the paper. Now, take the paper off and hold it to the light. You will see it is covered over with a very fine powder, shining in the light like powdered white sugar. This is the substance of the tea to which I referred. You will find 3 grains in every half ounce of pure tea, or 1 lb. in 50 lbs. This white substance is found to have a very wonder- ful power of sustaining man's strength, and of making food, eaten with it, go one-fourth further iu keeping up 332 PROGRESSIVE READER. Ins strength tliaii if the same food were eaten alone, so that 3 or 4 grains of it are enough for one clay. It has been found, by experiments, that if a man eats half a pound less bread a day, but adds half an ounce of tea instead, lie does not miss the loss of the bread. So those iron-smelters, by drinking tea, retain this white substance, which keeps up their strength, and stops the waste of the flesh of their bodies, and they only part with the water, in which it is dissolved. But tea has another valuable quality. This same white powder is nerve-making substance; it is better adapted than any article of food to strengthen the nerves and brain of man in active work ; so those who study much, as well as those who live by the sweat of their brow, find tea the best refreshment of the waste of brain and nerve in following their studies, or sus- taining hard bodily labour. This same substance is to be found in cocoa and coffee; yet these two plants grow in a very different part of the world from that where tea is found. The coffee tree and cocoa plant will not flourish in China; but the former is cultivated abundantly in Arabia, Ceylon, and the West Indies, and the latter in Mexico and Peru. Nature thus stores up in various climates the nourishment man requires in all the avocations of life, to restore his wasted energies, and enable him to " go forth to his work and to his labour until the evening." It is not without some purpose for our good, that so large a tract of China is covered with tea-bushes, — an "extent of country almost as large as Wales, three millions and a half of acres ! And it is only because it does supply a natural want of mankind, that we can account for the rapid spread of the use of tea, which only 200 years ago was unknown in England, but is now regarded as a necessary article of consumption by more than half the inhabitants of our globe, who con- sume no less than 3,000,000,000 lbs. every year ! But may not the same be said of beer? It is made from barley, which is a natural product given to us for our daily food, and it contains a large amount of nutri- WHOLESOME DRINK. 333 tive substance, just as does the wheat, from which bread is made. Well, perhaps, if we made tea out of barley- just as w^e brew it out of tea-leaves, it might be as good as porridge; but in making beer, we decompose the barley, as may be seen by the fermentation (or vjorJdng as it is called) of the liquor. First, the barley is roasted in a kiln to turn it into malt. That takes a great deal of the nutritive strength out of it, and it has a sweet taste, which shews that the starch is partially converted into sugar. Next, it is boiled in water which completes the change, (just as when masticated in the mouth and moistened with warm saliva, the main part of the conversion of bread into sugar takes place). But, the boiling is continued, until decomposition sets in, and it is then allowed to cool down to the necessary temperature to perfect this. It begins to ivork, heave up, froth, and ferment. All this is a sign of decom- position; gases escape from it, as from putrid matter. It is now in the ripe condition for intoxicating those who drink it, and it is closely fastened down in barrels before too much bad gas has escaped, and most of the putrid matter is kept in, mixed with the liquid. This essence of decomposition, which I have called gas, is alcohol, and is the product of sugar and water. All the nutri- tive element in the grain has left the beer, and only the water and alcohol remain. After this fermentation, it is no longer nourishing like porridge or milk, but it is poisonous. What do we nean when we say it is intoxi- cating? That word means poisoning. And it is poison- ing, for it does what many poisons do: it spoils the blood, it weakens the brain and nerves, and it stops digestion. But let us go to facts. Dr. Lyon Playfair has analyzed a specimen of " highly nourishing beer and stout," and reports that of blood-forming matter it con- tains exactly one part in 1,GG6 parts. Baron Liebig, in his Chemical Letters, states that the w^hole purpose of brewing is to get rid of the blood-forming elements of the grain, and to change the useful sugar into alcohol. We can pi'ove," he says, ''with mathematical cevtainty, 334 pnocr.E?iSTVE reader. tliat as mucli flour as can be laid on tlie point of a table knife is more nutritious than eight quarts of the best beerj that a person who is able daily to consume that quantity of beer, obtains from it, in a ivhole year, in the most favourable case, exactly the amount of nutritive matter which is contained in a five pound loaf or in three pounds of flesh." If this is the case, as it certainly is, with pure beer, it is much worse with by far the greatest quantity that is sold at public houses under that name; for those who are in the habit of ojoincj there want somethinsc that will quickly make them feel its power, and the man who sells it wishes his customers to ask for more; and, therefore, a great many things are put into it to make it more intoxicating, and to burn up the tissues that line the throat and stomach, creating more thirst the more a man drinks. So any one may drink till his throat and mouth are quite dry, and hot, and parched, and his tongue is inflamed, dry, and swollen, till he cannot speak plainly. The next day he has a dreadful head- ache, because his brain is inflamed with the poisonous alcohol he has poured into his blood. But drinking ouglit to cool the blood, moisten the tissues, and quench thirst. It is very clear that drink containing alcohol does just the opposite, and increaGes thirst. But some people think there is nourishment in it, because people get fat upon it. If you notice, you will find that some people get fatter as they grow older, and some get thinner. The fact is that both fat and leanness are signs of the decay of our bodies. In some constitu- tions decay takes the form of fat, and in others of waste. So one man who drinks becomes very fat, while another becomes very thin: both shew that the poison is doing its work, and its victim is hastening too soon to his grave. — Rev. J. lUdgway. ON STIMULANTS IN SICKNESS. However bad alcohol may be in times of liealth, when people do not want it, yet very many think it is a very ON STIMUT^NTf? IN SICKNESS. 335 good medicine in illness. Now, our bodies are very much the same as those of other animals. Man is the only cold-blooded animal that ever drinks anytliing else to quench his thirst but water. And in sickness we do not run for the brandy bottle to give a dose to our horses, cows, pigs, and sheep, as we too often do to ourselves. When we do, it is only in extreme cases, such as poisoning, when we want to quicken the circu- lation and get rid of the poison from the blood. In all other cases we know the animal will stand a better chance with other treatment. But with ourselves, if any one is ^int, we give them spirits; if they are burning with fever, we pour more fire into them to increase it; if they are sinking with con- sumption, we offer port wine to burn up the small particles of fat that still remain in their wasted frames. It seems to give them a little new life, because it quickens the circulation, dries up the moisture in the lungs, and stops the cough, but only to make them sink lower, as soon as the effect is gone off. No animal life can possibly be stqjported, though it may for a time be j^re vented from extinction, by stimulants, since they only make it run on, as it were, at express speed over a danger- ous chasm; but this can only be done at the expense of a most violent strain upon the whole machinery, which will leave behind it a lasting injury for life. A very eminent physician of Guy's Hospital, in Lon- don, writes in the following forcible language on this use of alcohol in cases of illness : — " It causes me daily surprise to observe how the effects of stimulation are overlooked. Often have I been called to see a patient apparently dying, sometimes of a nervous disorder, at another time of a liver com- plaint, and at another of heart disease. He is lying in bed, where he has been for some time, and kept alive by brandy; the breath is abominably fetid; the heart's action is so rapid that it is impossible to say whether the organ is diseased or not; the patient refuses food, or if this be taken, it is rejected, and so he is plied with brandy to keep him alive; the body is, iu fact, saturated 33G rROGFvESSIVE EE.VDER. with spirit, or its elements. My first remark on seeing such a case is, that a man cannot live on alcohol; he must take some food or ho will die. The correctness of such common-sense remarks is admitted, but qualified with the statement that no solids can be taken, and that if stimulants be omitted it is feared the patient w^ill sink. It is assumed tliat the constant administration of brandy is necessary for the temporary maintenance of life, and the idea never seems to have been conceived that the stimulation of the heart causes the weak, fluttering pulse, and stimulation of the stomach a subacute disease. Do you ask me what method I adopt ? The simplest possible. I withdraw every drop of the stimulant, and in a few hours the irritated stomach is partly restored to its normal condition, the nervous excitement abates, the patient takes a little food and begins to mend. Do you ask, again, wliether I do not fear any frightful results from the sudden withdrawal of the stimulus? I say, not the least; I have no fear of the consequences. '' That many cases of disease of various kinds would do far better without stimulants I am perfectly confident. But lately I have seen the case of a gentleman, about sixty years of age, who passed through a most severe attack on the lungs without the use of stimulants. He had been a tolerably free liver, and w^ould not have been called a good subject; but having before me the case of another gentleman of the same age, who had just died of a similar attack, and who liad taken a large quantity of brandy, I readily acquiesced in the patient's own view, that none should be given. It is very remarkable what extremes we have reached, and on how slight a scientific basis is founded the treatment of such diseases. Not many years ago the opposite method was adopted, in- cluding bleeding, antimony, calomel, &c. ; then camo the "let alone" method; and now we have the brandy treatment. What the need of this can be with Professor Hughes Bennett's statistics before us, T do not compre- liend. My own opinion is (but of course this is only an opinion), that in any given number of cases a larger majority would recover under tlie old treatment than by ON STIMULANTS IN SICKNESf^. 337 the more modern method by brandy. As regards heart disease, the utmost discrimination is required in the use of stimulants. There are cases where an undoubted benefit is produced by them ; but there are others, and these I liave seen repeatedly, where alcohol has induced palpitation, fluttering, great distress, and constant sleep- less nights, but where, on the other hand, the withdi-awal of the spirit, and the substitution of a dose of medicine has been of the most essential service. " Of course stimulants are often needed as medicines; but young persons with typhus and typhoid fevers are far better, I believe, without them. That they make good recoveries on simple milk diet is a fact, which my hospital cases prove, and which no arguments can gainsay ; and, on the other hand, I have seen a marked improve- ment take place in some cases where a stimulus has been left off. It is also a fact that in bronchitis I have re- peatedly seen improvement after stimulants have been omitted; and, as regards heart disease, I am convinced that the amount of mischief done by stimulants is im- mense. In the case of fever and bronchitis, the weak pulse is often but an indication of extreme capillary con- gestion, and a stimulus to the heart only aggravates the evil; and in the case of a diseased and weak heart, where repose is indicated, a constant stimulation by alcohol adds immensely to its trouble. " Whatever may be thought of the remarks just made, there is one thing which I must insist upon — that is, when treating any malady, and the administra- tion of alcohol is suggested to your mind, that you give the same grave consideration to its recommendation as you would to any other potent drug; not to sit down and give all your serious thoughts to the question of whether a grain of this or a grain of that drug should be ordered, perhaps twenty or thirty drops of either, and then at hap-hazard order any loose number of ounces of brandy. You observe, that I say nothing against the potency of alcohol in several states of disease ; but I do speak strongly against its indiscriminate use without due consideration of its need or of its results. My arguments .S. Vt, Y 338 rROGRESFilVE READER. would equally apply did I find that opium or any otlier drug were indiscriminately used as a universal medicine. I sliould protest against the practice, whilst still possess- ing great faith in the virtue of the drug. If I can influence you to place alcohol in your list of drugs, so that you may administer it with the same caution as you do the several powerful drugs used as medicines, then the object of these remarks will be fully answered."* In the Lancet of March 12, 1861, there was an article on " Facts and Conclusions as to the use of Alcoholic Stimulants in Typhus Fever," by W. T. Gairdner, M.D., Physician to the Royal Infirmary, and Professor of the Practice of Physic in the University, Glasgow. Dr. Gairdner shewed that the mortality from typhus fever might be greatly reduced by reducing the quantity of alcoholic stimulants usually given; that this reduction in mortality may take place at all ages, but in a marked degree among the young; that the young and temperate persons may be advantageously treated, with a diminished mortality, xmtJiout one drop of loine or spirit heinrj ffiven from beginning to end of the fever, except in the rarest casualties. The reduced mortality under Dr. Gairdner's mode of treatment is highly encouraging. It appears that in 595 cases of all ages treated by Dr. Gairdner, the mortality from typhus was only 11-9 per cent.; whilst under the liberal use of stimulants the mortality for all ages was 17 J per cent. These results are extraordinary, as the average mortality from typhus in the hospitals of England is little less than 18 per cent. It is well known that typhus fever is not so fatal to the young as to adults, and we see that in 189 unselected cases among the young treated by Dr, Gairdner vnthout stimidants the mortality was less than 1 per cent. Dr. Gairdner says — " I con- fess I am strongly persuaded that, to the young, in typhus, and very probably in most other fevers, stimulants are not less actively poisonous and destructive, unless ad- ministered with the most extreme caution, and in the * A Lecture on Alcoholic Stimulants in Disease. By Samuel Wilks, M.D,, Physician to duy's Hospital, ami Examiner in the Practice of Medicine at the rniversity of Londou, LOSS OF BLOOD. 339 most special and critical circumstances." He further shews that, had the 189 young persons formerly men- tioned been in the hands of the late Dr. Todd, under a routine of such extreme stimulation as is indicated in Dr. Todd's book on Acute Diseases, it seems probable that instead of one death in the 189 cases, there must have been no fewer than thirty to thirty-five. Many medical men will confess that by ordering the use of stimulants in sickness, they have unintentionally sown the first seeds of drunkenness. Too many of their patients, relying on medical advice, have begun the habit of drinking, which has not ceased when they have left off the other medicines prescribed, but has con- tinued, increasing almost daily in the amount taken, until the habit has become confirmed, and their lives sacrificed at an early age. Here is the testimony of one* — " I believe I have made many drunkards, not willingly, not purposely, but I have recommended the drink. It makes my heart ache, even now, to see the mischief that I have made in years gone by, mischief never to be remedied by any act of mine. But in this respect at least I do not sin now, and have not done so for the last ten years. I do not take intoxicating drink myself, I do not have it hi my house, and I do not give it to anybody else." — Bev. J. Ridgivay, HEMORRHAGED OR, LOSS OF BLOOD. The escape of blood from its vessels into the surround- ing tissues is named extravasation; if into one of the cavities of the body, or externally, it is named hcenior- rhage. The loss of from four to six pounds of blood, from one or more of the great vessels, will generally prove fatal to an adult, but if the bleeding be slower, much larger quantities may be drawn from the blood- vessels without a directly fatal issue. Death from sudden hsemorrhasie, is caused bv the want of sufficient blood to supply the nervous centres, * Henry Munroe, M.D., F.L.S. 340 rnoGRESsiVE reader. so that fatal syncope {i.e., fainting), takes j)lacc. When death occurs from prolonged liaimorrhagc, it is not from a defective supply of nutriment to the tissues generally, but from a slow exhaustion of the nervous and muscular power, affecting the Lrain, spinal cord, and heart, due to a deficient supply of nutriment and of oxygen to them, in consequence of the diminution in the number of the red corpuscles. Everyone should be acquainted with the various forms of accidental bleeding, and their immediate treatment. If it be general oozing from small vessels, which is easily recognized, and if it proceed from a part to which pressure can be applied, a handkerchief closely folded into the form of a pad, and firmly bound over the spot by another handkerchief, will generally suffice to staunch the bleeding for a time; the part should then be kept elevated and at rest. In haemorrhage from a 'vein the blood is dark, and the stream flow^s con- tinuously, welling up over tlie surface. Moreover, pressure with the finger on the side of the wound further from the heart will almost entirely arrest the bleeding; wdiilst if pressure be applied on the side of the wound next to the heart, the flow of blood becomes more copious. To arrest bleeding from the veins, a small thick pad should be applied upon the wound, so as to extend a little to the side further from the heart; this should be firmly secured by a handkerchief or bandage; the chief pressure must be made on the side of the wound away from the heart, because that is the direc- tion from which the blood flows. Arterial ha3morrliao;e is known by the blood being bright, and projected in a jet from the wound, sometimes to a considerable distance, usually by jerks; though, if the artery be very small, there are merely slight intermissions in the force of the jet, and, in wounds of very minute artei'ies, the jet is con- tinuous. Moreover, pressure, on the side of the wound further from the heart, lias no cflect on the strean ; but pressure on the side nearer the heart stops it. To stop arterial bleeding from a small artery, therefore, a pad of suitable size should bo applied upon the wound, and Loss OF BLOOD. 341 extend also on the side next to the hear*-; it must be not merely Jlrmh/, but tightly bound by a handkerchief or suitable bandage. If the artery be large and deep- seated, very forcible pressure becomes necessary; and in order to communicato this specially to the artery itself, a small, thick, and unyielding kind of pad is necessary. This should be made not by folding a handkerchief, but by rolling it up as tightly as possible, with or without some firm substance enclosed in it. A pebble or a bit of stone, wrapped ui^^in a piece of paper, may be placed over the artery ;~'a pocket handkerchief tied round die limb, and twisted tightly with a stick passed through the handkerchief on the side of the limb opposite to the wound, will increase the pressure and stop the bleeding. Great care must betaken to keep the wounded person laid down until this has been done, and he should then be carried home on a stretcher, a hurdle, or a door, and on no account be allowed to walk or stand, if the wound should be in the leg or the body. These directions apply to veins and arteries situated in the limbs. Upon the head, simple pressure with the thumb or finger will suffice to stop bleeding from either kind of vessel, because the bones of the skull afford a perfect means of counter-pressure. A little cotton wool, cob-web, nap of a hat, will all help to stop bleeding from a small surface wound. A cut of the large vessels of the neck requires very special management; but, as a general rule, direct pressure with a pad, kept in its place by the thumb, is the best means to adopt until proper as- sistance by a medical man can be procured. — Marshall's Physiology. To stop bleeding from the nose, the quickest remedy is to hold the head over a basin, and get some one to pour cold water on the back of the neck, or even down the spine. If this should fail, lay the person flat on the back, plug the nostrils with cotton wool, roll up a strip of paper into the size of a small piece of slate pencil, and put it under his tongue. Let him lie there perfectly still until the doctor comes. 