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Bducati'^*""'  T>"wn — 4.i *■ 


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First  Pkt.i 
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London, 
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pp.,  Ex. 
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Thomas 


In 

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History  of  th.^  wttoman  ,±iMPiRE.  ±Jy  b.  JMenzies,  -  -  2 
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ARITHMETIC. 

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NEW    CODE 


PROGRESSIVE   READER. 


SIXTH     STANDARD. 

[FOR  MIXED  CLASSES.] 


WITH   ILLUSTRATIONS   BY   DALZIEL    BROTHERS,    &g. 


LONDO]^": 

WILLIAM    COLLINS,    SONS,    AND    COMPANY. 


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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. 

0  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,  0  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.  0  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=<SIVE  READER, 

plants,  though  all  belonging  to  the  Leguminous  order. 
The  broad  bean,  of  which  the  unripe  seed  alone  is 
eaten  as  a  vegetable,  is  a  species  of  the  genus  Vetch, 
an  annual  growing  to  the  height  of  from  two  to  three 
feet,  which,  unlike  the  other  species,  is  not  a  climbing 
plant.  The  delightful  fragrance  of  its  black  and  white 
flowers  is  familiar  to  every  one;  but  the  principal  use 
of  this  bean,  when  ripe,  is  as  fodder  for  horses,  cattle, 
hogs,  and  poultry.  The  French  or  Haricot  bean  is  a 
dwarf  species,  and  the  scarlet  runner  in  Britain  (one  of 
the  most  universally  cultivated  of  all  garden  vegetables) 
is  another  species  of  the  same  genus.  The  whole  pod, 
or  fruit  of  these  plants,  is  eaten  before  it  is  ripe. 

Both  are  of  the  easiest  culture,  but  they  must  not  be 
sown  till  all  danger  of  frost  is  over.  There  are  numerous 
varieties,  and  some  of  these  are  cultivated  for  food  in 
nearly  every  country  of  the  world  where  gardening  is 
practised. 

TliQ  Tare  and  the  Lentil  Sive  species  of  the  genus  Ervum, 
and  are  used  as  food  in  some  continental  countries,  but 
in  England  they  are  only  cultivated  as  fodder. 

The  Leguminous  order  contains  but  few  positively 
unwholesome  or  poisonous  kinds;  but  among  these,  the 
Laburnum  is  best  known  for  its  beautiful  flowers,  which 
are  such  universal  favourites. 

The  Potato  belongs  to  a  family  of  plants,  almost 
every  one  of  which  is,  in  a  greater  or  less  degree, 
poisonous.  The  noxious  principles  generally  abound  in 
the  fruit  or  leaves,  while  the  roots  or  subterranean 
stems,  such  as  the  potato,  are  commonly  innocent,  if  not 
wholesome,  when  boiled ;  but  so  formidable  are  the 
deleterious  properties  of  the  order,  that  even  in  the 
case  of  the  valuable  vegetable  now  under  our  considera- 
tion, the  water  in  which  it  has  been  cooked  is  in  a 
certain  degree  poisonous. 

Starch  in  considerable  quantities  is  obtained  from 
potatoes,  by  crushing  them,  and  well  washing  the  pulp 
repeatedly  in  cold  water  till  all  the  starch  is  extracted; 
the  water  then  must  be  evaporated,  or  decanted  off,  and 
the  starch  will  be  left  nearly  pure. — Satui^day  Magazine, 


VEGETABLE   PRODUCTIONS.  51 


VEGETABLE  PRODUCTIONS  FURNISHING 

DRINKS. 

Tea  may  now  be  fairly  regarded  as  constituting  a  large 
portion  of  the  drink  of  all  classes  in  this  country,  and  is 
become  nearly  an  absolute  necessary — a  degree  of  im- 
portance it  has  attained  from  its  valuable  and  pleasant 
qualities.  It  is  a  stimulant  to  the  body  and  mind, 
"without  any  pernicious  reaction,  and  unproductive  of 
any  of  those  diseases  which  accompany  the  use  of  other 
stimulants,  as  spirits,  wine,  beer,  &c. 