3-12 MOGRESSIVE READER. POISONOUS GAS IN WELLS. A SAD accident lately happened, which shews how much ignorance prevails with regard to the danger of going down into wells, and also respecting the means by which that danger may be discovered and prevented. It seems that a poor man, who was engaged in sinking a well, went to his Avork in the morning as usual, was lowered down by his wife and another labourer; but, on reaching a certain depth, became unconscious, and fell into the water below„ A neighbour, avIio keeps a nursery-garden, hearing the screams of the Avife, ran to render assistance, instantly descended, with the vain hope of being able to rescue the laljourer, but, in reality, of course, only to share the same fate. A brother of the latter then descended ; but fortunately had first a rope strongly fastened to his body. He also became uncon- scious, but was hauled up by the rope, and recovered. The previous victims were raised after a time ; but in both of them life was extinct. Now, it cannot be too widely known that such cala- mities as these, Avliich cannot be called accidents, arc caused by the presence in the well of carbonic acid gas, Avhich has found its way there from some rift in the strata of rock that has been cut through, and which sinks by reason of its weight. This carbonic acid gas is what is called by the miner '' choke-damp." No one should ever descend into a well without first lowering down into it a lighted candle. On reaching the carbonic acid gas the candle goes out ; and when this happens, human life will also bo extinguished, if a living person be lowered into it. No one ought, therefore, to go down Until this gas has been pumped out, which is easily done by pushing down a bundle of straw or a sack of hay or shavings, and hauling it up again, several times, until the air is changed, and the candle will burn when lowered to the bottom. — Fivni the Lancet. It is pitiable, in these days of general knowledge, to riEWARDS FOR SAVING LIFE. 343 read of the lives of brave men being uselessly sacrificed for want of information tJiat should be within the reach of every National School-boy. A correspondent of the Times, in commenting on the above accident, says : — " It has often occurred to me, that if the Government training for National Schoolmasters were made to com- prehend instruction in simple emergency remedies, such as the treatment of suspended animation, temporary stoppage of bleeding, and such other relief as is fre- quently called for by the accidents that befall labouring men, many lives might be saved, which now are lost ; for the witnesses of an accident would know that there was some one whose duties always keep him on the spot to whom they could apply for help ', while, by im- parting this simple knowledge to his scholars, a number of men would be educated into fitness for any emergency, and by these means good use could be made of the time generally lost before the arrival of a medical man, who may be miles off at the time of the accident, so that the latter would not so often find, on seeing the sufferers, that his assistance had come too late." KEWAEDS FOR SAYING LIFE. At a meeting of the Ptoyal Humane Society, on the 19th inst., the following cases of personal bravery in saving life were brouofht before the notice of the committee and rewarded ; — The silver medallion was unanimously voted to Sub-Lieutenant G. H. Yonge, of Her Majesty's ship Bellerophon, for saving, on the 7th of February last, Alfred E. Martin, ship steward's boy, of Her Majesty's ship Northumberland, who was capsized from a launch into 20 fathoms water at Lisbon. The second launch of Her Majesty's ship Northumberland, while under sail, was carried by the tide foul of the Bellerophon's star- board swinging boom, and instantly capsized. The ship 344 fKOGRESSlVE READER. steward's assistant, wlio had been in the boat, shouted loudly for help as the five-knot tide swept him past. His cries were heard by Mr. Gustavus H. Yonge, who was lying down in the gun-room of the Bellerophon, suffering from rheumatism. Although dressed in a heavy suit of flushing at the time, which necessarily much impeded his swimming, Mr. Yonge, without a moment's hesitation, or staying to divest himself of any of his clothes, sprang from the gun-room port into the water to the assistance of the drowning man. After great difliculty, he, with the aid of a life-buoy which was thrown overboard, at length succeeded in reaching Martin, and supported him round the waist until they were both picked up and taken on board. Both were much exhausted, having been in the Avater several minutes. — On the recommendation of the Earl of Kim- berley, the Society's silver medallion was also given to Cliarles A. Smith, nine years of age, for saving his brother, a baby, who had accidentally fallen into the IliA'er Yarra, at Melbourne, Victoria, on the 13tli of December last. It appeal's that the attention of the mother of the child was suddenly excited by cries of alarm from tlie opposite side of the river, raised by a gentleman who saw it flxll into the water, and upon running down the garden to the margin of the stream she discovered that her youngest child, some 18 months old, had fillen into the water, and was drifting rapidly away with the strong current. Her son Charles, who was just learning to swim, had, fortunately, also heard the alarm. Witliout an instant's hesitation, he sprang in to the aid of his brother. Reaching him, he managed to keep himself and his burden afloat until a semi-submerged snag caught them and providentially arrested their progress. Here he held on, and an inward turn of the current having by this time swept them somewhat nearer the bank, the mother was en.. ablod, by wading in herself waist deep, to catch her son by the hand, and draw him and the baby to the bank. •^ PvESTOniNG THE APPARENTLY DROWNED. 345 DIRECTIOKS FOU BESTOPJNG THE APPARENTLY DROWNED. The leading principles of the following Directions for the Restoration of the Apparently Dead from Drowning are founded on those of the late Dr. Marshall Hall, combined with those of Dr. H. R. Silvester, and are the result of extensive inquiries which were made by the Life-Boat Institution in 18G3-G4 amongst Medical Men, Medical Bodies, and Coroners throughout the United Kingdom. These Directions have been extensively circulated by the Institution throusjhout the United Kingdom and in the Colonies. They are also in use in Her Majesty's Fleet, in the Coast Guard Service, and at all the Stations of the British Army at liome and abroad. I. Send immediately for medical assistance, blankets, and dry clothing, but proceed to treat the Patient instantly on the spot, in the open air, with the face downwards, whether on shore or afloat; exposing the face, neck, and chest to the wind, except in severe weather, and removing all tight clothing from the neck and chest, especially the braces. The points to be aimed at are — first and immediately, the Restoration of Breathing; and secondly, after breathing is restored, the Promotion of Warmth and Circulation. The efforts to restore Breathing must be commenced immediately and energetically, and persevered in for one or two hours, or until a medical man has pronounced that life is extinct. Efforts to promote Warmth and Circulation^ beyond removing the wet clothes and drying the skin, must not be made until the first appearance of natural breathing; for if circulation of the blood be induced before breathing iias recommenced, the restora- tion to life will be endangered. II. — To Restore Breathing. To Clear the Throat. — Place tlie patient on the floor or ground with the face downwards, and one of the arms 346 PROGRESSIVE READER. under the forehead, in -wliicli position all fluids ^vill more readily escape by the mouth, and the tongue itself will fall forward, leaving the entrance into the windpipe free. Assist this operation by wiping and cleansing the mouth. If satisfactory breathing commences, use the 'treat- ment described below to promote Warmth. If there be only slight breathing — or no breathing — or if the breathing fail, then — To Eeccite Breathing — Turn the patient well . and instantly on the side, supporting the head, and 1. — Inspiration. Fig. 30. Excite the nostrils with snuff, hartshorn, and smell- ing salts, or tickle the throat with a feather, etc., if they are at hand. Rub the chest and f\\cc warm, and dash cold water, or cold and hot water alternately on them. If there be no success, lose not a moment, but in- stantly — To hnitate Brmthing — Ptcplace the patient on the face, raising and supporting the chest well on a folded coat or other article of dress. Turn the body very gently on the side and a little beyond, and then briskly on the face, and back again, repeating these measures cautiously, efficiently, and RESTOrJNG THE APPARENTLY DROWNED. 347 perseveringly, about iifteeii times in the minute, or once every four or five seconds, occasionally varying tlic side. [By placing the patient on the chest, the weight of the body- forces the air out ; when turned on the side, this pressure ia removed, and air enters the chest] 2. — Expiration, Fig. 31. [The foregoing two Illustrations shew the position of the Body during the employment of Dr. Marshall Hall's Method of Inducing Eespiration.] On each occasion that the body is replaced on the face, make uniform but efficient pressure with brisk movement on the back between and below the shoulder- blades or bones on each side, removing the pressure immediately before turning the body on the side. During the whole of the operations let one person attend solely to the movements of the head and of the arm placed under it. [The first measure increases the expiration— the second com- mences inspiration.] *.^* The Result is l^espiraiion or KatiLfal Breathing;— and, if not too late, Life. Whilst the above operations are being proceeded with, dry the hands and feet, and as soon as dry clothing or blankets can be procured, strip the body, and cover or gradually re-clothe it, but taking care not to interfere with the efibrts to restore breathing. $48 PROGRESSIVE READER. III. Should tlieso efforts not prove successful iu tlie course of from two to five minutes, proceed to imitate breathing Ly Dr. Silvester's method, as follows: — > Place the patient on the back on a flat surface, in- clined a little upwards from the feet; raise and support the head and shoulders on a small firm cushion or folded article of dress placed under the shoulder-blades. Draw forward the patient's tongue, and keep it pro- jecting l)Gyond the lips: an elastic band over the tongue and under the chin will answer this purpose, or a piece of string or tape may be tied round them, or by raising 1. — Inspiration. Fiff. 32. the lower jaw, the teeth may be made to retain the tongue in that position. To Imitate the Movements of Breatldng. — Standing at the patient's head, grasp the arms just above the elbows, and draw the arms gently and steadily upwards above the head, and keep tltem stretched upwards for two seconds. {By this means air is drawn into the lun(js). Then turn down the patient's arms, and press them gently and firmly for two seconds against the sides of the chest. {By this means air is j^ressed out of the lungs.) RESTORING THE ArPARENTLY DROWNED. 349 Repeat these measures alternately, deliberately, and perseveringly, about fifteen times in a minute, until a 2, — Exp iration. Fig. 33. [The foregomg two illustrations shew the position of the bod}; during the employment of Dr. Silvester's Method of inducing Respiration. ] spontaneous effort to perspire is perceived, immediately upon wliicli cease to imitate th«3 movements of breathing, and proceed to induce Circulation and Warmth. IV. — Treatment after Natural Breathing has been Eestored. To Promote Warmth and Circulation. — Commence rubbing the limbs upwards, with firm grasping pressure and energy, using handkerchiefs, flannels, kc. By this 'measu7-e the blood is propelled along the veins towards theheart. The friction must be continued under the blanket or over the dry clothing. Promote the warmth of the body by the application of hot flannels, bottles, or bladders of hot water, heated bricks, &c., to the pit of the stomach, the arm-pits, between the thighs, and to the soles of the feet. If the patient has been carried to a house after respira- tion has been restored, be careful to let the air play freely about the room. Oil the restoration of life, a teaspoonful of warm 350 ' rr.oGRESSiVE reader. water slioiild bo given; and then, if tlio power of swallowing lias returned, small quantities of wine, warm brandy and water, or coffee should be admin- istered. The patient should bo kept in bed, and a disposition to sleep encouraged. General Observations. " The above treatment should be persevered in for some hours, as it is an erroneous opinion that persons are irrecoverable because life does not soon make its appearance, persons having been restored after perse- vering for many hours. Appearances which Generally Accompany Death. Breathing and the heart's action cease entirely; the eyelids are generally half closed; the pupils dilated; the tongue approaches to the under edges of the lips, and these, as well as the nostrils, are covered with a frothy mucus.. Coldness and pallor of the surface increase. Cautions. Prevent unnecessary crowding of persons round the body, especially if in an apartment. Avoid rough usage, and do not allow the body to remain on the back unless the tongue is secured. Under no circumstances hold the body uj) by the feet. On no account place the body in a warm bath unless under medical direction, and even then it should only be employed as a momentary excitant, SUGGESTIONS IN CASES OF FIRE. Directions to Inmates. The inmates of a house in time of safety should make themselves acquainted with the best means of escape, whether the fire breaks out at the top or bottom. Oii tlie first alarm of fire they should reflect calmly what SUGGESTIONS IN CASES OF FIRE. 351 means tliere are of extinguisliing it, and the best means of escai^e. If in bed at the time they should not wait to dress, but wrap themselves in a blanket or bed- side carpet, open no windows or doors unnecessarily, and shut every door after them. There is always comparatively a clear space of about twelve inches between the floor and the smoke; conse- quently, a room full of smoke can be entered on the hands and knees, and, by applying a wet silk handker- chief, a wet worsted stocking, a wet sponge, or any wet flannel substance folded over the nose and mouth, free breathing may be obtained even in the midst of smoke. In the event of being unable to escape by cither the roof or street door, all persons in danger should at once make their way to a front room window, taking care to close the door after them. The liead of the establishment should then ascertain that every individual is there assembled. Should no means of escape be procured from without, a rope, or blankets and sheets joined together, with one end fastened to the bars of the grate or a heavy piece of furniture, will enable one person to lower all the others separately, and at last let himself down with very little risk. Should no rope or other means for lowering the house- hold be at hand, all 2^e^'sojis are strongly entreated not to throw themselves out of the loindow, but to wait till the fire is close upon them, as assistance may come at any moment. A fire may often be kept well under, and frequently completely extinguished, by means of a hand-pump, provided doors and loindows are hept closed to prevent a draught. It is strongly recommended that all public institutions and large private houses should have one or more of these useful little engines always kept in some convenient place, which should be accessible from as many directions as possible. 352 rnoGRESSiVE reader. Directions to Bystanders. Immediately on a five being discovered, see that notice is given at once to tlio Police and the Fire Brigade Station. Ladders and ropes should be sought for. Assistance can also often be rendered by an entrance being made from the roof of an adjoining house to the upper part of the house on fire, either by the attic windows or by removing the slates. When no other means present themselves, the by- standers had better collect beddincj at hand in case the inmates throw themselves from the windows. A blanket, a carpet, or even a policeman's greatcoat held out by several persons breast high, will serve the purpose of a jumping-sheet. Bystanders should never give vent to the fire by breaking into the house unnecessarily from without; but in the event of anyone entering the house, a strong point should be made of shutting every door after him as he goes through the house. Accidents to the Person. Upon discovering yourself to be on fire, reflect that your greatest danger arises from draught to the flames, and from their rising upwards ; throw yourself on the ground, and roll on the flames, drag the hearth-rug round you, or anything that is nearest and will serve your purj^ose. Screaui for assistance — ring the bell — but do not run out of the room, or remain in an upright position. THE BEAR AND THE HONEY-GUIDE. 35 THE BEAR AND THE HONEY-GUIDE. There is a bird of wondrous skill, Half-roas'ning instinct, if you will, Whose home is in a distant spot — The country ^ye call Hottentot; Her taste is nice; for she can tell Where the sweet honey-makers dwell, And, greedy pilferer ! feasts and thrives Upon the produce of the hives ; In what a bold and cunning way, Shall form the opening of my lay. Strange it may seem, and yet 'tis true. That bears are fond of honey too; 3But stranii^er that a bird should lead The way, and shew them where to feed. vShe, watchful thing, (the treasure found) Hov'ring above, below, around, Invites the bear with plaintive cries, To follow her and seize the prize. Lured by the magic of her song. The shacrav monster strides alouir. Paws out the honey, licks the nest, And leaves his guide to eat the rest. E'en such an ill-match'd pair I choose. To point the moral of my muse. " Come !" said a honey-guide, " and see The banquet I design for thee : The nest is large, its sweets untold Elowing in streams of liquid gold: The bees are gone Avhere wild flowers shine. And wish their luscious product thine ; Then, gentle Bruin, do not stay, Come, dear companion, come away 1" When she deceived and fooled him so, AVhat wonder that the bear should go ! They Avent; he keeping her in sight. She with a cautious clamorous flight, Till in broad sunshine they arrive, Like felons, at the quiet hive. S. VI. c. z K O 354 rr.OGRESSIYE r.EADEPv, Young Bruin in liis headlong Iiaste, Impatient to attack and taste, Fells the slis-ht fabric at a blow : But while he sipp'd the sweets that flow From cells within, an armed throng Pour'd in a countless crowd along, And fixing on the culprit, stung lis broad, dark nose, his eyes, his tongue. Sliarp anguish mounting to his brain, He roar'd and even danced for pain, Tlien prowl' d. in blindness o'er the j)lain. And thou, unkind one on the spray. False bird, hast nothing now to say 1 Bringing another into woe. What? not one word of comfort ? No ! Eyeing her victim with a sneer, And waiting till the course was clear, She pounced upon the relics there. And fill'd her crop with ill-got fare. Poor Bruin lives ; but should he hear A honey-guide's shrill music near. By memory wounded, it is said, tie licks his paws and hangs his head. How often lurks a treacli'rous sting Under a specious covering ! False gain, false pleasure, weave a charm For their base triumph, and thy harm. Be trutli and virtue, then, thy choice And list not to the siren's voice, AVho, in the guise of seeming joy, Would luro thee, chain thee, and destroy ! A GHEEK -WEDDING. To-day wo went to the wedding of a Greek lady, daughter of tlie first pliysician. As the ceremony Avas curious, I shall attempt to describe it to you. Cloves A GREEK -SYEDDIXG. 355 and niilmcg?;, 'v\-rapped up in a small parcel, were left at the house of the consul, Avliere we lived, and this is the mode of invitation at Patras. The poorer classes leave only cloves, nutmegs being dear. When ^vo arrived at the door of the court-yard, we found the physician's servant in waiting, in a rich robe of scarlet; his pistols of embossed silver, stuck in his silk girdle, were opposed to a vest of blue velvet, trimmed with gold lace ; his turban, short petticoat, and trousers Avere of the purest Avhite, and his gaiters w-ere of scarlet velvet, embroidered with gold; his dress, indeed, might have suited a prince. Every farthing which these servants receive as wages is laid out in clothes, and they contrive to preserve them well. The court before the house was miserable and dirty, and the house itself had a very mean appearance. We ascended bv a broad ladder, and found the mother of the bride, with some other ladies, standing in the entry; but they did not seem to take any part in the ceremony of receiving the visitors. On entering the room where the ceremony was performed, we found the father of the lady, 350 PROGRESSIVE READER. .1 fine-look Ing old man, dressed in rich roLcs, (with a cylinder cap of fur, like a hwgQ muff,) seated on his divan, or sofa, which was about nine feet broad, and went all round the room, provided Avith cushions at the back. To this we were conducted, and found ourselves raised about eighteen inches from the floor. We squatted down like the Greeks, with our legs under us, when a handsome and elegant attendant in robes of blue and 2)urple stepped forward and presented each of us with a long pipe, wliicli we smoked, talking and singing to each other, as well as Ave could, in testimony of our pleasure. The room was Avretchedly furnished; — a few coarse Avooden chairs, all different in fashion and size, a Avooden clock, a press, three or four barbarous pictures of tho Virgin and Child, and the Apostles, the drapery and crowns of glory done in liaised tin, and the faces Avith paint. ►Shortly after our arriA'al, seven or eight priests Avitli long beards entered, dressed in black ; a small rickety table being then brought to the middle of the room, the robes of the priest, Avrapped up in bundles, Avere laid on it and opened by them. The dresses Avero different, but all highly ornamented Avith floAvers of embroidery. When their ordinary dress Avas con- cealed by their canonicals, these ecclesiastics looked pretty Avell. A largo book Avas put upon the table, Avitli some Avine in a tumbler, and a roll of bread. Then entered the bridegroom, a man about lifty, in a pelisse of pale blue, and Avith loose Dutch looking breeches; his turban as Avhite as snow, and Avhiskeni of tremendous size. Next appeared the lady ; about thirty years of ago, short, and rather pretty. Her hair, which Avas hardly to be discoA^ered through the profusion of golden and gilded ornaments, hung down behind (mixed Avith threads of gold), as low as her waist. Across her forehead Avas a band, on Avhich Avei-e lixed various gold coins. She Avore a dark purple ]ielisse, edged Avith fur, under Avhich Avas a short A^est of Avhite silk, richly emJjroidered; a belt of silk, Avith richly embossed clasi)s like small saucers, encircled tho lower part of her Avaist. A GREEK WEDDING. 357 Slie looked very sliy and modest. Every eye was fixed upon lier. Behind her stood her mother, holding her np; the good old lady's hair was dyed red, (the favourite colour of hair in Greece). The ceremony, as near as I can recollect, was as follows : — One of the priests took up some frankincense which was lighted in a censer; he then wafted the smoke among his brethren. Two wax candles, lighted, were given to the bride and bridegroom by another priest, which they kissed; they also kissed his hand; the candles were then put down, and the same priest read prayers. The rings were then produced and placed upon the book, with Avhich the priest advanced, and asked the respective parties if they desired to be married. Upon receiving their answer in the affirmative, he touched their heads three times with their rings, w^hich were delivered to fhe person who gave away the bride. This person (the Austrian consul) put them on the finger of each, chanoring them three times alternately from the bride and bridegroom. Then the description of the marriage at Cana in Galilee was read in a chanting tone. Both seemed much affected, and I thought the poor bride would faint. Matrimonial crowns were placed upon their heads, and a more whimsical and ridiculous sight I never saw. These crowns were of a conical form, composed of the merest tinsel, gold leaf and spun glass; they were changed from one head to the other three times. The rings were taken off by the priest and again replaced. While six of the priests were singing the service, the seventh took up the roll of bread and cut out two small pieces, which he put into the wine. The sacrament was then administered, and prayers and chanting re- commenced. While this was goinor on the bride and bridegroom were led three times round the table, in the slowest possible manner, looking like condemned criminals, and fully as melancholy as if they had been going to execution. At that time smoke from the frankincense was wafted in great profusion among the spectators. YTlien the ceremony was finished, the father 358 PROGRESSIVE RE.U)ER. kissed liis son and daughter, as likewise did most of tlieir friends. Still the chanting continued, vrhile the priests were unrobing and packing up their canonicals in bundles, like so many pedlars folding up their wares. The bride and bridegroom marched otf with their precious crowns upon their heads. They are to live at the lady's father's for eight days, at the expiration of which the lady goes to lier husband's house in full procession, with her presents and clothes carried before her on horseback and exhibited to the people. — Williams. TIME'S TAKINGS AKD LEAYII^GS. What does Age take aw^ay? Bloom from the cheek, and lustre from the eye; The spirits light and gay, Unclouded as the summer's bluest sky. What do years steal away? Tlie fond heart's ido], Love, that gladden'd life : Friendships, Avhoso calmer sway We trusted to in hours of darker strife. What must with Time decay? Young Hope's Avild dreams, and Fancy's visions bright. Life's evening sky grows gray, And darker clouds prelude Death's coming night. But not for such we mourn ! Wo knew them frail, and brief their date assigned. Our spirits are forlorn Less from Time's thefts, than what he leaves behind. What do years leave behind ] Unruly passions, impotent desires, Distrusts, and thoughts unkind, Love of tho world, and self — which last expires. THE CLOTHES-MOTH. 359 For these, for these we grieve ! Wliat Time has robb'd us of, we knew must go : But what he deigns to leave, Not only finds us poor, but keeps us so. It ought not thus to be : Nor Avould it, knew we meek Keligion's sway. Her votary's eye could see How little Time can give or take away. Faith, in the