€h'een  tea  possesses  the  qualities  of  the  plant  in 
a  higher  degree  than  the  black,  to  those  who  are  not 
habituated  to  its  use;  it  acts  as  a  stimulant  to  the 
mental  faculties  more  powerfully  than  any  fermented 
liquor,  and  completely  banishes  sleep  for  many  hours :  it 
is  hence  the  resource  of  all,  who  want  to  watch  or 
study  during  the  hours  usually  devoted  to  rest. 

The  tea-plant  is  of  the  same  natural  order  as  the 
camelia  of  our  green-houses,  and  some  species  of  the  tea 
plant  belong  to  that  genus  itself;  but  the  best  tea  con- 
sists of  the  leaves  of  one  species  of  the  genus  Thea.  This 
is  an  evergreen  shrub,  from  three  to  six  feet  in  heiglib 
with  long,  notched  alternate  leaves,  and  bears  a 
white-blossom  somethinsc  like  a  wild  rose.  It  is  a  native 
of  China  and  Japan  and  will  grow  as  far  north  as  the 
forty-fifth  or  forty-sixth  degree  of  latitude. 

The  different  teas  of  commerce  are  produced  from 
varieties  only  of  the  one  species,  but  the  principal  cause 
of  the  different  flavour  is  the  nature  of  the  soil  and 
situation  in  which  the  plant  is  cultivated,  the  time  of 
the  year  in  which  the  leaf  is  gathered,  and  the  mode  of 
preparing  the  crop  for  mai^ket. 

The  cultivation  of  the  tea  is  nearly  confined  to  a  part 
only  of  China,  for,  like  the  vine,  the  excellence  of  the 
plants  depends  on  unknown  peculiarities  of  soil  and 
culture,  which  confine  it  within  much  narrower  limits 
than  its  botanical  or  natural  situation.     There  are  two 


52  PROGRESSIVE  READER. 

principal  kinds  of  tea,  black  and  green,  of  each  of  which 
there  are  several  varieties;  the  former  are  entirely  cul- 
tivated in   one   province,    Tokien,    to   the    nort-east   of 
Canton,  the  most  populous   and   important  part  of  the 
empire.     Pekoe,  the  finest  of  the  black  teas,  consists  of 
the  leaf-buds  of  the  best  plants  gathered  early  in  spring; 
a  small  quantity  of  the  blossoms  of  an  olive  are  mixed 
with  it  to  imj^art  fragrance  and  flavour.     The  inferior 
sorts    consist    of  the   fully-formed  leaves  of  the  same 
plants :  the  later  in  the  season  these  are  gathered  the 
less  the  flavour  of  the  tea;  there  are  three  or  four  suc- 
cessive crops  taken  in  the  year.     The  qualities  of  the 
green  teas  depend  on  the  same  circumstances.     Gun- 
'poiuder,  the  finest,  consists  of  the  unopened  leaf-buds  of 
the  green  variety  of  the  Thea,  gathered  before  it  opens; 
the  inferior  qualities  being  the  produce  of  the  subsequent 
successive  gatherings.     The  leaves  of  the  black  teas  are 
picked  by  hand,  and  dried  under  a  shed;   the  dififerent 
qualities   are  then  sorted,  mingled,  or  separated  accord- 
ing to  the   demand,  and  after  a   second  and  more  com- 
plete drying,  are  packed  for  exportation.     The  green 
tea-leaves  are  dried  in  iron  pans  over  a  stove,  and  are 
stirred  by  the  hand  during  the  process. 

Coffee. — This  plant  was  originally  indigenous  in  Arabia 
and  the  countries  bordering  on  the  Ked  Sea,  but  it  has 
been  for  a  long  period  successfully  cultivated  in  most 
tropical  countries.  It  belongs  to  the  extensive  natural 
order  furnishing  the  genuine  Peruvian  bark.  Ipecacu- 
anha, and  other  valuable  medicines.  The  coffee  plant 
is  a  small  evergreen  tree,  attaining  a  height  of  from 
twelve  to  fifteen  feet,  not  much  branching,  having 
opposite  oval  leaves,  like  the  bay  tree,  and  small  cream- 
coloured  blossoms,  which  produce  a  red  berry  containing 
two  seeds,  flat  on  one  side,  which  sides  are  applied  to 
each  other  as  the  seeds  lie  on  the  fruit.  It  is  these 
seeds  which  are  used;  they  are  roasted  in  iron  (or  now 
often  in  silver)  cylinders,  kept  turning  round  to  prevent 
the  contents  from  being  burnt.  When  roasted,  the  seeds 
are  sfround  fine  in  small  milk,  the  construction  of  which 
is  familiar  to  every  one;  the  powder  is  infused  in  boiling 