heart enshrined, Would make Time's gifts enjoyed and used, while lent: And all it left behind. Of Love and Grace, a noble monument THE CLOTHES-MOTH. Few sounds are more terrible to the house- wife's cars than the n^vme of the clothes-moth ; and yet, if any of our readers will take the trouble to peruse the following details, they Avill perhaps feel a new interest .in the object of their aversion, and gain a hint or two as to the best methods of dealing with it. But, after all, it is not the clothes-'iiiotJi that does the mischief; she merely lays the eggs, which in due time are hatched into maggots or caterpillars, seldom so much as half an inch in length, but furnished with a pair of admirable sets of teeth, with Avhich they shear the nap from woollen and hairy fabrics, not certainly from mere love of mischief, but from the very same motive which prompts most of us to active exertion, namely, for the sake of food and clothing; for our clothes-maggot feeds upon woollen fibres, makes a jaunty cloak of the same to cover his body, and lines it daintily with silk, lest it should press too roughly against his delicate white skin. But still you will say, it is the clothes -777.0^//, after all, that is the pm^enf of all the mischief. Well ! be it so. From the middle of spring until near midsummer^ 3G0 PROGRESSIVE READER. these moths in ay bo seen flying about after sunset, in search of proper phices for depositing their eggs. In order to ascertain the history of this insect, Keaumiir inclosed a number of the moths in small bottles contain- ing morsels of woollen cloth and stuff. The eggs laid were so small as scarcely to be visible ; they Avere hatched in about three weeks, and the tiny grubs immediately began in the naturalist's bottles that work of havoc which is usually carried on in our drawers. They first begin to provide themselves with cloaks, and, in doing this, they exhibit from their very birth that wonderful skill which is well calculated to engage our atttmtion. The cloak or sheath, which it forms soon after birth, is a sort of tissue of wool, the colour of which, of course, depends upon that of the stuff attacked. Sometimes it assumes a very harlequin appearance from being composed of bands of different colours, as the taste of the insect has led it to attack cloth d3^ed blue, green, red, gray, &c. The insect moves upon six scaly legs, situated near the head, which are protruded for the purposes of locomotion, the sheath being dragged along after the animal, and held in its place by the membranous legs situated nearer the other extremity. As caterpillars increase very rapidly in size, the clothes-ojrub soon outofrows its cloak. What does it do then? Does it take measure for a new one, or does it enlarge the old one? Part of its daily occupation is to lengthen it, which the ingenious insect does in the following manner. Putting its head out at one end, it seeks about for woollen filaments of the proper size; if those close at hand do not suit its purpose, it extends its body often as much as half out of the sheath in search of better ones. Having found one to his mind, the insect seizes it with the mandibles, and by repeated efforts tears it out of the fabric, and attaches it to the end of the sheath ; this is repeated many times. The operation is one of cutting as well as tearing, and for this the mandibles are well adapted, consisting as they do of scaly plates, similar to scissors, and terminating in a point. THE cLOTnES-:.roTn. 361 But it is necessary to increase the length of the sheath at both ends. How is this to be done? While M. Keaumur was watching an insect which had been work- ing at one end of the sheath, what was his surprise to see a head emerge from the other end ! " Can the insect have two heads?" thought lie, " or is the extremity of its tail formed like a head ?" On continuing to watch, there was no doubt that it was a head, and it soon appeared that the insect has the power of turning in its sheath, so as to put out its head at either end ; and this it does Avith so much rapidity that there scarcely seems time for a manoeuvre of such apparent difficulty. In order to see how the insect turns in its case, M. Reaumur cut a piece off the end of its sheath, so as to leave only about a third of the body covered. The insect immediately set to work to repair the damage, and did as much work in twenty-four hours as it would otherwise have done in a month. In turning, the insect bent itself double, the folded part projecting for a moment out of the sheath, and occupying what would be in the whole sheath the middle or widest part. But, as the caterpillar increases in diameter as well as in length, its sheath soon becomes too narrow for its body. The silk-worm and other caterpillars change their skin when it becomes too tight for them; does the clothes-moth caterpillar change its sheath in a similar way 1 or does its increasing size distend the sheath so as to accommodate it to its body ? The insect adopts a far more ingenious and efficient plan ; it does exactly what a skilful tailor would do under the circumstances ; it slits open the sheath, and lets in a new piece of the required size ; but, in order that its body may not bo exposed while it is at work, it actually lets in four separate pieces, two on each side, so that it is never necessary for the grub to cut open more than a single slit, extending half way along one side of the sheath. In cutting open the sheath, the grub begins in the middle, and extends the slit to the extremity, using its teeth for the purpose, which make as clean a cut as the best scissors would do. AVhen one slit is thus filled in, 362 PROGRESSIVE READER. nnother is made and filled in in like manner ; tlien turn- ing in its sheath, the grub proceeds to enlarge the other half of the case. About two hours are occupied in making one cut, and the wool is filled in in the course of the next day. It was stated above that the insect lines its sheath with silk. In common with most caterpillars, the Silk Worm, Moths, &c. clotlies-motli caterpillar secretes a quantity of silk, which it spins into delicate threads, strong enough, how- ever, to suspend it in the air. With this silky thread tlie insect ties tosjether the different filaments of wool which compose the sheath, forming, as it were, a kind of tissue, of Avhich the warp is of avooI and the weft of silk. This tissue is very firm in texture, for the silk of caterpillars when drawn out is covered with an adhe- sive gum, which dries in the air, and serves to bind the substances, to which it is attached, still more closely to- gether. While weaving the filaments of wool, the insect carries the silken thread to the interior, where it completes the lining. The spinning-tube below its mouth is the shuttle, and the grub may be seen moving its head from one side to the other with great rapidity. When tlie grubs have attained their full growth, and the time of their metamorphosis is at hand, they some- times abandon the stufis which have hitherto fumidhcd THE CLOTHES-MOTH. 3G3 them with food and clothing, and seek out places capable of affording more fixed supports, such as the corners of drawers, walls, &c. They then hang up their sheath, with silken threads, by one or both ends, at various angles between a horizontal and a vertical position, and close with silk both ends of the sheath. They soon change into the chrysalis, which is at first of a yellowish tint, but passes into reddish. In two or three weeks the perfect moth is formed ; she pierces the end of the sheath, and, after a fow struggles, escapes into the air, and pre- pares to lay her eggs, from which a new generation of grubs will in due time be hatched. Part II. The fur-moth does not greatly differ from the wool- moth. The grub constructs its sheath in a similar manner, the only difference being in the nature of the material. It is not easy to see these grubs at work, be- cause they attach themselves to the surface of the skin, and are entirely concealed by the hairs. The insect seems to take a pleasure in cutting off these hairs, for those necessary for its wants are as nothing compared with the immense quantity which falls from a skin on slightly shaking it. A razor could not shave off the hairs so completely or so well. It is usual every year with good house-wives to turn out and dust their wardrobes and drawers, and to shake and brvish their contents. This is an excellent preser- vative, if done about the time when the vouno- grubs are hatched, which is during August and September. At this time they can be shaken off the cloth with a very little force; but at other times, w*hen they anchor their sheaths to the cloth with silken cables, it is not so easy to get rid of them. It is an old custom with some house-wives to throw into their drawers every year a number of fir cones, under the idea that their strong resinous smell might keep away the moth. Now, as the odour of these cones is due to turpentine, it occurred to Eeaumur to try the effect of this volatile liquid. lie rubbed one side of a piece of 3G-i PROGRESSIVE READER. cloth witli turpentine, and put some grubs on the other: the next morning they were all dead, and, strange to say, had voluntarily abandoned their sheatlis. On smear- ing some paper slightly with the oil, and putting this into a bottle with some grubs, the Aveakest were imme- diately killed; the most vigorous struggled violently for two or three hours, quitted their sheaths, and died in convulsions. It was soon abundantly evident that the vapour of oil or spirits of turpentine acts as a terrible poison to the grubs. Perhaps it may be said that even this remedy is worse than the disease. It is, however, surprising liow small a quantity of turpentine is required : a small piece of paper or linen just moistened therewith, and put into the wardrobe or drawers for a single day, two or three times a year, is a sufficient preservative against moth. A small quantity of turpentine dissolved in a little spirits of wine (the vapour of which is also fatal to the moth) will entirely remove the offensive odour, and yet be a sufficient preservative. The fumes of burning paper, wool, linen, feathers, and of leather, are also effectual; for the insects perish in any thick smoke; but the most effectual smoke is that of tobacco. A coat smelling but slightly of tobacco is sufficient to preserve a whole drawer. The vapour of turpentine, and the smoke of tobacco, are also effectual in driving away flies, spiders, ants, earwigs, bugs, and fleas. The latter torments are so abundant on the continent, as frequently to deprive the weary traveller of his night's rest. If he would provide liimself with a phial containing turpentine and spirits of wine in equal parts, and would sininkle a few drops over the sheets and coverlet before retiring to rest, he will probably have reason to be grateful for the hint. Foreigners are in the habit of smoking in their bed- rooms — a habit which excites surprise and disgust in England ; it will now be seen, however, that there is a reason for the practice. In concluding this long article we may sum up the whole with a short word of advice, in the form of a household recipe: — THE CATERPILLAR. 3G:j TO KEEP AWAY THE MOTH. Before folding up and putting away your winter blankets, furs, and other articles, sprinkle them, or smear them over with a few drops of oil of turpentine, either alone or mixed with an equal Lulk of sj^irits of wine. No stain will be left, and if spirits of wine bo used the odour is not disagreeable. — /Sharjje's London JIagaziiie. THE CATERPILLAR, THE CHRYSALIS, AKD THE BUTTERFLY. —A Fable. A Caterpillar, busy, gay, AYas travelling 'midst the noontide ray; His form like those Ave oft have seen, Two jaws, twelve eyes, and legs sixteen; Such as in the gardens you may find XJpon a cabbage leaf reclined : But what is this that he has spied. That makes him stand and turn aside? It was a shrivelled, shrouded fornij 3G6 PPcOGflESSIVE IIE.VDEE. Tliougli but of Late a living worm, A Caterpillar it had been, Once clad like him in silky green ; But now how changed by nature's laws Where are the eyes, the legs, the jaws'? JSTo signs of being could he trace In this cold mass } its outer case, Jjike cere-cloth round a mummy spread, 'Twas i^assive, motionless, and dead. " Well," said the Caterpillar, " this Is what folk call a Chrysalis^ 'Tis lifeless as its parent clay. And really, Avhen I hear them say. That such can breathe, and fly, The proposition I deny. Believe it? Why I might as Avell Believe in aught impossible !" He spoke — and lo ! the shrouded thing Loosed from its earthy covering, T'rom shape uncouth, and dusky hue. Bike some fair vision, sprang in view. A glossy wing, in burnish'd pride Unfolding, rose from either side, Its tap'ring form in beauty dress'J, Bike gold-dust o'er a yellow vest ; Whilst hands unseen had giv'n the jiower To gather sweets and suck the flower. It was a Butterfly, as bright As ever sparkled in the light, She, casting from her large dark eyes, A look of sorroAV and surprise, In language of correction firm, Address'd the foolish flippant worm: — *' Peace, triflcr ! can thy words confine The Power that formed that frame of thine ? That Power as easily can give A frame renew'd, and bid it live 1 Book round creation, and slirvey Bife springing forth from life's decay : VEGETABLE PrcODUCTIONS OF VAPJOUS CLDIATES. SG7 VEGETABLE PEODUCTIONS OF VAPJOUS CLIMATES. How yarions are tlie climates of tlie eartli, and yet how tmiform is each climate in its temperature, notwith- standing the fact, that we traverse annually a circle in space whose diameter extends over one liundred and ninety millions of miles! In each particular climate we behold varieties of animals and plants, many of which would not prosper elsewhere. Though appar- ently rains, and Avinds, and frosts are very irregular, yet we find a remarkable constancy in the average of the weather and seasons of each place. Yery hot summers, or very cold winters, have littlo effect in raising or depressing the mean annual temper- ature of any climate above or below its general standard. We must be convinced, from observation, that the structure of plants, and the nature of many animals, are specially adapted to the climate in which they are located. A vegetable, for example, which flourishes when the mean terDi^^erature is 55°, would perish wdiero the average is only 50°. If our mean temperature were raised or lowered by 5°, our vegetable world would be destroyed, until a new species, suited to the altered climate, should h'd substituted for that which Ave possess at present. An inhabitant of the equatorial regions, whose mean temperature is 80°, would hardly believe that vegetable life could exist in such a climate as ours. We have the same opinion of the Arctic Kegions. But both are equally mistaken. At the equator we find the natives of the Spice Islands, — the clove, the nutmeg trees, pepper and mace. Cinnamon bushes clothe the surface of Ceylon; the odoriferous sandal-wood, the ebony tree, the teak tree, and the banyan grow in the East Indies. In the same latitudes, in Arabia Felix, Ave find balm, frankincense and myrrh, the coiFee tree, and the tamarind. But in those countries, (at least in the pkiins,) the trees and shrubs which decorate our more northernly climes are wanting. 3G8 PROGRESSIVE READER. And, as we go northwards, at every step we change tho vegetable group, both in addition and by subtraction. In tho thickets to the west of the Caspian Sea, we liave the apricot, citron, peach, walnut. In the same latitude, (in Spain, Sicily and Italy,) we find the dwarf plum, tho cypress, the chestnut, the cork tree; the orange Clove. nd lemon tree perfume the air with their blossoms; tlie myrtle and pomegranate grow wild among the rocks. \V"e cross the Alps, and we find tho vegetation Avhich belongs to Northern Europe, of Avhicli England is an instance. The oak, the beech, and the elm are natives of Great Britain ; the elm tree seen in Scotland and the north of England is the wych- elm. As we travel still farther to the north, the forests again change their character. In the northern provinces of the Kussian Empire are found forests of tho various species of firs, the Scotch and spruce fir, and the larch. In the Orkney Islands no tree is found but the hazel, which occurs asfain on the shores of the Baltic. As we proceed into colder regions we still find species which appear to have been made for these situations. The hoary or cold elder makes its appearance nortli of Stockholm ; tlie sycamore and mountain-ash accompany Vegetable productions of vaiuoc^s cldiates 3G9 lis to the head of the Gulf of Bothnia; and as we leave this, and traverse tlie range of the Dover Field, we pass in succession the boundary lines of the spruce-fir, and those minute shrubs which botanists distinguish as the dwarf birch, and the dwarf-willow. Here, near to, or within the Arctic circle, we may yet find wild flowers of great beauty, — the mezereon, the yellow and white water-lily, and the European globe-flower. And, when these fail us, the reindeer-moss still makes the country habitable for animals and man. So also there are boundaries to the growth of corn, the vine, and the olive. Wheat extends ovc-r certain tracts from England to Thibet; it does not flourish in the Polar Regions, nor within the Tropics, except in situations considerably raised above the level of the sea. The temperature required for the cultivation of the Maize and Pace. vine must not be under 50°, nor much above G3°, though in the warm climates elevation of situations will correct the excess of heat. s. Yi. c. '2 A Q 70 PROGRESSIVE READER. Maize and olives have their favourite regions in Prance, Italy, and Spain. We first meet with rice west of Milan, it extends over the northern provinces of Persia, and over all the southern districts of Asia, where there are facilities for irrigation. Millet is one of the principal grains of Africa. Cotton is cultivated in the New World no higher than forty degrees latitude; in the Old World it extends to latitude forty-four degrees, being found in Astrachan. Excep- tions, indeed, occur with respect to the sugar-cane, the indigo-tree, the plantain, and the mulberry, (all natives of India and China); for these productions have found a jrenial climate in the West Indies and South America. CD The genuine tea-tree seems indisposed to flourish out of China, though the South American Indians have some- thing like it. The Cassava yams, the bread-fruit tree, the sago-palm, and the cabbage-tree, arc all apparently special provisions for the islands in which they aro peculiarly found to flourish. It is impossible, we think, to reflect upon all this variety of natural wealth, and upon the adaptation of each species to the climate in which it is found, without perceiving that the distribution of those productions — no one climate yielding a perfect substitute, generally speaking, for that of another — was originally designed to prompt, and to continue through- out human existence, that commercial and friendly inter- course, which has been long since established between the inhabitants of countries the most remote from each other. — Q uarterl-i/ licv iew. A PIC-NIC. " Turn where wo may," said I, " wo cannot err In this delicious region," — cultured slopes. Wild tracks of forest-ground, and scattered groves, And mountains bare, or clothed with ancient woods Surrounded us; and as we held our way Along the level of the glassy flood; / A tlC-NIC. 371 They cCcasod not to gnrroimd us, — change of place, From kindred features diversely combined, Producing change of beauty ever new, — Ah ! that such beauty, varying in the light Of living nature, cannot be portrayed By words, nor by the pencil's silent skill; But is the property of him alone Who hath beheld it, noted it Avith care, And in his mind recorded it with love ! Suffice it, therefore, if the rural Muse Vouchsafe sweet influence, while her Poet speaks Of trivial occupations well devised, And unsought pleasures springing up by chance; As if some friendly Genius had ordained That as the day thus far had been enriched By acquisition of sincere delight — The same should be continued to its close. One spirit animating old and young, A Gipsy-fire we kindled on the shore Of the fair Isle, with birch-trees fringed — and there, Merrily seated in a ring, partook A choice repast — served by our young companions \Yith rival earnestness and kindred glee. Launched from ourliand the sm ooth stone skimm'd the lake; With shouts we raised the echoes; — stiller sounds The lovely Girl supplied — a simple song, Whose low tones reach'd not to the distant rocks, To be repeated thence, but gently sank Into our hearts ; and charmed the peaceful flood. Hapaciously we gather'd flowery spoils Prom land and water; lilies of each hue — Golden and white, that float upon the waves. And court the wind ; and leaves of that shy plant (Her flowers were shed), the lily of the vale. That loves the ground, and from the sun withholds Her pensive beauty ; from the breeze her sweets. Such product, and such pastime, did the place And season yield; but as we re-embark'd, zn PROGRESSIVE READER. Leaving, in quest of otlier scenes, the shore Of that wild spot, the Solitary said, In a low voice, yet careless who might hear, " The fire, that burned so brightly to our wish, AVliere is it now? — Deserted on the beach — Dvinsr, or dead ! Nor shall the fanninsf breeze Kevivo its ashes. What care we for this, "Whose ends are gained 1 Behold an emblem here Of one day's pleasure, and all mortal joys ! And, in this unpremeditated slight Of that which is no longer needed, sec The common course of human gratitude i" — Wordsworth. THE CUCKOO. Hail! beauteous stranger of the grove, Thou messenger of s])ring ! Now heaven repairs thy rural seat, And woods thy welcome sing. THE ART OF JAPANNING. 373 What time the daisy decks the green, Thy certain voice we hear, Hast thou a star to guide thy path, Or mark the rolling year? Delightful visitant, with thee I hail the time of flowers. And hear the sounds of music sweet, From birds among the bowers. The school-boy, wandering through the wood To pull the primrose gay. Starts the new voice of spring to hear, And imitates thy lay. Soon as the pea puts on its bloom. Thou fliest thy vocal vale. An annual guest in other lands, Another spring to hail. Sweet bird, thy bower is ever green. Thy sky is ever clear; Thou hast no sorrow in thy song, No winter in thy year ! O could I fly, I 'd fly with thee. We'd make, with social wing. Our annual visit o'er the globe, Companions of the spring. — Michael Bruce. THE ART OF JAPANNING. There is no country in the world better deserving of notice than Japan ; and there is no people (not even the Chinese) more remarkable for their strict seclusion than the Japanese. This nation, we know not how many centuries ago, attained a wonderful degree of refinement in the arts and discipline of life. The complete state of seclusion in which it has kept itself from other nations 374 PROGRESSIVE READER. has been favoured by nature, — for the three ishinds •which form the empire of Japan present difficult rocky- boundaries to a stormy sea. This country is rich in mineral and botanical productions, and may be said to support itself without any commercial aid from other nations. The Japanese are said to excel in agricultural pursuits, l)ut they do not equal the Chinese in the manufacture of silk, cotton, and porcelain. They are well acquainted with the art of working in metal, the fabrication of arms, and the making of glass : and there is one art in whicli they excel all the rest of the Avorld — that of covering thin vessels with a rich, dark, varnish, and raising above it artificial flowers and ornaments. This art is called by the Europeans Japanning, from the name of this country, whence the art was first introduced into Europe. This art is also practised extensively by the inhabitants of China, Siam, and other eastern parts of Asia; and we now proceed to give an account of its processes, as adopted in Europe, and, as far as is known, in Japan, kc. Japanning, as we have said, consists in covering articles of wood, metal, paper, (fee, with various pigments and varnishes, in a peculiar manner, so as to preserve and ornament them. The colour thus given is sometimes uniform; sometimes variegated, so as to represent marble, tortoise-shell, or scarce woods; and sometimes a black ground is relieved by coloured figures, so as to produce a kind of painting, and these figures are often gilded or silvered. But the principal characteristics which distinguish japanned work are its great hardness, and very high polish. The method of japanning, as practised by the above- mentioned eastern nations, difi'ers greatly from that of Europe. The principal cause of this difi'erence is that the former possess a tree, producing a kind of varnish, which is the chief substance used by them in japanning. It is collected (like Indian rubber and many other similar substances), simply by making an, incision in the lower part of the trunk, and tlie varnisli fiows out. It has at first the colour and consistence of O'-'t' THE ART OF JAPANNING. 375 cream, but to render it fit for use it is poured into a large shallow vessel, and stirred for several hours, that every part may be equally exposed to the air. This causes it to turn perfectly black; a quantity of finely powdered charcoal is then added, and it is fit for use. The article to be japanned first receives one or two thin and even coats of this substance, which, after being dried in the sun, soon becomes excessively hard. It is then polished with water and a smooth kind of stone, until it is as smooth and bright as glass. As far as this the process is the same, whatever colour or pattern is required. Another kind of varnish is now used, composed of turpentine and a peculiar oil prepared by the Japanese. If the article is to be of a uniform black colour, this varnish is simply laid on without any admixture, and being transparent, it allows the first varnish, which is of a black colour, to bo seen through it. The process is tlien complete. But, if any other colour, except black, be required, the pigment (which must be an opaque one), is mixed with this second varnish, and laid on with great care, to preserve it even and smooth. But one of the most common kinds of japanned work is that in which gold or silver figures are produced on black ground. This is done before the final varnish is laid on. After the black ground has been polished, tlie figures are drawn on it with the same varnish as that afterwards used. Before this is quite dry, the gold or silver leaf is laid on, and adheres to the damp figures, but not to the dry surface surrounding them. The superfluous gold or silver leaf which does not adhere is then removed, and the whole receives the finishing- coat as before. European japanning was formerly performed in tho same manner, the peculiar substance used being im- ported from Japan for the purpose. But an artificial method of imitating the oriental japanned work was discovered, and superseded the eastern method, which, although fixr superior to ours in hardness and durability, is very injurious to tlic vforkcrs in it, owing to the poisonous nature of tlie juico cf the tree above-men- 376 PROGRESSIVE READER. tioned. The European method consists, first, in laying on a kind of coloured varnish, called a japan ground, which has the property of turning exceedingly hard. It is then painted, gilt, or silvered, if required, and .lastly receives several coats of a hard transparent varnish, which is capable of receiving a high polish, and is always laid on everything else, Avhether the ground be plain or figured. All these processes we will describe briefly. Before the japan ground is spread on, a priming is sometimes necessary, if the article be rough, to fill up all the inequalities of surface and render it smooth and even. This is of course always necessary for the coarser kinds of Avood, and was formerly used for all substances. But it is now never used, except when the surface is so uneven as to render it absolutely necessary; since it has been found that the work is much more durable when no priming is used, because the japan then adheres more strongly to the surface beneath, and therefore is less liable to crack and peel off. Articles of metal, pajner onaclw, and the finer sorts of wood, are therefore never primed. The priming for common japan work consists of whiting, mixed with very strong size, to such a con- sistency that it may form an opaque coat on whatever it is laid. For work of a superior kind, parchment size is used instead of common size; and this is greatly im- proved by the addition of one-fourth of isinglass, which renders it less liable to crack and peel off*. When this priming is used, the article is first covered with a coat of rather weak size, such as the common size diluted with two-thirds of water, and used hot. When this is dry, the priming is spread with a paint-brush as evenly as possible. The number of coats used is never less than two, and between each the article is allowed a day or two to get perfectly dry. Of course the rougher the surface is the more coats of priming it will require. The method of discovering whether the priming will be tliick enough, is by rubbing it with a wet rag or sponge, when, if it does not receive a polish, more priming is THE ART OF JAPANNING. 377 required to make the surface more even. When the priming is found sufficiently thick, the work is ground smooth with Dutch rushes or fine glass paper. It then receives another coat of priming, whicli, when dry, is polished with a moistened rag or sponge, and it is then fit to receive the japan ground. Leather, metals, ^xt^;ie?' inache, and fine hard wood, require no priming; but before being japanned they are cleaned, well dried, placed in a warm room, and covered with two or three coats of a coarse varnish, which is laid on with a flat camel's hair pencil. This varnish is made by dissolving two ounces of seed-lac and two ounces of resin in a pint of spirit of wine, and straining it. It must of course be allowed to dry be- tween each coat. Most of this work is performed by girls. When the article has been thus prepared, it is ready to receive the japan ground, which, when it is to be of one uniform colour, is composed of the proper pigment mixed with a varnish. The varnish commonly used is called the shell-lac varnish, and is thus prepared : — Take of the best shell-lac five ounces, break it into a very coarse powder, and put it into a bottle that will hold about three pints or two quarts; add to it one quart of rectified spirits of wine, and place the bottle in a gentle heat, where it must continue two or three days, but should be frequently well shaken. The gum will then be dissolved, and the solution should be filtered through a flannel bag; and when what will pass through freely is come ofi", it should be put into a proper sized bottle, and kept carefully stopped for use. The bag may also then be pressed with the hand till the remainder of the fluid be forced out ; which, if toler- ably clear, may be employed for coarser purposes, or kept to be added to the next quantity that shall be made. To make the japan ground, any kind of pig- ments may be mixed with this varnish in such pro- portions as produce the required colour, but they must first be ground very smooth with spirits of turpentine. 378 PROGRESSIVE READER. THE CHUECH BELL. List to the solemn bell With only half-drawn breath, Air-wafted, as the knell Sj)eaks mournfully of Death; Hearken ! its solemn tone, From out the sacred tower, Tells of the churchyard stone. Decay of pomp and power. Speaks to the child so fair Who sports in Summer's beams,— To him with silvery hair, Mocking his hopes and dreams; — To sorrowing hearts and gay, For each it hath a tone : The spirit here to-day, To-morrow may have flown. The grass, so fresh and green, At morning, ere his round The glorious Sun hath been, May wither on the ground; Full often is the Day Bright ere the Eve appears — Life's morning hour is gay. While Age is rife with tears. Life is a passing ray, — Thus speaks the bell's deep tone; Then work while yet 'tis day, And rest when night comes on. Hearken! Its solemn boom From out the sncrcd tower, Is whispering of the tomb, — That end of Pride and I'ower. — F. C. Lee. HATIYE WOMEN VrEEPING OYER A GRAVE. 379 NATIVE WOMEN WEEPING OYEE A GEAYE. If, in describing the cliaracter of the Australian savage, it were an object to paint tliem in the most miserable light, one might dwell largely upon the subject of black •women weeping over a grave. Nothing, indeed, can be more pitiable, nothing more striking than to witness the lamentations of the natives over the dead. They appear terror-stricken by a power they knoAv not of, and cannot account for. At the natural decease of one of tlieir tribe, the men appear bewildered in their imaginations; they shout furiously, and make wild exclamations. By fierce countenances, and wild violent gestures, they seem to defy and threaten the spirit or enemy Avho had come amongst them; while the women, on the other hand, assembling together, rend the air with their pitiful and lamenting yells. The following scene I can only describe as I witnessed it, which struck me as being a most melancholy spectacle. I had left the camp one morning to reconnoitre some ground near Mount Wayo, in Argyle, and after travelling for an hour, I crossed a rather steep grassy ridge, and descended into a rich forest-flat, between the hills of some extent. Bent on following the valley upward, I had proceeded about a quarter of a mile, when my attention was attracted by sounds of human voices, wailing in wild and melancholy strains. I listened attentively, and the more I was struck with the peculiarity of the noise. Having made for the direction from which the sounds proceeded, I soon perceived before me three native black women, and rode up to them. They were sitting round a mound of earth, with their heads depressed and nearly touching one another; nor did my presence at all disturb them, or rouse their attention, but they remained in the same posture, and did not even look up. I waited some time in astonishment observing their fictions, and listening to their horrid lamentable yells. Thev were each of them striking their heads with a 380 PROGRESSIVE R'^ADEIl. tomalia-^ivk, liolding that instrunient in tlieir right hand, and wounding particularly the upper part of the back of the head. Their ear was besmeared with blood, which I could perceive trickling down behind their neck and ears. I called to them, loudly, but in vain. Determined, if possible, to find out the cause of the extraordinary scene before me, I dismounted, and tethered my horse at a little distance, and allowed them to remain un- disturbed, while I took notice of the tomb and place around. The mound of earth mi^dit have been about three feet high ; it was shaped as a dome, and built of reddish clay. It was surrounded by a kind of flat gutter or channel, outside of which was a margin, both formed of the same material. The staves of the women Avere leaning upon it, and their nets with their contents thrown aside. The appearance of the place was agree- able, though lonely and sequestered, and trees of various descriptions ornamented the rich pasture on the ground. The trees all around the tomb were marked in various peculiar ways, some with zigzags and stripes, and pieces of bark otherwise cut. Having satistied myself with the appearanca and locality, I went up and pulled one of them by the cloak, and succeeded in making her look up. But when she did, I may safely assert, that it would be impossible to behold a more miserable, and, I may say, frightful creature. She was the picture of utter wretchedness, anguish and despair. Her fixce was covered with blood, and tears were fallino: fast in succession down her cheeks, as was the case with the others. She muttered something to me which I could not understand, then dropped her head again, and commenced wailing as before, in all the bitterness of agonizing grief. Such excessive weeping could only arise from natural affection, and regret for the loss of a departed relative. But what they utter, and for what reason they wound their heads, is yet a mystery unknown to us. It is impossible to say, therefore, whether they invoke the dead, as able to hear beyond the grave, or \vhether the gashes in the head are intended to soothe the departed spirit. THE TRAVELLER, THE ADDER, AND THE FOX. 38 1 These tombs, or raised graves of the natives are but seldom seen in the interior, and it is very probable that they are intended only to honour the burial place of a chief on some particular occasions. It is a custom, however, among the women at particular times to weep over these graves, which they do in the manner above stated ; and they are, no doubt, the relatives of the dead. In some instances these graves have been of necessity removed by the settlers, but the spot is always remem- bered and wept over in the same manner. As a proof of this, I some time afterwards saw some women weeping, as described, by the corner of a garden near a gentleman's house on Mulwarn Plains, who informed me that there had been the grave of a native at that spot. The method of their disposing of their dead is gener- ally as follows, (and although few have ever witnessed the burial of a native, still, the spot having been known, the corpse has been seen in the grave after burial). The body is removed to the place appropriated for its burial; the head is then bound down by strings of bark, close and nearly between the knees ; the two hands are fastened behind each ankle so that the body is forced into a crouching form, and takes up as little space as possible. The grave, or hole, is made just large enough to admit the body, and deep enough to allow rather more than a foot of earth above it when interred. The body is buried naked, with the exception of the bandages of bark with which it is confined, and the cloak, spears, and other weapons of the deceased are claimed and become the property, I believe, of the chief. — S. M. THE TEAVELLEPv, THE ADDEE, A^\D THE EOX.— A Fable. The rising sun in beauty shone Upon thy fragrant fields, Ceylon, Along whose path, at break of day, A weary Traveller took his way. 382: rROGPwESSIVE EE^iDER. He paused; for 'midst the neiglibourlng glade, A suffering creature sued for aid ! And there, within the hedge-row's bound, An Adder lay, while gathering round, Devouring flames, with furious breath, Stopped its escape, and threatened death. The soft appeals of pity steal, Like dews from heaven, on hearts that feel, What though the sufferer be our foe, Shall we refuse assistance? No. Our Traveller could not : but his hand, Accomplishing his soul's command, Slung to his lance's point a sack. Which lay across his camel's back, Then safely lodged the trembling thing Within its friendly covering; 3^or ceased his care; but gently laid His charge beneath a palm-tree's shade. Where cooling breezes soothed its pain, Till life and visjour came asfain. *' Now," said the Traveller, "thou art free; And, Oh ! I pray thee, learn from mo In friendly acts delight to find; Do thou shew pity, and be kind. Hemember, that with all his power Man helped thee in misfortune's hour; Forget not, then, the generous deed, Nor harm him in the time of need!" Ah ! who can stand before the mood Of hard and cold ingratitude? How cursed the soil whereon is grown The bitter fruit of kindness sown ! How marked with infamy the fruit Which stains the spring that bathed its root ! *'Think'st tliou," the Adder cried, "to force My nature from its destined course? Or by this little act of grace To claim my pity for thy race ? See the returns dispensed by man To those who servo him all they can ! l^HE TRAVELLER, THE ADDER, AND THE FOX. 383 Ask yonder Cow, which morn and night Yields up her milk for man's delight, AVhy, when those useful streams have ceased, Man dooms to death the hapless beast? The tree, whose bending boughs produce Its healthful fruits for human use, When age decays, or blights assail, And all its former glories fail, Then feels the axe, the saw, the plane, And tossed upon the raging main, Xiike banished hopes and comforts wrecked. Gives mournful proof of man's neglect. What do I then but imitate Thy boasted race in deeds of hate. Whilst I my poisoned fangs prepare IFor thee, and for thy camel there? " " One moment," said the Traveller, *•' stay, And then let any creature say^ If these be facts entirely true. Or strong exceptions urged by you." *' Well, be it so; a Fox draws near; Xet him our mutual difference hear; 1 will myself the case recite; Our friend is sure to judge aright."" " First," said the wary Fox, " relate The opening of this strange debate." Then when he heard how it befel. And saw the sack, he pondered welL *' Pshaw !" he exclaimed, "this bag's too small. To hold the Adder tail and all. The trial's plain; my doubts are strong; Prove, if you can, my notion wrong!" "Lo," said the Adder, wriggling in, " What say you now ? and who 's to Avin 1 " *' Win?" cried the Fox, without a pause, *' The law of truth, the righteous cause ! " Then at its mouth the sack he tied. And beat the Adder till it died. — J/. SSi PROGRESSiVE READER. MAiS^UFACTURE OF SAGO. SiXGAPORE is tlic principal, if not the onlv place in tlie East where tlie manufacture of Pearl Sago is carried on, and the process is said to be a recent one, and the in- vention of the Chinese. The Sago is imported in large quantities into Singa- pore from Sumatra in native boats, which bring it at all times of the year. The tree from which the raw material is j^roduced is named Rumbiga by the natives. The raw Sago is imported in cone-shaj^ed packages, each probably weighing about twenty pounds ; the mass is of rather a soft consistence, and dirty- white colour, and the Avhole enveloped in the leaves of the Pandanus tree. It first undergoes several different washings in large wooden tubs, being also strained, after Avashing, through cloth strainers; the masses that remain at the bottom of the vessels are collected, broken into pieces, and p]aced upon platforms in the sun to dry, being broken into still smaller pieces as the drying proceeds. As soon ^s the pieces are sufficiently dry, they are pounded, and sifted upon long benches, through sieves made of the mid-rib of the leaves of the cocoa-nut palm, and placed at certain distances in a longitudinal direc- tion, so as to cause the ])ulverized, or rather broken masses of Sago to pass through it only of the required size. Having been passed through the sieve, a certain quantity at eacli time is taken, placed in a large cloth, tied to cross-sticks in the form of a bas, hanginff by a cord from the roof of the building; a Chinese is then employed in shakinc: the baor backwards and for- wards, by the aid of one of the longest crooked sticks, to which it is attached, occasionally shaking up the Sago Powder; this is continued confitantly for the space often minutes, when it is turned out granulated; it is then placed in small wooden hand-tubs (looking beautifully and delicately white, but still so soft as to break in- stantly on the slightest pressure) and carried to several Chinese, whoso occupation is to make it undergo the CliERVlL. S8l J drying process in largo iron pans ovef a fird, ^liey are constantly stirring it about, while in the pan, with a wooden instrument; it is then re-sifted at another bench, and re-baked, after which it is considered prepared. It is then of a fine pure white colour, and, being spread thinly over a long and large bin, in the course of time becomes both harder and of a darker coloui*. The Pearl, or refined Sago, is exported in large quanti- ties to Europe, our Indian empire, the Cape, s the table clean from [jrcase. Having spread your cups and saucers and DOMESTIC ECONO^IY. 391 plates, and got the tea-pot ready (mind it is well dusted and rinsed out clean), pour a little hot water into it from the kettle and let it stand to warm the tea-pot, because' a hot tea-pot will draw out more strength from the tea than a cold one ; but do not put it on the hob, if it is a metal tea-pot, or the heat will soon make the metal soft, and it will drop out of shape. Then cut as much bread and butt'cr as the family are likely to want to begin with; but do not cut too much, or it will get dry before night. All this may be easily done by the time breakfast is wanted, and the comfortable look of the room will make the meal more cheerful, and encourage the appetite. As soon as it is over, remove the butter and bread into a cool place, cover them both over with a basin or pan, to keep them cool and free from dust, gather up the dirty cups and saucers, shake tlie table-clotli and put it away, and then make up j^our fire. The hot water in the kettle will be ready for washing the cups and saucers, and then, wiping them dry with a clean cloth, put them away in the cupboard. It is a very good thing to clear everything before you, or else your house will get into a muddle. It is now time to see to the bed-rooms, and the first thing to be done is to open the windows wide (if they have not been opened, as they should have been, by those who slept there). If there are any curtains, draw them well back from the windows, remove the bed- clothes from the bed and hang them over the backs of chairs, and then raise the bed up a little and shake it well out, so that the air may get under it; set the door wide open and leave it so for an hour or more, till the room smells quite sweet. Next empty the slops, leaving a little scalding water in the various vessels for a minute or two, then pour it also into the slop-pail, rinse them with cold water, and carefully wipe them dry. If any of them are stained, let a little soda and water stand in them for a few minutes. Take care to carry the slops out of doors as quickly as possible, empty them on the ashes, rinse the pail with soda and water, wipe 392 PROGRESSIVE READER. it well out with a cloth (kept for that purpose only), and then leave it out of doors to sweeten. You may now prepare for dinner, put the meat into the oven or down to the tire for roasting, peel the potatoes, leaving them in a pan of cold water, make your pudding, and then go up to finish your bed-rooms, which will be sweet by this time. If there is a bed, turn it off, until you have brushed the mattress under it; then shake the bed well, turn it over, so as to have that side uj)permost which was under the previous night, and then stroke it till the feathers or flocks are even. Next, put on the under blanket and sheet (folding the end of the latter round the bolster), put on the pillows, then another sheet and blankets, tucking them well in under the bed all round, and lastly, lay on the counterpane, letting it hang down all round the bed at an equal distance from the ground. Now put all the chairs in their places, arrange every- thing neatly, dust the furniture, and leave the window and door open till evening. It is a very bad thing to sweep a bed-room ; because that sets all the dust floating about, and you only drive it from one place to another. You had better leave it alone, and once-a-week, after making the bed cover it over with a sheet, remove all carpets, throwing them out of the window, get a bucket of cold soft water, and wash the floor over, taking care to change the water often so as to get up all the dust. Occasionally the boards must be well scrubbed, but soap should never be used ; it spoils the colour. A little newly-slaked lime and three times as much common sand, will make the boards beautifully white at half the cost of soap, and iiYve a wholesome smell of cleanliness to the room. — Rev. J. lildgway. THE ANT, OK EMMET. These Emmets, how little they are in our eyes ! Wo tread them to dust, and a troop of them dies, AVithout our regard or concern; COOKERY. 393 Yet, -whe as we are, if we went to tlieir school, There 's many a sluggard and many a fool Some lessons of wisdom might learn. They wear not their time out in sleeping or play, But gather up corn in a sunshiny day, And for winter they lay up their stores; They manage their work in such regular forms. One would think they foresaw all the frosts and the storms, And so brought their food within doors. But I have less sense than a poor creeping ant. If I take not due care for the things that I want, ISTor provide against dangers in time. When death or old age shall once stare in my face, What a wretch shall I be in the end of my days, If I trifle away all their prime ! INow, now, while my strength and ray youth are in bloom, Letnie think what shall serve me when sickness shall come, ' And pray that my sins be forgiven; Let me read in good books, and believe, and obey; That, when death turns me out of this cottage of clay, I may dwell in a palace in heaven. — /)?*. Watts. COOKERY. To use without waste the food which Providence sup- plies for the wants of man, is, indeed, of the greatest im- portance to those who have but little to spend; and nothing so completely disarms the stings of poverty as the means of rendering a scanty pittance capable of producing a comfortable meal. If, therefore, by teach- ing them a little of simple cookery, it can be occasionally so changed as to make it somewhat more savoury at the same cost, there can be little doubt that it would ma- terially add to their comforts, and thus attach them still more to their homes. For, although they consume far 394 PROGRESSIVE READER. more animal food than the foreign i^easantry of Europe, yet they do not fare so Avell ; and that solely by their different mode of preparing their victuals. There is no part of the bullock, which produces more nutritive food than the head; for the one half, or what is called the *'oa:-cheek," will make delicious stews, with soup for at least three or four days' consumption. It should be dressed thus: — Clean it well, and let it lie in water until the next morning, -when it must be wiped dry, and placed over the lire in a large saucepan, only just covering it with water until it boils: then leave it to cool, and skim off the fat, (keeping it for further use.) When cold, lill the saucepan with water ; add a couple of whole onions, with three or four good-sized carrots and turnips, cut into small pieces, and a bundle of sweet herbs tied together, seasoning it Avith pepper, salt, and a little vinecrar. Leave it to stew, without allowinsr it to boil, until the liquor is reduced to one-half, and the meat becomes tender, and the soup tastes strong and palatable: a portion of the latter will be quite sufficient for the children, with a piece of bread, without any of the meat. The brains should, however, be taken out, and mixed up in the same manner as stuffing for the heart, and either fried separately, or made into balls and put into the stew. The next day, as much of the head as may be wanted for the family should be sliced otf and warmed up along with the remaining soup. The day following that, take off all the meat that remains, break up the bones into small pieces, and let them stew by the fireside for some hours, in three or four quarts of water; then take out the bones and \n\t in the meat, thickening the liquor either wdth vegetables, as before, or with peas, rice, bar- ley, or oatmeal. The soup will cut like jelly wdien cold, and improves upon being warmed up. Neither does it cost much more than the price of the head; and we know that, if that be of a largo size, it would, in winter, last nearly a week, Avitli good management. This, how- ever, cannot bo expected in warm weather, and it takes a great deal of cooking, which at that season is incon- COOKERY. . 395 venient. In the summer, however, when the labourer's wife is not uncommonly employed in tlie field, and fire cannot be kept up for cookery, it is a good plan to pur- chase a few pounds of the flank of beef. It contains no bone; and if well salted, boiled, then pressed under weights until flat, and afterwards rolled up and tied together, it makes a good and cheap relish when cut into thin slices and eaten cold between slices of bread. How TO MAKE A StEW. A Stew is the most economical dish that can be made, and contains all the essence of meat ; but it is generally spoilt by bad cookery — it is either greasy or watery. Try the following receipt : — Take a very clean saucepan and put into it some pieces of fat ; add the slices of three or four good-sized onions, and one or two carrots. Fry them all together, until they are nicely brown at the bottom of the pan ; cut the meat from a slice of beef into nice pieces ; then break a bone and put it in also, and sprinkle two spoonsful of salt and half a teaspoonful of pepper. When these are fried a little brown, add four pints of cold water; put the .lid on the saucepan, and let it simmer very gently for at least three hours, occasionally shaking the pan to keep the meat from burning to the bottom or sides. This will form a very savoury dish. Though more gravy will be made than is wanted, this should be carefully put away in an earthen vessel, and it may be used again in a variety of ways at another time. To Stew Mutton Chops. Dip them in cold water, take them out and lay them in a saucepan, sprinkle a little flour over them, and a little pepper and salt. Add one tablespoonful of water, and let them simmer very gently by the side of the fire. When done, take them out on to a dish, and pour the gravy from them into a basin: let it stand till cold, then take ojGT the fat. Put the chops and the gravy back into 39 G PROGRESSIVE READER. the saucepan; a fevv^ minutes will be sufficient to warm them, and they are then ready for the table. Pork chops, done in the same way, are excellent. On the subject oi stewing meat the following hint may be advantageously adopted by many cooks who consider themselves mistresses of their art. It is this : — Take a piece of boiling beef with some fat to it, and a little seasoning, but without water, gravy, or liquid of any sort. Put it into an earthen jug closely covered, and place that within a large iron or tin pot nearly filled with cold water, then lay it so near the fire as to keep up a gentle simmer, without letting it boil. It will require several hours, according to the weight of the meat, which should be stewed until quite tender; it loses nothing, and will yield a large quantity of the richest gravy ; and the cottager's wife can bring it to her table in as great perfection as any cook to a nobleman, adding to it, if she pleases, some carrots and other vegetables, to form a family dish. Of plain roasting and boiling nothing need be said, as every married woman must be supposed to understand those common modes of cookery; but there is, perhaps, no dish which in the summer appears more frequently upon the poor man's table than bacon and cabbage; which, although boiled in the same pot, are put in separately. But it will be found a great improvement, if, instead of that, a hole be cut in the heart of the cab- bage, and a quarter or half a pound of fat bacon is thrust into it as a plug. The head of the cabbage should then be tied over, so as to confine the leaves, and the cab- bage boiled in a napkin, to prevent all escape of fat, which will thus be imparted to the vegetable, and render it so much more mellow and savoury, that any house- wife who tries it will never dress it in any other way. Bacon is also frequently fried with potatoes or chopped cabbage, and forms a savoury meal for the family supper; but half the quantity of bacon, if stewed for a couple of hours with difierent kinds of vegetables in a moderate quantity of water thickened with a handful of oatmeal, would be equally palatable, and go much fiirther. In the summer also, eggs, being cheap, are much used COOKERY. - 397 ' by tiie peasantry, and almost in every instance fried^ either alone or with bacon. An agreeable change may, however, be made by frying three or four sliced onions until they arc well browned ; and while the onions are frying, having your eggs broken into a basin, and beaten with a fork for a couple of minutes. Season with pepper and salt; and then pour them over the onions, taking care to have sufficient butter or dripping in the pan to prevent tliem from sticking to the bottom; and in this manner they will form a very good omelet, which Avill bo done in the course of three or four minutes. Or, if fry- ing be inconvenient, the Irish mode of " buttered er/f/s" may be employed, by merely putting the eggs (after their being beaten up in the foregoing manner) into an earthen pipkin, greased inside, and stirring them to- gether for about the same time. Clieap soups add greatly to the comfort of a family ; and it would be well if the house-Avife would pay atten- tion to the few simple and economical modes of preparing them and vegetables, as stated here and in other books on the same subject; to which may be added this obser- vation, that, in whatever way they are made, the flavour will always be greatly improved if the onions (which should always form a portion of the contents) are sliced and fried in a little fat of any kind before being put into the soup. A common mistake in making soup, as well as in boiling meat, is to boil it much too fast, and for too short a time. The pot, in fact, (and an earthen pot is both the cleanest and the best) ought to be almost always kept merely simmering by tlie fire; and tho smallest fire is large enough, if tho soup be allowed to remain near it lonq; enoufih. The liquor in which any meat is boiled should always be savei)ear to produce any de- leterious effects on the constitution. Besides these two plants, beet-root, celery, chives, leeks, onions, cress, CRUCIFEROUS AND UBIBELLIFEROUS PLANTS. 405 mustard, dandelion, lamb's lettuce, scurvy-grass, tarragon, chervil, burnet and sorrel are used in salads, and many more miglit be added to the list. The term salad is applied to a dish of two, or several of these plants, cut up into a dressing of olive oil, vinegar, mustard, &c., mingled to form a smooth liquid of the consistence of cream; and it is probable that the stimulating nutritive, or antiseptic properties of this condiment counter- balance any injurious effects Avhich might arise from the mass of raw vesfetable matter taken into the stomach. However this may be, it is certain that persons hi health feel a craving for salad, and may indulge in the enjoyment of it to a great extent with perfect im- punity, if not with positive benefit. The Water-cress and the Eadish are the only plants always eaten without any addition wdiatever, at least in this country. Both belong to the order of cruciferoe, which has been already mentioned as being extremely wholesome, if not nutritive. Most of these belong to an order of plants remarkable for abounding in a variety of volatile oils, to which they owe their aromatic perfume and flavour, which rather resides in their stalks and leaves than in their flowers. We can here only enumerate their names, — thyme, mint, sage, marjoram, clary, savory, and basil. Lavender, which belongs to the same order, is not used for eating in any form; tansy, rue, tarragon, and rosemary, are composite plants, as is also chamomile. Parsley and Fennel are umbelliferous plants, and afford an exception to the usual poisonous quality of the leaves of that order. Perhaps they are only innocent when eaten young, as the former always is, before the flowers appear, it being a biennial in the proper sense of the term — that is, it flowers the second year, ripens its seed and dies. Pennel is a perennial and is little used. Horse-radish is an indigenous plant of the crucifer- ous order, extremely prolific; the root is highly pungent, and more wholesome than most other stronsflv stimulat- ing vegetable products. 40G PnoGRESSIVE READER. There is a class of plants occasionally used for seasoning that must not be omitted; they all belong- to the division of the vegetable kingdom containing those plants which do not flower, and differ as much in their appearance and forms, as they do in their physio- logical characters. The best that can be said of them as food is, that in small quan- tities they may be innocent. The Champignon is a small species of mushroom, found on pastures and hills in the morn- ing, especially in autumn; but large quantities are raised arti- ficially in frames, on old dung or tan, in which pieces of mushroom spawn have been Mushroom. mingled ; the spawn being nothing more than portions of a similar bed, which has produced the plants in abundance. The morel differs from the mushroom in being a hollow, light, spherical mass, supported by a stem; it grows in damp woods and pastures, chiefly in May and June; it is but little used in Britain though indigenous here. The truffle is a species of fungus that grows underground in woods in many countries; in France it is found by dogs, which are trained to this employment. Like the morel, it is only used in a few dishes. The principal use of mush- rooms is in the making of catsup. On the- Continent many species are eaten which are disregarded by us. Plants used for Pickles. Pickling is the term used to express the mode of preserving animal or v(;getable substances from putre- factive fermentation, or from decomposition, by im- mersion in vinegar. "When the same effect is pro- duced by impregnating the food with salt, the process is also thence called salting. The significant word preserv- I,\G is commonly applied to tiio ]>roparation of fruit CRUCIFEROUS AND UMBELLIFEROUS PLANTS. 407 with sugar, wliicb. is likewise most powerful in stopping decay. The name, Pickles, has been appropriated to express the preparation of certain vegetable products in vinegar, the flavour of which is heightened and improved by the addition of stimulating spices. Almost any plant wdiicli is eatable might be made into a pickle, and the number that are so treated is very great. The following are the principal in use in our country : — The leaves of a red or a white species of cabbage, the samphire, (an umbelliferous plant, growing on cliffs on the sea-shore); the flower-buds of the cauliflower, the leaf buds or bulbs of the onion, garlic, slialot, 6lc., the fruit of the capsicum, — a genus of which there are several species thus used — in some the fruit is a green, in others a scarlet, oblong or roundish capsule containing numberless small seeds, of an intensely pungent taste. The love-apple is of the same genus as the common potatoe, a tender annual, originally from South America; the nasturtium; gherkin; cucuraher; melon; and 2)um'phin; the caper, a native of Sicily; the radish and the French bean. But the finest and most highly prized of all fruits for pickling is the inango. This tree is a native of India and South America, having narrow leaves, small white blossoms, (producing a fruit the size of a goose's <^ggi) but variable in different species. As a fruit in the common acceptation of the word, it ranks as the first, but as it will not keep, its merits are only known to the inhabitants of Eastern climates. The vegetable or vegetables to be pickled should be selected free from injuries, and of course clean; they should be dried in a cloth, cut in pieces, and laid in salt and water for two days, or more, to imbibe as much of the salt as they can. The vinegar, which should be the strongest and purest to be got, is generally heated, (not boiled) Avith a little spice, and poured hot over the vege- tables, which should be placed in an earthen jar, bunged tightly down, tied over with a bladder, and kept on the hob or close to the fire for three or four days, and well shaken about every four hours. This is the best plan 408 TROGRESSIVE READER. for vegetables like gherkins, cabbage, cauliflower, onions and French beans, which require to be softened by heat. But such as are hot naturally, and do not require spice, as nasturtiums, radish-pods, barberries, horse- radish, garlic, etc., are best done in cold vinegar. Half iill the jars witli vinegar, and then fill in with the vege- tables, and tie tliem down with a bladder. Eadish-pods and nasturtiums may be gathered from day to day, as they become ripe, and are best pickled quite fresh, and onions should be put in, as soon as each is peeled, so as to retain the flavour. Fielded cabbage is the cheapest and one of the nicest additions to cold beef Take a firm red cabbage, not too large, strip off the outer leaves; then slice it with a knife as you would an onion, when it will fall into shreds; place it in a cullender, and sprinkle a little salt over it; let it remain a few days in a cool place, turning it over a little each day, so that the salt may get well in between the shreds; but do not put too much salt, to spoil the colour; shake out the brine, place it in ajar, and pour over it a pickle made of vinegar one quart, allspice one ounce, black pepper one ounce, pounded ginger half ounce, salt half ounce. Tie it over with a 1j1 adder, and when fit for use, in about a week's time, it should be of a beautiful red colour; but it will not keep long. Onions, melons, long cucumbers, and mangoes are all pickled alike, being put into the hot pickle given in the ■jireceding, and left there for two days, when they must bo well drained, jilaced in dry jars, and covered with hot pickle about two inches above them. COFFEE. Coffee is very seldom made fit to drink in this country; but it is very commonly used by every one in France. No one, rich or ])oor, is satisfied till ho has had liis morning cup of coffee, and in Paris, shops Avhero hot COFFEE. 409 coffee 155 served, do a very large business during the early hours of the morning. "With ourselves it is gener- ally supj)lied, even in families, half-cold, sloppy, and muddy, so men rarely care for it, and seldom drink it, preferring anything else, even very bad beer, in place of it. But there is more real nourishment in a cup of hot, well-made coffee, than in a whole gallon of even the best beer. It may be made so delicious that many a man, inclined to drink beer for breakfast, has been led to take coffee instead, and been much more able to work in conse- quence. Where breakfasts have to be sent to the work- shops, they should always be started oft' at boiling heat, and children should be taught not to loiter on the way, but to carry them quickly to their fathers, so that they mav have ^, „ .,, _ ., ,, 1 , ^ ~ Coffee, with flower and berry. To make coffee in a feio minutes. — Put an ounce or ground coffee near the fire, or in the oven, and JLectt it, but be very careful not to hum it. Then scald your coffee-pot, by pouring into it some boiling water, rinse it well out until the pot is quite hot, tie up your ounce of coffee loosely in a piece of clean coarse muslin, 2:»ut it into the hot coffee-pot, and pour over it a quart of boiling water, put on the lid directly, and let the pot stand by the hot lire for ten minutes or longer. While it is standing, boil seme milk, and then mix half coffee and half milk, and let each one put in sugar to his own taste. If it has to be sent to the workshop, the milk may be put in directly after the water, and it may bo started oft' at once, as it will brew on the way. 410 PEOGRESSIVE EEADEH. TEA. The most invigorating drink we liavo is tea : it not only makes the food eaten with it go farther than the same quantity eaten with l3eer, but it stops the waste of tlie body during exertion, and adds nervous power to the system. Every one knows how quickly tea refreshes a weary person, and how comforting is its inlhience, and when people do not like it, either their taste is spoilt by drinking intoxicating liquoi'S, or else it is badly made. There is nothing saved by buying very cheap tea, which is not tea at all, but some other leaves having none of the nourishing qualities belonging to the real plant, which can only be dra^Ti from the soil ot the mountains in Cliina where it tci'ows. To make good tea. — Take lialf an ounce of tea, put^it into the oven, as you did the coffee, for tea will go much farther if it is warmed before beinaj used. Heat the tea-pot with hot water, and then, putting in your tea, pour on it a little boiling water, let it stand for a few minutes, and iill it up with Avater; but take great caro COCOA. 411 tliat tliG water ahvay.s tliorourjlihj bolls (steaming well out of the spout) before you put any into the pot, either to make it or to fill it up after you have drawn some off. If the water is hard, which you will soon find out by the kettle having a coating of lime inside it, jnit a very small quantity of carbonate of soda into the tea-pot. If any tea is left after all have finished, pour it off into an earthen jug, and warm it up again the next time, when it will be quite as good as before, if you do not leave the cold tea on the leaves. COCOA. Cocoa is the most wholesome and nourishing of all drinks, and by far the cheapest; yet it is very seldom used, because it does not quench the thirst so quickly as tea or cofi'ee ; but it has one great advantage over the o.ther two where breakfasts have to be sent to the work- shop, it keeps hot much longer than they do. A few years ago a gentleman, employing several hundreds of 412 PROGRESSIVE READER. workmen, engaged a woman to supply them all early in the morning with a cup of hot cocoa before they began work, and although she was paid for her trouble, and all other expenses were defrayed, every man had his cup of hot cocoa for one halfpenny. It is very easily made — a small quantity being mixed with hot water in a tea-cup, and crushed into a thin paste with a spoon, and then filled up with boiled milk. The best cocoa is sold in packets, ready sweetened, and is well-known by the names of the makers, " Fry's Prepared Cocoa," and " Epps' Homoeopathic Cocoa," and full directions for using it v.ill be found on each packet. HOUSEHOLD KECEIPTS. To clean Jloorclotli. — Wash it in the usual way, but without soap, then wet it all over Avitli milk, and rub it well with a dry cloth. To clean floor-tiling. — Kub it, if dull or greasy, with a little turpentine on a flannel; when dry, wash it with soft water. To lieep eggs through the ivinter. — Get some unslaked lime, fill one-third part of a stone jar with it, pour in a little water to slake the lime, until it has crumbled to powder, let it cool, then fill it up with water, and put fresh eggs into the lime water, as many as it will hold, place a slate on the top, and put it into the cellar; tho eggs will remain perfectly good for puddings all through the winter, but will not bear boiling in the shell. To preserve butter. — Take two parts of common salt one part of loaf sugar, and one part of saltpetre; pound them well in a mortar, and knead them into the butter, one ounce to each pound. The butter will keep for a lonf^" time, but should not bo used for a month after it is so prepared. To take iron-mould out of linen. — Paib the place with salts of lemon or pounded sorrel and warm water; then rinse it well in clean water. To Ml beetles and cockroaches. — Take four ounces of THINGS TO BE REMEMBERED. 413 Hour, and eight ounces of Plaster of Paris, and twelve ounces of brown sugar; mix tliem well together, and put a spoonful of the powder down the holes of the hearth or floor where they come up. They will eat it readily, and be soon got rid of; but it will not injure anything else. To renew stale bread. — Steep it well in water, and put it into the oven till it is re-baked, when it will eat like new bread. To clear muddy water. — Take a linen bag, three or four inches long, fill it with finely powdered charcoal, and hang in the water, when it will draw off tho impurity; but if in a short time the water is not clear, add more charcoal till it is clear. To clean candlesticks. — Pour boiling water upon them, and then rub them with a dry cloth. Never blow out a candle downwards, but hold it above your head, or the snufl:' will smoulder doAvn to the tallow, and make it difiicult to licjht it aiiain. For cleaning tins. — First wasli them well with soap and water, then lay on some whitening and water with a flannel, wipe them with a clean, soft, dry cloth, and polish them with powdered whitening and a dry leather; but take great care that none of your cloths or leathers are greasy. THINGS TO BE REMEMBEPtED. In hot weather look Avell to your meat; if flies have touched it, cut the part out, and "svash tho rest with vinegar and water, and pepper it well. In \ery cold weather, meat and vegetables, touched with the frost, should be soaked in cold water for some time before being cooked. Never buy any rumps or edge-bones of beef that have been bruised. Shank bones of mutton make excellent soup or gravy, if well soaked and brushed before being boiled. Roast- beef bones and shank-bones of ham make good stock for soup. 414 rROGEESSIVE TvEADER. Never throw away any of tlic water in wliicli meat has been boiled, it contains often tlie very juice of the meat, and will make excellent soup with the boilings of the bones mentioned above, and the addition of a little pea-flour and some green vegetables. Vegetables keep best on a stone floor, meat in a cold dry place, with a current of air through it; apples laid upon straw, but so placed as not to touch one another. Kice, sago, peas, and all materials for puddings should be kept covered up in earthen pans to secure them from mice and insects. All dishes, plates, and cooking utensils should be washed in boiling water, because they are all greasy, and grease requires heat to remove it, and a great deal of trouble will be saved bv chans-inoc the hot water several times. If sauce- pans are very dirty, put a few handsful of ashes into them, and a little water, boil it over the fire, and then rub it Avell round the inside of the sauce- pan with a coarse cloth, and wash it well with hot water. Pudding cloths should bo well washed, scalded, and hung up to dry, but no soda should be used; if not thoroughly dried and well aired before being put away, they will have a disagreeable smell the next day. After washing up dishes and plates, wash your dish- tubs with a little soap, water, and soda, and mind often to scrub them; wring the dish-cloth (which must first bo washed clean), wipe the tubs and set them out to dry; and last of all, clean down your sink thoroughly, and wash the brush that you scrub it with ; too much clean- liness with regard to everything used in cooking and housework cannot be practised. The inside of a frying-pan ought not to be scruhhed, or whatever is fried next in it will be burnt ; but if it gets black inside, rub it with a hard crust of bread or some ashes, and wash it in hot soda and water. Coppers may be cleaned with brick-dust and turpen- tine, or rottenstone and water, rubbed on hard with a flannel ; polish them with dry bath-brick and a leather. • CLEANLINESS'. . 415 CLEANLINESS. Cleanliness is essential to health; and those who keep their persons and houses in a state of dirt can never expect to be healthy. Sometimes people think soap an expensive and unnecessary article of consumption. But it is less expensive than illness, and as necessary as bread and butter. Too much attention cannot be paid to cleanliness, both on account of the cheerfulness and comfort it causes* and the health it ensures. Soap and water, if properly applied, would save a great number of lives. Many people seldom wash themselves all over', but from what has been said (p. 249, Standard V.) it will be seen, that it is just as necessary to wash the whole hod?/, as it is to wash the hands and face. If not, the pores of the skin are blocked up, the poisonous matter in the blood continues to circulate and to poison the system, breeding fevers in the body itself. It would not be more unhealthy to drink water out of a cesspool. Houses Avant washing as well as people, and quito as often; for mud from the boots is ground into fine powder as it dries in the room, and the first time the door is opened, or the floor swept, all this muddy dust flies about in the air, is drawn in with the breath, gets into the lungs, inflames and irritates them, causes croup, and often consumption. It is a very good plan to wash the floor of the room where the family live most, especially if meals are cooked in it, once a tlay ; and every week to give it a through scrubbing into every little nook and corner; the very air of the place will become sweeter, and therefore more healthy. And mind to set the doors and windows wide open after every meal, and change the air. Bad, close air, is only dirt in another form, and brings sickness and disease with it; no one can value too highly the benefit of fresh air. K Never allov/ anything producing bad smells to remain in a chamber, or other part of the house, for it is sure to cause illness. Nothing smells worse than the water in which cabbages and screens are boiled. It should never 416 PROGRESSIVE HEADER. be poured dow'n any sink, but emptied on to the ground outside; and if any smell comes from the sink or drains, a cup of carbolic acid in a bucketful of water will soon take it away ; and if in wet weather you find it difficult to keep your doors and windows open and change the air of the room, a spoonful of chloride of lime in a saucer full of water left to stand in the room will purify the air in a few minutes. ON THE I FT. The extent of pauperism in England, especially in its most unmanageable department of out-door relief to the able-bodied, arises chiefly from a want of thrift. '' To learn to live on little is the great secret of independ- ence ; " and it is not what people spend on the necessaries of life that brings people to poverty and the workhouse, but what they loaste. Any man who has saved money, even if it be only a few pounds in the Savings Bank, is independent; he can change his master, or make better terms with his employer, because he has the means to enable him to remove, and his own habit of saving makes him more valuable as a workman. How mucli more true this is of the steady man, on whom the cm2:>loyer, or the customer can always depend to be at his work, and to fulfil his engagements punctually. A pint of beer does not seem much for a man to drink each day. He gulps it down almost at a draught; but a pinch of flour at the end of a knifo would givo him more strength, or a pinch of tea in a i>int of water would both quench his thirst better, make his food go further, and stop the waste of his body in- his work. See the diftcrenco in the cost! A pint of strong beer cannot be bought for less than 3d., while an ounce of tea would cost l^d. Threepence a day would amount to £4, lis. 3d. a year: if every man, instead of having his pint of beer, would put the 3d. into a money box each day, at the end of GO years, he would find ho ON THRIFT. 417 had saved £273, more than enough to build him a com- fortable house for himself and family; and would be a much heartier man at the end. If a young man began at 18 years of age to lay by his 3d. a day, he would in two years bo able to buy an allowance of Ten Founds a year to commence the day he is 65, and last as long as he lives : if he went on saving his 3d. for five years, ho could l)uy an allowance of Ten Shillings a week for the rest of his life after reaching the age of 65. So ho would lengthen his life by not drinking the beer, and would be an independent man in his old age. The money spent in Great Britain upon intoxicating liquors is more than £100,000,000 a year, of which tho ivorking - classes spend about two - thirds, or nearly £70,000,000, almost as much as the entire expenditure of the government of the country for all purposes ! If they would only save this enormous sum of money, what a capital it would create for the payment of wages ! yet, we find it stated on the authority of one of our judges, that increased wages have everywhere been accompanied by increased drunkenness and by increased crime. A plot of ground allotted as a garden around a cottage is far preferable to one placed at a distance; for the cottager's wife is equal to work, and would fain employ herself frequently in her garden, if she had it within her reach. But she cannot leave her infant in its cradle, nor the child crawling upon the floor and re- quiring constant attention. She is, therefore, deprived of the means of assisting her husband in his labours; and even w^hen he returns to his home, how much moro pleasant will he find his cot, when surrounded by tho smiling produce of their tail, than if that be not under their view. There is also one very profitable source of income to a cottager, which is denied to him who is not possessed of a garden at home; that is, the keeping of bees, which industrious insects amply repay the trifling care and attention necessary to presei've them. They reqviire no expensive method of tveatment; they d^mfiRcl no trouble, 6. Yh 0, 2d 418 PROGRESSIVE READER. and a row of bee-hives will meet a heavy rent, besides affording a grateful luxury to their keeper; but they should be securely guarded from pilferers. A treatise on bees would occupy too much space; but any man who will inquire the mode adopted by a neighbour who keeps them, may easily learn. the method; and if he cannot purchase a hive, he may construct it himself without the least difficulty. In manv of our inland counties, althoucjh there is a great scarcity of fuel, yet the ashes and cinders are often cast out before the cottage door. Now, instead of this waste, they should be mixed up with an equal quantity of small coal and some clay to bind them together with water; then mix the heap into mortar; make that into bricks; and, when dried in the sun, put them at the back of the fire, where they will soon heat, and form a useful savinor of coals and wood. If it be the husband's business to bring home money, it is the wife's to see that none of his earnings go fool- ishly out of it. To attach a man to his home it is necessary that home should have attractions; and if his wife is a slattern, everything will go wrong; if she be industrious, thrifty, and good-tempered, cleanly in. her person and her cottage, all will then go right. She will forego tea and gossip ; she will put everything in the neatest order, her little fire trimmed and the hearth swept up for tlie reception of her husband on his return from labour. Whatever may have been her cares during the day, she will meet him with tlio smile of welcome; the family meal will close the night in social enjoyment, and lie will find as cheerful and as happy a homo as if he were the lord of the manor. ^'THE COTTAGER." "I SPEAK," continued lie, ''of One whoso stock Of virtues bloomed beneath this lowly roof. She was a woman of a steady mind, Tender and deep in her excess of love ; TilE COTTAGER, 419 Kot speaking mucli, pleased rather with the joy Of her own thoughts. By some especial care, Her temper had been framed^ as if to make, A Being, who by adding love to peace, Might live on earth a life of happiness. Her wedded Partner lacked not on his side The humble wortli that satisfied her heart : Prugal, affectionate, sober, and withal Keenly industrious, She with pride would toll That he was often seated at his loom. In summer, ore the mower was abroad Among the dewy grass, — in early spring, Ere the last star had vanished. — They who passed At evening, from behind the garden fence Might hear his busy spade, which he would pi}-. After his daily work, until the light Had failed, and every leaf and flower were lost In the dark hedges. For their days were spent In peace and comfort, and a pretty boy "Was their best hope, next to the God in heaven. — Wordswort/i. 420 PROGRFSSIVE HEADER. KEEPING POULTRY NO LOSS.*— Pakt I. • WiiENT Jonas Heed married his wife Susan, tliey con- trived for some months to live very comfortably on his wages though they were but small. Jonas w^as a day- labourer on the farm of a richer neighbour, but he had been a steady good servant, and for the two years before his marriage had prepared the way for it, by laying by a little money every week, which he could well do, as he was an orphan, without either brothers or sisters, and had boarded with an old woman in the villaEco at a cheap rate. How the pretty Susan Giles ever came to notice him favourably we cannot say, for Susan was the daughter of a farmer well to do in the world, and desirous that his children should be equally well off. The only objection her father could have to Jonas, Avhen he asked permission to marry Susan, was, that in be- coming his wife she would change her comfortable home for one where she would perhaps suffer many privations. Sfcill, as old Mr. Giles could not deny but that Jonas was a very steady young man, bearing an excellent character for honesty and sobriety, he told his daughter, that she was welcome to choose him for a husband if she liked. At first the young couple contrived to live very w^ell upon their wages, though twelve shillings a Aveek is but a small sum for maintenance w^lien house -rent and clothes are to be deducted from it. For the latter, they always laid by what they could afford, for though Susan was possessed of a good stock of clothes, the fruits of her own industry before marriage, and Jonas had taken care, as he said, to have something besides old garments for the employment of his wife's needle, they still reflected that a time would come when clothing must be replaced. Sixpence, laid by each week, gave Jonas a new pair of shoes in less than three months, and ho acted wisely by getting thera before Jiis otheva ^vore too far worn to bear * P^y tlio kind permission of Jilog-^rs. Jami^s Pat^ker & Co. KEEHNG Poultry no loss. 421 repairing. Susan could thus always give her husband a dry pal]* of shoes when he came in on a wet day, and as they lived in a very damp part of the country, and his chief employment w^as in making drains, she thus kept him often free from the colds which frequently laid up his fellow-workmen. Susan's father and mother did not come to see her; but they now and then sent o. basket with a loaf of home- made bread, or a bit of home-cured bacon, and when Susan numbered three children, the old woman sent a message to say that she had taken to keeping fancy fowls, and if Susan would come over in the carrier's cart, that she should have a couple or two, as when fowls were rightly managed, they were very profitable both for breeding and laying. Susan was received by her parents very kindly, but could not help feeling grieved to hear that things had not altogether prospered with them, that they were about to give up their farm, and take another in a very distant county. The stock was to be sold, and Mrs. Giles' favourite poultry were expected to fetch a high price; amongst them she had some very fine sorts, and a pair of them, a cross between the Spanish cock and common or Dorking hen, one of the most valuable fowls a cottager can have, Avere put aside for Susan. The Polish fowl in Mrs. Giles' keeping, had been greatly admired, and one sort, tlie Polish black fowl Avith a white tuft on the crown of both cock and hen, were great favourites with her, as if kept warm, they were such good layers, as to lay nearly throughout the year. This was the case too with the Dutch every-day layers, or everlasting layers, as they have been called. These are most unwilling to hatch, in consequence of which, they lay an egg every day nearly till through the year, and if properly cared for, and warmly nursed, would do so when the snow of a hard winter was on the ground. " It is A-ery trying to me, Susan," said Mrs. Giles, " to be obliged to part Avith all my fancy poultry, but I cannot carry them Avith me, and in truth I Avant the 422 l^EOGrvESSIVE READEtt. money they -will bring. But take your fowls, Susan, you know how to make them prosper without their costing much, and there, you may as well take four hens with the cock, he won't then miss his old compan- ions so much. He is a fine fellow, Susan, just a year and half old, neither too young nor too old, and I don't think he Avill let any cock in your neighbourhood out- crow him. I should advise you to choose that black hen for sitting, she has such large wide spreading wings, and not very thick legs and feet, she will be fit to sit too, for I had marked her out, as she has laid for two years. They never sit Avell the first year. And now, Susan, if you want to have a brood of chickens by any particular time when she does not seem ready to sit, give her a little dry bread soaked in good ale, or well boiled oat- meal porridge with a little red pepper mixed through it, or hard boiled eggs, and fresh raw meat cut very small. This kind of food "vvill make the hen desire to sit. After feeding lier in this way for a few days, place the hen upon the eggs in a dark place, or set her in a tub, and cover her up with a cloth, and you will find her quite willing to be a nurse. But do not let any one persuade you to pluck off her feathers, and to use nettles, for that is a very cruel practice, and I never heard of its succeeding. Don't forget to keej) her warm, Susan, whenever she sits. Some of my hens have been so obstinate in sitting, that they would have half starved themselves, if I had not taken them away and fed them myself, and then they would drink as a matter of course. I never kept them more than ten minutes from the eggs though, and the last week I only allowed any of them to leave the nest but once a day. Kow I had one hen which used to break her eggs and eat them; if any of yours should do this, just look about to see if there is any chalk or sand near ; I dare say you will find that there is not, it is the longing for such things as these that makes the fowl peck her eggs. AVithout them, no fowls will lay so well, and indeed I really believe whei4 they cannot get them, that they scarcely lay at all. I had a good laying hcu once, who had the misfortune to A mother's joy. 42 o break lier leg; we tied it up, and as it was niucK smashed it was a long time healing, and all that time she never laid an egg. Our surgeon, who was then attending your poor father, is fond of looking at my fowls, and he said that the hone, while growing together, Avanted all the chalk, which, before this accident, Avent to form the egg shells, and until her leg was healed we should have no more. And he was right, for as soon as her leg was all right again she began to lay as well as ever. E,e- coUect this Susan, and never let your poultry-yard bo without chalk, gravel, or sand, or all of them indeed. A MOTHER'S JOY. "Well may I guess and feel Why Autumn should be sad ; But vernal airs should sorrow heal, Spring should be gay and glad. Yefc as along this violet bank I rove, The languid sweetness seems to choke my breath, I sit me down beside the hazel grove And sigh, and half could wish my weariness were death. Like a bright veering cloud; Grey blossoms twinkle there, "Warbles around a busy crowd Of larks in purest air. Shame on the heart that dreams of blessings gone. Or wakes the spectral forms of woe and crime, "When nature sings of joy and hope alone, Beading her cheerful lesson in her oAvn sweet time. Nor let the proud heart say, In her self-torturing hour. The travail pangs must have their way, The aching brow must lower. 424 PROGRESSIVE READER. To US long since the glorious Cliikl is born, — Oar throes should be forgot, or only seem. Like a sad vision, told for joy at morn, For joy that we have waked and found it but a dream. Mysterious to all thought, A mother's prime of bliss, When to her eager lips is brought Her infant's thrilling kiss. Oh, never shall it set, the sacred light Which dawns that moment on her tender gaze. In the eternal distance blending bright Her darling's hope and hers, for love and joy and praise. No need for her to weep Like Thracian wives of yore, Save when in rapture, still and dee]), Her thankful heart runs o'er. They mourn'd to trust their treasure on the main. Sure of the storm, unknowing of their guide ; Welcome to her the peril and the pain. For well she knows the home where they may safely hide. She joys that one is born Into a world forgiven, Her Father's household to adorn, And dwell with her in Heaven. So have I seen, in spring's bewitching hour. When the glad earth is offering all her best. Some gentle maid bend o'er a cherish'd flower, And wish it Avorthier on a Parent's heart to rest. — Kehle. KEEPING POULTPY NO LOSS.— Part II. When Susan returned home laden with her poultry, eggs, and a bag or two of food for the fowls, slie found her husband very thankful to have her back again. KEEPING rOULTRY NO LOSS 4l'5 It ^Yas fortunate for Jonas that the former tenant of tlieir cottage had kept fowls, for a lien-liousc was ready, and though it Avas only of mud, Jones had that morning cleaned it out and given it what he called a brush of whitewash, so that it was both clean and warm, and looked very tidy. It was built against the outside of the wall, opposite to which the fireplace Avas within, and this secured the hut from being damp. Cleanliness, warmth, and good feeding, with a good stock to start with, were advantages within the reach of Jonas in his proposed undertaking, and we shall see that his poultry- yard prospered accordingly. The next day Jonas, for the convenience of his fowls, gave them what is called a hen ladder. One long perch liad been thought enough by the former tenant, as he fancied that fowls having wings could of course use them in flying up and down at night and morning. And in a wild state so thev would, but tame fowls become too heavy in the body by the different diet they eat, and the finer your hen, the more likely she is to suffer when she attempts to fly down from a high roost. If we feed our j)Oultry for our own purposes and make them helpless, "we ought not to let them suffer in consequence ; and so Jonas thought when he fixed his hen ladder. This was merely some poles stretched across the inside of the hut, one a little higher than the other, yet not exactly over it, but a little in advance. The small bit of garden ground had been made the most of by Jonas, and planted with cabbages, and as many other vegetables as he could find room for, while a narrow border under the cottage windows was kept for Susan's flowers. She now directed her husband to besin to prepare for the feed of the poultry, by sowing some sun-flower seed, given her by Mrs. Giles, round the hen- house and the hedge of the garden. The fowls are so fond of the seeds that they will, if not prevented, snatch them up when placed in the ground for growing, and when the seed ripens on the plant, you cannot give them a greater treat than by throwing the heads into the poultry-yard. Jonas to be sure had no poultry-yai'd, 42(5 iPnOGRESSIVE nEADEPv. "but the nclglibouring lane, along the side of wliicli ran a stream of clear water; this supplied liis fowls with water Avhen they wanted to drink ; and Susan also took care to have an earthen saucer or two always filled witli fresh water for them, and placed near the lien-liouse. About a farm-yard, fowls can generally contrive to pick up a good living with a very little help, and arc considered, too, very good eating. This arises from the variety of things on which they feed. They require a mixture of green food with hard food, quite as much as horses and cattle do. When they can have a good run, they will find this for themselves, but when shut up in a close yard it is a good plan to fasten cabbages, lettuces, rape, or other green herbs, by the roots to the fence and let the fowls pick for themselves. When it is difficult to get such green food, Swedish turnips, chopped very small, are a good substitute. The same yellow turnips boiled soft, and mixed with bran and pollard, or given by themselves, are also good for a change, and fowls require, like pigs, a change of diet. The carrots and parsnips in Jonas Keed's garden he was too glad to keep for his own eating, but still some of the refuse ones Susan carefully boiled for the fowls. Mangel svurzel was recommended by a neighbour, but Susan knew that the fowls do not like it, and that it did not do them good or promote the laying. Oats, w^hen cheap, were given, and a few handfuls now and then did no harm, though such food is said to be heating. Barley is only desirable as an occasional food when fowls are over fed, as it acts in a purgative manner. Wheat, wdien a sound and sale- able article, Susan well thought too valuable to be wasted on poultry; but her mother, with the hens, had given Susan a bag of damaged wheat, w^hich was used with profit and advantage. Rye is perha])s the cheapest grain to use ; when damaged it may be had at a very low price, and after being kept for a little time, will not do the fowls the injury which human beings sufler when such infested grain is made into bread. Too much however should not be at any time given. To promote laying, Susan followed the plan of feeding KEEPixa Poultry no los^. A27 adopted l)y lier motlicr, of giving the fowls scraps of animal food; about twice a week she threw to them a piece of raw bullock's liver, which the fowls liked to peck and throw about, almost as much as they enjoyed eating it. Lights, entrails, or other animal refuse, she first boiled for this purpose. A pennyworth of such food, as she remarked, would be well repaid out of the egg store. Cayenne, or red pepper, indeed all kinds of pepper, Susan found to be great favourites with the fowls. Mixed in a groimd state with boiled oatmeal, and moderately given, it acted as a powerful stimulant, and greatly promoted laying. " If our fowls," said Susan, " had been kept shut up in a yard, instead of being allowed to run about in the lane, I should have taken care to supply them with plenty of sand or gravel, or pounded chalk, for it seems that they absolutely require such things to be within their reach, they are good for the gizzard, as Avell as to supply them with matter for the egg shells. Another point Jonas, too, we must remember, and that is how to use the hemp seed and buckwheat, which my mother says is like so much medicine. If a hen pines or seems disposed to be thin, a little buckwheat will be of great service, but any hen that is fat must not be allowed to share in it, for according as hens take on fat, so do they fall off in laying. For such hens a little hemp seed is better than any other hard food." To which Jonas replied, " that he thought he must leave such matters to her, that he had always thought the fattest hens were the best layers, but it seemed that he was wrong, and that he did not know before, that all poultry required better feeding in winter than in summer." « " Yes," said his wife, " and a mess of cabbage or other greens boiled and hand-bruised, with bran or pollard, and a little pepper added, gives them as good and w^arming a mess as they can desire." " But," said Jonas, " suppose Ave cannot get such things as cabbasje and greens." *^ O we can use swede turnips instead." 4S8 PROGRESSIVE READER. " I tlilnk/' Scaid Jonas, " that with an onion and a Lit of bacon added to it, wo should not run away from such a mess ourselves. Since the potatoes have failed it has been a good thing for us, Susan, that we have taken to the swedes. However, I intend to follow the plan with my patch of ground that master recommends, and ho says it answers, and is used by the best gardeners. I don't like the thought of giving up potatoes altogether, so I shall plant them as early in the year as possible, and to secure a double crop, at each root I shall leave room between them for a cabbage. Master says he found this plan answer so well that he had a better crop than any body in the country round, and besides, had several tons of excellent cabbages per acre, vdiich are much better food, his wife has found out, for his cows than turnips, because it does not give their milk a bad taste. Now you see, though I have not a large field to plant, I don't see why I may not try the plan in my bit of ground ; and master is so anxious to recommend his plan, that he has given mo a few clear sound-skinned potatoes that I may have a good chance of success. He tells me that he never uses the potatoes for seed which were raised from the same soil only the year before." " I shall be very glad to have potatoes again, Jonas," said his wife, " and I am sure the plan of just planting a cabbage between, is a very simple one, and well worth trying, it will not after all waste a bit of our garden, and the cabbages at any rate will bo sure to answer as they have done before." TO-MOEKOW.* He who knows all things — and He only, knows How all things work together, and for what; And how the impending morrow's weal and woes Shall ring the changes on the common lot. * By the Author of '' Too Old for School,"' ^c. KEEPING POULTRY NO LOSS. 429 He only knows where tliat frail bark is floating, They launched so gay and trim at morning's prime; Tliat now with storms all shatter'd, soil'd, and broken, Drags slowly dowm the wayward stream of time. "We see the surface of the angry waves That chafe and break upon the rugged shore; He sees the treasures of the ocean caves Laid up for those who wait, in endless store. Be still, and bide thy time; the faithful eye AVill look beyond, not through fate's close-drawn veil, And take upon the trust of days gone by, That He is wise and doetli all thino-s w^ell. And should no bright to-morrow be at hand, To cheer thy pilgrimage of doubt and care ; Think of the sunris.e on that better land, And patient wait a glorious morrow there. KEEPING POULTEY NO LOSS.— Part IIL By keeping the hen-house warm, which was done by sheltering it with a wall of sods, and, as w^e have re- marked, allowing it to have the advantage of warmth from the kitchen fire, one or tsvo of the hens laid all through the winter. Susan took advantage of a hole in the corner of the hen-house, which was a very hot one, from being almost close to the fire, to put a laying nest of straw (hay breeding vermin in the fowls), and this Avas directly chosen as a favourite spot. In this nest the black hen was put to sit upon nine eggs. An odd num- ber is better covered by the hen, as Susan knew. They were quite fresh, and Susan marked the day on wdiiclx she put them under the hen. There ^vag no occasion to tui-tt theiu, for thi^ thQ bivcl does much better itself, On 43a PROGRESSIVE READER. the twelftli clay, Susan wishing to be sure that all the eggs were fruitful, held each of them between her hands in the sunshine. As the inside of each seemed to move or waver about, she knew the chicks were all right. If she had seen no movement she must have thrown them away as addled. On the sixteenth day, as her eggs had been quite fresh, she put one of them to her ear, and heard a thin, piping kind of noise come from within. From this time she was most attentive to the hen, and very cautious that she was not disturbed, allowing her to leave the eggs only once a day and never for more than ten minutes. Some people shut in hens altogether, and never allow them to leave the nest, but the bird suffers from a vrant of exercise and thus becomes un- healthy. Susan's hen would have sat until half starved, if not removed, and then would of course have been too weak to attend to her chickens when she had hatched them. Susan would not feed her upon the nest, but coaxed her to eat by giving her bits of favourite food ; such as chopped raw meat, hard egg, CARE OF INFANTS. 441 God 2tave a ccift to Earth : — a child, Weak, innocent, and undefiled, Open'd its ignorant eyes and smiled. And Earth received the gift, and cried Her joy and triumph, far and wide, Till echo answered to her pride. She blest the hour, when first he came To take the crown of pride and fame. Wreathed through long ages for his name. Then bent her utmost art and skill. To train the supple mind and will, And suard it from a breath of ill. O" She strew'd his morning path witli flowers ; And love, in tender drooping showers, Nourished the blue and dawning hours. She shed, in rainbow hues of light, A halo round the Good and Kight, To tempt and charm the baby's sight; And every step of work or play, Was lit by some such dazzling ray, Till morning brightened into day. And then the World arose, and said, — *' Let added honours now be shed On such a noble heart and head!" Oh! AVorld, both gifts were pure and bright, Holy and sacred in God's sight, The7)i God will judge, and thee aright. — Adelaide A. Procter. CARE OF INFANTS. An infant must be kept clean, or it will not live, much less will it become a healthy child. It must be care 44!2 rnoGEESSivE rvEADEr.. fully wasliGcI all over every morning and evening in water a little warm, (so as to take ofl" tlie cliill.) Instead of Avasliincj beincr a refresliment and delisjlit to the baby, as it is to a grown person, it is generally one of agony, caused by the awkward way in which it is performed, the constant change of position, and the tedi- ous length of the process. Babies do not cry so much because they dislike being washed, as from the needless discomfort caused by the number of times they are turned on their face, their backs, and their sides, while a variety of unnecessary collars, bandages, and girths are being flistened to their bodies, which only hinder the proper growth of their limbs, and the expansion of the diges- tive organs. The limbs should be free, and the clothing very simple, loose, dry, and Avarm. A little shirt, a warm flannel, and a little frock made to cover the arms and chest are about as much as a baby requires indoors. Much harm is done by the way in which babies are carried by little girls, who have scarcely strength enough to bear their weight; so they are huddled in a lump, or swing backwards and forwards, w^hile their spines are tender gristle, and grow up crooked. It is much better to lay them down flat on the floor, and let their little sisters amuse them under the mother's eye. But they require plenty of fresh air ; and it is better to Avheel them about in perambulators (which are now cheap enough) than to have them carried by small girls. Care, however, is requisite with perambulators, as the infant gets soon tired of sitting or lying in one position, and so is very apt to swing over the edge of its little carriage, and strain itself. Even nurse-maids are not free from carelessness, and they may often be seen pushing the I)erambulator in front of them without keeping any hold upon it. Not very long ago two very sad accidents happened, in one of Avhich the nurse-girl pushed the perambulator in this way, until it reached the edge of a steep lawn falling towards a lake, and before she could stop it, tho perambulator had run into the water, and the baby was drowned ; in the other, two of these girls were racing, tho pei'ambulators ran against each other, one was upset and the child killed on the ^pot CARE or INFANTS. 443 Great care is generally taken to sliclter very young babies from tlie wet or cold, while but little regard is paid to the heat. An infant should never be exposed to a hot sun, nor to sleep with its head unsheltered; nothing is more dangerous, and scarcely anything more ;Common; but this is a dijSerent thing from the equally bad practice of muffling their heads up in worsted bonnets or shawls; it is much better to leave the head cool, and not even to let them wear nightcaps. On no account allow a young child to be frightened; it may cause convulsive fits, and even death, in an infant; while to children up to the age of ten it is very injurious, as they seldom lose the fear which is thus caused. It is entirely owing to such inconsiderate acts that many cliildren are afraid to go into a lonely place or a dark room; whereas fear is not at all natural to a child. We sometimes find people who use their left hands more than their right, and we call them left-handed. The reason for this is supposed to be the inexperience of the nurse, who has habitually carried the child on the wrong arm, alloAving the left hand and arm to be more exercised in infancy than the right. It is thought by some persons to be the best practice to nurse children alternately on each arm, so that their arms become strengthened alike, and they can use one as well as the other. Too much of what is called '' nursing " is practised by most people, who, whenever a child cries, try to soothe it by dancing it about, and a variety of arts, without ever making the least attempt to find out what makes it cry. The cries of a child may soon be learnt, and the cause traced by studying its features. But a certain amount of crying is necessary to the full development of the child's lungs; it is not then the sound of distress, but the inarticulate utterance of its voice; and infants cry where older children talk. It is a great mistake to sup- j)ose, that every cry proceeds from a feeling of hunger (as often a tea-spoonful of water will stop it), or from a chance pin (which ought never to be used in a baby's clothing), as often it proceeds from indigestion, or pain 444 PROGRESSIVE READER. in the stomacli, in which case the cry will he sharp, and accompanied with tears and struggling with the feet and legs ; a hot fomentation will generally be the best remedy. A short peevish whine is usually the sign of irritation and fever, while a louder intermittent cry shews a desire for warmth or sleep; when suffering from croup its cry is ringing; from ear-ache, sharp and pierc- ing; when teething, sharp and fretful; when hungry, wailing ; but in severe illness, it moans, and seldom cries. Do not, on any account, be tempted to give a child any of those " cordials," or "soothing syrups," that arc sometimes used to quieten a cry. They are all injurious to its health, and only still the cry by stupifying the child. On no account let any one give it spirits, alcoholic drink, or raw fruit ; its weak digestion is soon disordered, and these things can have no other effect than to spoil its power of digesting nourishing food. THE MOUKNi:N^a MOTHER (of the dead blind). Dost thou weep, mourning mother, For thy blind boy in the grave 1 That no more with each other Sweet counsel ye can have ? That he, left dark by nature. Can never more be led By thee, maternal creature. Along smooth paths instead ? That thou canst no more shew him The sunshine, by the heat; The river's silver llowinsf, By murmurs at his feet 1 The foliage, by its coolness ; The roses, by their smell; And all creation's fulness. By Love invisible ? THE MOURNING MOTHER. 445 Weepest tliou to behold not His meek blind eyes again. Closed doorways wliicli were folded, And pray'd against in vain — And under wliicli, sate smiliDg The child-mouth evermore, As one who watch eth, willing The time l)y, at the door ? And weepest thou to feel not His clinging hand on thine — Which now, at dream time, will not Its cold touch disentwine *? And weepest thou still after. Oh, never more to mark, His low soft words, made softer By speaking in the dark? Weep on, thou mourning mother ! But since to him when living, Thou wust both sun and moon, Look o'er his grave, survivins:. From a high sphere alone ! Sustain that exaltation. Expand that tender light; And hold in mother-passion Thy Blessed in thy sight. See how he went out straightway From the dark world he knew — No twilight in the gateway To mediate 'twixt the two — Into the sudden glory, Out of the dark he trod, Departing from before thee At once to light and God ! For the first face, beholding The Christ's in its divine; For the first place, the golden And tideless hyaline : With trees at lasting summer, That rock to songful sound, 44G PROGRESSIVE READER. Wliile anofcls the new-comer Wrap a still smile around. Oil, in the blessed psalm now, His happy voice he tries, Spreading a thicker palm-bough, Than others, o'er his eyes; Yet still, in all the singing', Thinks haply of thy song AVhich, in his life's first springing, Sang to him all night long. And wishes it beside him, With kissing lips that cool, And soft did overglide him, To make the sweetness full. Look up, O mourning mother, Thy blind boy walks in light ; Ye wait for one another, Before God's infinite ! Cut iJiou art now the darkest, Thou, mother, left below — Thou, the sole blind, — thou markest, Content that it be so — Until ye two have meeting Where Heaven's pearl-gate is, And he shall lead thy feet in, As once thou leddest his. Wait on, thou mourning mother ! — Elizabeth Barrett Browninrj. THE NIGHT-NURSE.— Part I. It was the beginning of November when I first took to nursing, and the long winter nights had set in. It was the fashion in that hospital, to call the night nurses by the name of their wards, and mine being the Victoria ward, I was always called " Nurse Victoria." Alice Wilmot, the day-nurse, was an unmarried woman, a THE NIGHT-NUESE. 447 year or two younger tlian myself; slio ^vas a gentle, soft- hearted, loving creature, more fit for my work than lier own, as I was more adapted for hers. The activity, and method, and perpetual effort of memory required in a medical ward, perplexed and harassed poor ISTurse Alice; Avhilst it would have excited and interested me. »Slie ■would rather have spent her time hanging over and soothing them individually — a work which more fro- Sick Ward in. Hosx^ital for Children. quently fell to my lot, who had comparatively little else to do, and who came on duty at a time when invalids almost invariably become worse. Poor Alice ! I think I can see her, with her night lamp in her hand, as she waited to give me the doctor's directions, and looked round her wistfully at the long row of beds, seen only by the light of the half-turned-off £jas and the flickerinof fiame of the fire, v " Call me if you want help, Victoria," she used to say: *' I will always come at a minute's notice;" and then one would beckon her, and yet another, for " good night " and a parting word. When she vras gone, I made up my fire, and filled my 448 PROGRESSIVE READER. kettles, and put my sheets to air ; and tlicn I used to sit down with Alice's cat upon my knee; and watch hour after hour, without occupation, without a companion, without a light. If there was any extreme case in the Avard, I used to sit by the bed with a candle; and though only a subject for anxiety, that was something to occupy the mind. Otherwise there was nothing to pass the time, except the giving of medicine at intervals ; the querulous cry of " night-nurse " from those who lay awake, or the muttering of unquiet sleepers. So the time passed till between two and three, whilst I pondered and pondered on the days that were gone, or formed castles iii the air for my boy; night after night, the same recollections, the same bright visions, the same sad thoughts. About two o'clock, a drowsi- ness stole upon me that was frequently painful to resist ; a weariness that no effort could shake off for long, and that rendered each summons a trial of temper, that none but a night-nurse can understand. I used to go to the tap and wash my face in cold water, and smell sal-vola- tile or ammonia, and after about an hour, the sensation went off, and in my heart I thanked God when it did. When that trouble was over, I used to go to the window, provided the patients were asleep, and look out at the stormy winter's night, and in at the bright blazing fire in the grate. Then came the early morning duties, and the light of the winter's dawn; and at seven o'clock, with her sweet fresh face, in tripped my dear Nurse Alice. " How have they slept, Victoria ?" that was always her first greeting; then sli-e would pin up her gown, and tuck up her sleeves, and help me to dust and clean. Then came the washinc; of the invalids, who could not help themselves ; and a nicer handed, gentler handmaid than Alice, no lady in the land could boast of. I have seen her stand over lieads of hair that have made me shudder to look at, and comb them as gently and care- fully as I used to comb my young lady's hair years ago, ^vhcn I lived in scrvic-e. THE PRIDE OF THE MORNING. 449 About nine o'clock my work was done, and I bid my patients good-bye ; I was often loath to leave tlie ward Avlien it came to taking leave, more especially if any v.-ere likel}^ to die before the day was over. " Good-bye, dear night-nurse," they would say, " Ave shall be glad to see you back;" and out in the cold, fresh morning air I set forth on my journey home. The short, brisk Avalk made me feel as wide awake as I had been sleepy some hours before ; and sore was the trial of going to bed, instead of nursing my darling boy, or bustling about with mother. It did seem hard to be thus shut out from the daily interests of life, from the busy, happy, sunshine world, all alive after their quiet sleep. But I remembered the weary nightly struggle, and soundly I would sleep through the bright noon-day, and it got to be a luxury to be roused now and then, and to be able to turn over in my snug, warm bed, and finish my sleep at leisure. At five o'clock in the evening came the happiest time of all. Mother came into the room, and closed tJie shutters, and left me a lighted candle; and I could hear the kettle singing merrily, through the half-open kitchen door, and baby crowing in his crib all ready to be nursed. THE "PEIDE OF THE MOENIXG." The bright hair'd morn is orlowinc: O'er emerald meadows gay, With manv a clear o-em strewin-,• *-• Tiff. 3. on the part, no " turn " or " twist " is necessary (as seen in 1 and 2, fig. 4); but at 3 botli edges of the bandao;e would not be in contact ■.vith the leg, if car- vied on straight; there would be a gap left between the edo;e of the bandage and the leg, therefore, a sim- ple turn requires to Tis. 4. be given, as shewn in figs. 4 and 5. This is always necessary, when the part bandaged is not of equal thick- ness, and the turn must begin wherever the increase of thickness begins. One round of the bandage must '^not be tight and another slack, but all firm alike. In making a turn of the bandao-e, the'W?z?'0^/et/ portion of the roller %!!{ must bo kept quite slack, while the other hand prevents the ap- plied part of the band- age from getting loose, or undoing itself, and then a curve is made vith the roller in the rig, 5, s. YI. c. "^20 MunrQ 4:GQ mOGRESSIVE READER. left hand, so as to make the ''turn." Fastening the bandage may be done in three ways : — (1.) By means of a pin, which is the best, perhaps, in a grown-up per- son; or (2.) it may be split at the end, torn up, so as to make two strings, tic round the limb, and fasten with a common knot, whicli is not recommended, as the tie may be made too tight; or (3.) it may be sewn with a needle and thread, which is the best, especially with A-ounfC children. Fi.cr. G. Fig. 6 shews how to keep a poultice on the arm-pit. A large common square handkerchief is folded, as in the figure, and its centre placed upon the poultice under the arm; it is then taken up at the back and front, crossed over the top of the shoul- ders, and carried to the opposite arm-pit, and tied there with a knot. For bandaging the Head. — A piece of calico about eight inches broad is taken, and each end is di- vided into two equal parts, and torn up as far as to within threo inches of the centre ; this makes a "four- tailed " bandage. Lay the centre part over the head, bringing the edge on to tho forehead, if the sore is there ; and take rig. 7. Fig. 8. the ends that come from the forehead part of the liandage round the back of tho head, cross them there, and bring them to tho front, tying thoVn in a knot und(;r the chin. The otlicr ends from the hinder T)art of tlie bandaeje briujT straiidit down, and also tie under the chin, as in fig. 8, OPENING A BLISTER. 4^7 DRESSING SOKES. TiET 1, 2, and 3 represent three ulcers on the leg, which are to bo dressed, and are healing : a, 6, and c, are intended to point out what should be done, viz., on ulcer 1, a piece of lint (a), its exact size, should be dipped in the lotion, and laid on the sore, and tliis ought then to bo covered by id\ the gutta- , , .,, ,.^, perclia tissue or oil-silk, / ^2 ^^S'^ 'i^ -' which is larger than the /""^P*"^ %...£ ulcer and the lint, and y -^W^ W.'.f- prevents any part of the lint (a) from getting dry. Ulcer 2 ought to be* uunro. dressed separately, in exactly the same way, and so ought ulcer 3. The lint must cover the ulcer, and no more; and the oil-silk should extend a little beyond the lint all round it. Then the whole should be covered by a band- age well wound round the leg. As each ulcer heals, the lint and oil-silk should gradually be made smaller. Munro. OPENING A BLISTER. Take a needle (not a pin) and make two or more holes on the lower part of the blister, near the skin, and let out all the matter ; then press the skin down flat and smooth it ', do not leave it in wrinkles. A piece of old linen rag, scorched in front of the fire, and Avithout any seam in it, may then be laid gently on, and when the blister has ceased to run, take some linen rag, spread upon it some cold cream, or melted marrow (nicely strained), lay it over the blister, put some cotton wad- ding at the top, and let it remain for about twelve hours. If new matter has formed, it must be let out, as before; if not, dress it in the same way again. Do not take oif the old skin ; but let it come away of itself. Munro, 468 PROGRESSIVE READER. POULTICES. Nothing can be more simple than tlie making of poultices; and yet, altliougli tliey are so constantly used, they are made badly more frequently than well. They are of many different sorts, — bread and water, bread and milk, linseed meal, half linseed half bread, (tc. As to our first consideration, the quantity of bread and meal that is to be mixed with a certain amount of water, I can give no very certain rules. A poultice should be more or less wet, more or less dry, accordins to the circumstances of the case in which it has to be used. If it be intended to go upon the inflamed but un- Avounded skin, it should be rather more' wet than when it is to lie upon a discharging wound. Tlie discharge keeps the poultice moist; whereas the heat from the imbroken skin tends to dry it. Again a poultice may be ordered to lie on some tender part, and it will cause an amount of pressure thereon, as may happen where a joint, orsome part of the hollow of the stomach, is inflamed. 'Under these circumstances it will be necessary, so that the pressure may be as slight as possible, that the poultice be light, therefore it must be spread thin. A thin poultice will of course dry more quickly than a thick one, and therefore it must be the more moist. All poultices made of bread or linseed-meal and water alone should be boiled. First determine the size of the poultice, then pour into a small saucepan the quantity of water necessary for that size, and before it quite boils, crumble slowly in some two days old bread. During this time the bread and water must be frequently stirred together, occasionally tlie saucepan taken oft", and the contents mashed up with a spoon. If tlie poultice be large enough, but still too moist, squeeze out some of the water, and pour it away; or if, on the other liand it be too dry, add a little water, a few drops at a time, stirring and mixing it up well with a spoon. If a brcad-gratcr or bread-rasp be at hand, the smoothness POULTICES. 4G0 of tlic poultice can be improved by grating Hie bread, instead of crumbling it with the tingers. A linseed-meal poultice is made in the same way. The meal must be strewn by the hand into the water, not plunged in by spoonfuls; thus it will be smooth nnd even: but by throwing in quantities at a time it will be unevenly mixed and knotty. When buying linseed-meal, its quality can be tried l)y ])incliing up a little, and rubbing it on the back of tlie hand; if it feel smooth, it is good; if, on the con- trary, it be gritty, there is sand in it. Another, and surer way — but then it must have been bought — is to sprinkle a little very thinly on a glass of cold water; if in a short time it all floaty it is good ; any sand that is in it will sink to the bottom. The poultice should be spread on a piece of rag, rather larger than the part to be treated. It is not to be sju'ead over the whole rag, but must leave a clear margin all round, which is to be turned up over the edge of the bread or linseed-meal, keej)ing it in its place, and not allowing it to be squeezed out so as to soil the dress or bed-clothes. In a^^plying the poultice take care that it be not too hot ; remember that a wound or in- flamed skin, will feel the heat more than one's own natural finger. Do not slap it on suddenly and rudely ; but, beginning at one edge, lay it gradually and gently down. It may be kept on by a handkerchief or a band- age, according to the form of the place where it is applied; the bandage is the safer and the neater means. Linseed-meal is generally used for old wounds, for inflammations of the unbroken skin, and for abscesses, l)oth before and after opening, when they occur about the bodv. Bread is used for fresher wounds, which are nevertheless discharging or about to discharge, and in nearly all cases where a poultice is to be applied to the head or face, more particularly to the eyes. Mustard Poultices. The mustard ])oulticG is different in purpose to the above soothing remedies. It is intended to cause some 4:70 PROGRESSIVE RE.VDER. amount of irritation on tlic skin, and thereby" to counter- act j)ain or deeply-seated inflammation. Hence it is called a counter-irritant. This remedy is often used by mothers for their children in a very indiscriminate manner, and it may be as well to mention certain bodily conditions in Avhich it is not advisable. The chief of these are' feverishness and a certain nervous irritability. Thus it will be undesirable to use one when the skin is hot and dry, and when a person is in a more restless and irri- table state than can bo accounted for merely by the pain. When the poultice is to be applied to the chest or throat, on account of irritation about the air-passages, great care must be taken to cover it with some rather thick material; because the smell and pungency of mustard, draAvn into the windpipe, will cause more irritation there than the poultice can remove. In preparing this poultice, the mustard must not be boiled; strew the powder into somo hot water in a basin, stirring and mixing it well with a spoon, until it is con- siderably thicker than the mustard used for eating — until, in fact, it is a rather soft paste. The poultice may be made of mustard alone, or of mustard mixed with flour or crumbled bread; the proportions of each to be regulated by the biting or stinging power required. It may be mixed simply with water or with vinegar (the latter is the weaker preparation), or with both mixed. Cayenne or other pepper should under no circumstances be added, for reasons that will presently bo apparent. I need hardly say, that the milder preparations arc used for children, the stronger for men with sluggish skins. The skins of fair people are usually more irritable than those of dark. Mustard poultices are to be spread thin, as they are only kept on a short time; an eighth, or what is the same thing, half a quarter of an inch, is quite thick enough. It may be spread either on rag or brown paper : the paper is better Avhen the part ofi. which it is to lie is tolerably flat, as, for instance, the chest or stomach; but if it be round, as the knee or shoulder, brown paper will not bend and lie closely to the form ; rag, therefore, should be used. HOT APPLICATIONS. 471 This poultice, like all sucli applications, must bo applied ^vith a gentle hand; carefully and tenderly pressed on the skin nntil it touches in all parts. Let ine, however, strongly recommend that a piece of coarso muslin bo placed between tho mustard and tho skin. When the surface has been irritated by the poultice, washing away any of it which adheres causes a great deal of pain. The muslin prevents the mustard sticking to the flesh, and makes it come away entirely, so that the inflamed surface need only be lightly sponged with warm water. Tho reason of the above caution against cayenne, or any other sort of pepper, is now evident, for the small grains are apt to get through the muslin, to remain on the skin, and to cause pain, perhaps even small sores. — Hints on Niwsinrj. TO EEMOVE A PLASTEE. Lift it very gently all round; if it sticks very fast, and the skin is tender, or broken, do not give the patient unnecessary pain j but put on a little sweet-oil all round the plaster with a feather, and then gently remove a little more, touching tho skin each time with the oiled feather. When as much has been raised as can be borne by the patient, cut it close off all round with a pair of sharp scissors, and leave the skin to harden for a few .hours; then try again, in the same way. HOT APPLICATIONS. Fomentations, or hot applications are very useful when there is severe pain. They may always be readily fur- nished by taking two or more folds of thick flannel, large enough to cover the i)lace where the pain is felt, and dipping the flannel in boiling water. It should then be wrapped in a towel, and wrung Avell, taken out and put 472 rnoGKESsivE reader. upon the part, then covered with a large dry flannel roller, or a piece of oil-silk, to keep it longer warm, and l)reserve the clothes from being AVtoted. It should be changed when it gets cold, or every half-hour, till the pain ceases. WASHING OK BATHING SOKES. This is best done with a piece of tow, lint, or flannel. A wound should be seldom, if ever, washed Avith a sponge, as the latter holds the matter discharged, and cannot be thoroughly washed out. If the wound is very tender, it can be washed by holding the liuib over a wash-hand basin, filling a sponge with water, and letting it trickle on to the Avound without touching it with the sponge : then spread a little dry lint on it. Wounds ought to be washed twice a day at least, as getting out the dead matter helps the place to heal. TO MAKE BEEF-TEA. Cut the meat up into pieces about the size of a marble, taking away all the fat. Put it into a jar, and pour cold water over it; tie the jar down with a piece of brown 2^aper ; put the jar into a sauce-pan of cold water; let it remain on the fire till it boils, and keep it hoiling fo]* twenty minutes. To make it very good, put one pound of meat to half a pint of water; but in most cases double the quantity of water will suttice. In cases of very serious weakness, put the pieces of meat (when cut very small) into a wide-mouthed bottle, ivithout any loater, tie the neck down with a bladder, plunge the bottle into a sauce-pan of cold water, set it on the fire and boil it until the heat has drawn out the juice of the meat. A tea-spoonful of this is more stixjngthening than a cupful of the former receipt. — llev. J. Jlidgwaij. SICK COOKERY. 473 SICK COOKEEY/^ Gruel. Ingredients. — One tablespoonful oatmeal, salt iuid sugar to taste. Mode. — Put the oatmeal ami salt into a tumLler; mix a little cold water, just sufficient to moisten the meal; pour boiling water on the mixture, stirring con- stantly till the tumbler is full; let it stand till cool enough. If the invalid can take milk, put only three- fourths of boiling water, and fill up with milk. Thick Gruel. Ingredients. — One teacupful oatmeal, salt to taste, half teacupful milk, one breakfast cupful boiling water. Mode. — Put the oatmeal and salt into a small basin ; mix a little cold water to moisten it well; pour the boiling water over it, stirring constantly; strain through a sieve into a small sauce-pan ; add the salt and milk ; boil for three minutes, stirring constantly. Serve with cream or good milk. Pudding without Eggs. Ingredients. — One tablespoonful of rice, sago, or tapioca; one tablespoonful sugar, milk, and a little salt. Mode. — Butter a small pudding dish ; add the rice (after being well Avashed and drained) and sugar; fill the dish with milk, and set it at the side of a quiet tire at least three hours before it is required; add more milk as it is soaked up; half an hour before being sent to table, put the pudding in the oven to brown on the top. A Simple Omelet. Ingredients. — One egg, one dessert^spoonful cream, one ounce butter, a very little salt. * Extracted by permission from The Science and Art of Nursing the Sick, by ^neas Munro, M.D. Glasgow : James Maclehose. 474 rnoGRESSiVE reader. Mode. — Beat tlio egg with the cream; put tlie butter and salt in a frying-pan ; heat it well ; add tlic egg and cream; hold the pan over the fire a few minutes, taking care not to let the omelet stick to the pan; shake it slightly to keep it from burning ; fry it over the fire for ii\Q minutes. Never put Hour in an omelet. Tea or Coffee for an Invalid. Ingredients. — One newly laid egg, one breakfast cup- ful of tea or coffee, cream and sugar to taste. Mode. — Beat up the Avhole egg in a breakfiist cup, with a little sugar ; add one tablespoonful of cream ; pour over it the tea or coffee very hot, and stir it. Isinglass. A teaspoonful of melted isinglass can generally bo mixed in a cup of tea or coffee, without the sick person linding it out, and it is very strengthening. Barley-water. Ingredients. — Two and a-half ounces pearl barley, four and a-half pints soft Avatcr. 3Iode. — Wash the barley with cold water first ; then ]")Our half a pint of the water, and boil for fifteen or twenty minutes. Pour this Avater ofi' and throw it away, and, having boiled the four pints, pour it on the barley and boil it down to two, and strain. Toast and "Water. Toast thoroughly, but do not burn, a slice of a loaf one or two days old; put it into a jug, and pour over it a quart of boiling water, cover it up to keep in the steam ; let it stand till quite cold, and then strain it. Treacle Posset. Ingredients. — One teaspoonful treacle, one glass of sherry, one tumbler of milk. Mode. — Put the milk into a sauce-pan and let it boil ; have the sherry and treacle mixed in a small bayin ; SICK COOKEr.Y. 475 pour tlie boiling milk over it ; cover and let it stand till the treacle rises to the top, which remove carefully, and pour the posset into a tumbler or cup. TmrE. Ingredients. — Choice pieces of tripe, salt, pepper, onion, bntter, milk, corn-flour. Mode. — Wash the tripo well in salt and water j ])ut it into a stew-pan with cold water ; let it boil till tender, which will be in five or six hours ; drain the tripe well from the water ; have ready in a sauce-pan one teacupful of equal parts milk and water, })iece of an onion, salt, and pepper to taste ; a piece of butter ; let it boil ; put in as much tripe as will bo required ; thicken the sauce with a little corn-flour ; simmer for three-quarters of an hour. — Mimro. Oatmeal roiiRiDGE. Boil a pint of water in a sauce-pan; when quite boil- ing, put in a teaspoonful of salt; then take a flat wooden slice (as thick as the lath of a bed-valance) and filter the oatmeal into the Avater, as it boils, very gently beating the water all the time with the slice. It must not be stirred round, but beaten down the middle, as if beating a batter pudding. When as thick as batter, keep it on the fire about a minute, then pour it on to a plate, and cat it with treacle, sugar, or milk. — Jiev. J, Eidgway. Black Currant Tea. Ingredients. — Black currant jam two tablespoonsful, one tablespoonful of moist sugar, one pint of boiling- water Mode. — Put the jam and sugar into a jug, pour boiling water upon it, stir it well and let it stand on the hob or a trivet, covered with a cup or small plate, and keep drinking from it a tablespoonful about every half hour during the evening. Be careful to keep it hot, and it is an excellent remedy for a cold. — Hev. J. Eidgwaij. 4:7 Q PROCIRESSIVE TvEADEE. DISEASES OF CHILDKEN. WiiooriNG-CouGii at first resembles a sliglit colJ, with a short, dry cough and oj^pressed breathing, accom- jKinied by tliirst. It is often from one to three weeks l)efore the cliikl begins to whoop, which is a spasmodic drawing in of the breath before coughing, which lasts longer than an ordinary cough, is somewhat like chok- ing, and often ends in vomiting, which it is wise to encourage by emetics. It is often accompanied by bleeding of the nose, which is a good sign. It is more dangerous in infants than in children above two years old; but it is not infectious, except from the force of imitation so common to children. Change of air, exer- cise in the open air, and a dry atmosphere, are most useful in this complaint, which seldom leaves the child till warm weather sets in. Croup is a dangerous and often fatal illness, and should be treated by a doctor ; but it is well to know its symptoms, as it comes suddenly, is very rapid, and generally fatal in less than three days, attacking children between the ages of three and ten years, especially those that are fat, and have short necks. It begins with rest- lessness, a rattling and wheezing in the throat, laboured breathing and distressed countenance; the child will often pick at its throat with its lingers. This is followed by a discharge of thick fluid from the mouth, and choking fits of coughing. The lirst remedy is to put the child into a hot bath up to the chin, give it an emetic, and ]nit a mustard poultice on the throat; but send at once for the doctor. Convulsions are frequent with infants from their birth through the time of cutting their teeth. They usually begin Avitli a sharp, short scream, rolling of the eyes, Avhich become glassy and staring, and a contraction of the back and arms, with the lingers stretched out stift*. Put the child into a hot bath up to the chin, and rub the spine vigorously far a few minutes. Measles are one of the common and almost necessary DISEASES OF CHILDREN. 47? ailments of cliildren; Lut, if properly treated and taken in time, are seldom fatal. They can easily be distin- guislied from scarlet fever, as the eruption is much larger, is of a dark red (instead of brigld scarlet), and if pressed with the finger it does not disappear, Avhereas in scarlet fever the part pressed becomes white for the moment. The face becomes swollen in measles, and often the eyes and nose run, accompanied by constant sneezing, just as in a very bad cold. No attempt should be made to cure the complaint without medical advice; but once taken, to separate the child attacked from others, and to keep it warm, treating it, until the doctor comes, just as you would treat a severe cold. Scarlet Fever and Scarlatina are supposed to be two forms of the same complaint, but the latter is its worst form. It usually begins somewhat like a bilious attack, with sudden vomiting, severe headache, and cold shiver- ing of the limbs, with fits of burning heat, and excessive thirst, and sore throat, rendering the act of swallowing very difficult, as if the throat were stopped up. About the third day scarlet patches appear on the face, throat, and back, and the inside of the throat is of the same colour, and is much swollen, the tongue becoming a bright red ; the sooner this scarlet eruption sliews itself, the more dangerous is the attack. It is one of the most infectious diseases, and it is almost impossible to say when the clothes, bedding, or room used by the patient are free from the danger of infection. It is absolutely necessary to separate any one attacked by it from all the rest of the household, and to prevent any one (except the nurse) from coming into contact with the patient, or anything used by him or her. All carpets, curtains, clothing, in fact every- thing of a woollen or textile fabric should be carefully removed at once from the room, which should be daily v/ashed over with cold water, and the top of the window kept open about an inch, as much as possible, avoiding any draught from falling upon the sick person. Upon this important point one of the medical officers of the Middlesex Hospital, after jnentioning that the contagioii 478 '" PROGEESSIVE DEADER.- is readily and usually conveyed by its clinging to mate- rials of all sorts, writes as follows : — " The patient's linen, bed-clothes, ttc, as used, ought to be thrown into water, and so conveyed to the wash, where they should be well boiled, to render inactive any contagious matters. Another and more certain method is to expose the articles in an oven to a dry heat of 200 degrees Fahren- heit. The sick room ought to be kept well ventilated, remembering, however, that greater care to avoid a draught requires to be taken in the course of this dis- ease than in almost any other. The windows and door may be thrown wide open for a few minutes several times a day, at the same time temporarily covering over the patient's head. A solution of chloride of lime (of the strength of one pound to eight gallons of water) ought to be kept in the room in plates, basins, or in cloths hung on a screen, so as to disinfect the apartment. When the sick-room is vacated, it is not a needless expense to whitewash and re-paper it; and the wood- work ought to be thoroughly washed with the above solution. Carbolic-acid soap is also an excellent thing for that purpose, and so is carbolic acid in w\ater. Rare instances have been known where (though these and other preventive measures have been adopted), the dis- ease has broken out again in the same house. The chance of contagion diminishes daily with the lapse of time, but the end of that time is not definitely known. * Scarlatina' is a bland, genteel word, but wliicli throws people off their guard, tends to prevent them adopting useful precautions against the spread of the disease, and, by treating it as trivial, to augment the dire results. Sometimes a sore throat is all that is com- plained of; yet, with only that symptom shewing, this person may give scarlet fever to another of the most virulent form. The sore throats that people talk of as * catching' are chiefly none other than those occurring in scarlet fever of a mild type. Scarlet fever is not a dangerous disease in itself, usually, as compared wdth some other eruptive fevers. Tliere, too, rarely is seei^ any of those dx'caded consequences of the fever DISEASES OF CHILDREN. - 479 wliicli aro TTPslierecl in about the tliircl week, and serve to mount up the mortality of cases in private life, or injure the health of many others. How are these avoided there ? By keeping the patients strictly in bed for three weeks, however sli<:;"ht their case may seem. During the course of the disease the kidneys are more or less affected. After the rash of scarlet fever lias subsided, and about the seventh day from the date of the attack, the skin begins to peel off more or less, and takes about a fortnight thus to shed. This new skin is delicate, and its action easily suppressed. If the j^atient with it in that condition receive a chill, the func- tions which ought to be carried on by the skin are thrust inward to be performed by the kidneys — a work they are unable to fulfil from their already impaired condition — • and hence follows acute inflammation of these organs, and death after that is often rapid. If not, then are seen dropsy, rheumatism, swollen glands, diseased joints, and other serious complications, which all tend in ordi- nary life to increase the mortality, or permanently to injure the constitution of numbers. Speaking generally, these are not the results of the fever, for they are avoid- able. They are grave complications, most common after slight cases — in those very cases of so-called ' scarlatina' which people wrongly think is not scarlet fever." Chicken-pox is a mild kind of small-pox, but can easily be distinguished from it by the blister-like form of the eruption, containing a transjDarent liquid; the treatment consists of hot baths and mild opening medicine. Coio-jwx is caused by vaccination, which is now en- forced by law, any parents neglecting to have their children vaccinated (which is no expense to them), being- liable to a fine, until they have obeyed the law. It is a very foolish thing to neglect this, as it is a safe protection against small-pox. Small-2)0X is a most fatal disease, from which many thousand people die every year, and in most cases a little ordinary care and attention to cleanliness, and ventilation would save their lives. It besrins with j^ains in the head, limbs, and back, vomiting, and fever; 480 TROGRESSIVE READER. * the face, feet, and hands swell, swallowing becomes diffi- cult, and the eyelids are filled with a liquid. Small red spots begin to appear about the third day on the face, gradually growing larger and spreading over the body. These, on the eighth day, are filled with matter, and on the eleventh begin to discharge, after which the skin becomes a hard crust, which gradually peels off in scales, often leaving pit-holes or pock-marks upon the skin of the face. The siglit is frequently affected, and some- times partial or total blindness is the result of this disease. Small-pox can only be treated by a medical man; but it is well for every one to know its symptoms, as its infection rapidly spreads, and is worst at the commence- ment of the disease, so that the greatest care sliould be immediately taken to separate a person attacked with it fi'om those who are well, and to stop the spread of the disease to others. The patients should be removed to the hospital before the eruption comes out, and the room and bed where they slept should be at once fumigated. This course will both give the sufferer the best chance of recovering, and save others from this dreadful infliction. Fumigation after Small-pox. — "The doors and win- dows being tightly closed (after the bedding and cloth- ing have been suspended in some manner so as to allow free access of the fumes), from one to three pounds of sul])hur are placed upon some metallic vessel so as to avoid the danger of fire, a little alcoliol poured over it and then set on fire, the operator immediately leaving the room and closing the door tightly, so as to i)revent the escape of the fumes, as far as possible. This is allowed to burn out. After two hours the doors and windows may be thrown wide open and the room tlioroughly ventilated by the free admission of air. Experience has taught us that these means were proved, when thoroughly done, to have destroyed the infcctiou •NvhicU ha.$ bccji in the apartmeiit."