SCENE  FROM  "KING  HICMAUD  111."  53 

water,  and  drunk  with  or  witliout  milk  and  sugar.  Tliat 
some  nicety  is  requisite  in  preparing  this  drink  is  indis- 
putable, however  simple  a  process  it  may  appear,  but  the 
general  cause  of  failure  arises  from  the  berry  not  having 
been  roasted  only  just  before  it  is  wanted,  for  if  kt^pt 
some  time  before  it  is  used,  a  great  deal  of  the  aroma 
escapes,  and  the  flavour  is  lost. 

Chocolate. — The  cacas  seeds,  from  which  chocolate  is 
prepared,  are  produced  by  the  cacao,  a  plant  of 
South  America ;  it  grows  to  the  height  of  twenty  feet, 
and  bears  large  oblong  leaves  and  small  red  blossoms, 
which  are  succeeded  by  a  thick  scarlet  or  yellow  capsule, 
seven  or  eight  inches  long,  containing  many  seeds  as 
big  as  a  scarlet  bean,  embedded  in  a  fleshy  substance. 
These  seeds  are  roasted,  and  the  skin  being  taken  off, 
they  are  pounded  with  water,  and  rolled  and  beaten  on  a 
smooth  surface  into  a  plate,  which  is  sweetened,  and 
flavoured  with  vanilla,  cinnamon,  &c.,  and  then  made 
up  into  cakes  in  iron  moulds;  when  dry  and  hard,  the 
cakes  are  put  into  lead-paper  cases  to  keep  them  from 
the  air. 

Cacao  contains  a  great  deal  of  nutritive  matter  in  a 
small  compass,  and  is  hence  of  great  service  to  travellers. 
The  only  matter  which  is  contained  in  the  seeds  is 
extracted  and  used  as  medicine  under  the  name  of 
*^  Butter  of  Cacao r — Saturday  Magazine. 


SCENE  FROM  "  KING  RICHARD  III." 

Clarence.     Brakenbury. 

BraJcenhury.  Why  looks  your  grace  so  heavily  to-day? 

Clarence.  O,  I  have  pass'd  a  miserable  night, 
So  full  of  fearful  dreams,  of  ugly  sights. 
That,  as  I  am  a  Christian  faithful  man, 
I  would  not  spend  another  such  a  night. 
Though  't  were  to  buy  a  world  of  happy  days; 
So  full  of  dismal  terror  was  the  time. 


54  PROGRESSIVE   READER. 

Brak.  What  was  your  dream  my  lord?     I  pray  you 
tell  me. 

Clar.  Metlioiio;ht  that  T  had  broken  from  the  Tower, 
And  was  embark'd  to  cross  to  Burgundy; 
And  in  my  company  my  brother  Gloster  : 
Who  from  my  cabin  tempted  me  to  walk 
Upon  the  hatches;  there  we  look'd  toward  England, 
And  cited  \v^  a  thousand  lieavy  times, 
During  the  wars  of  York  and  Lancaster, 
That  had  befall'n  us.     As  we  pac'd  along 
Upon  the  giddy  footing  of  the  hatches, 
Methought  that  Gloster  stumbled ;  and,  in  falling, 
Struck  me,  that  thought  to  stay  him,  overboard, 
Into  the  tumbling  billows  of  the  main. 

0  Lord !  methought  what  pain  it  Avas  to  drown  ! 
What  dreadful  noise  of  water  in  mine  ears ! 
What  sights  of  ugly  death  within  mine  eyes  ! 
Methought  I  saw  a  thousand  fearful  wrecks: 

A  thousand  men  that  fishes  gnaw'd  upon ; 

Wedges  of  gold,  great  anchors,  heaps  of  pearl, 

Inestimable  stones,  unvalued  jewels. 

All  scatter' d  in  the  bottom  of  the  sea. 

Some  lay  in  dead  men's  skulls;  and  in  those  holes 

Where  eyes  did  once  inhabit  there  were  crept. 

As  't  were  in  scorn  of  eyes,  reflecting  gems, 

That  woo'd  the  slimy  bottom  of  the  deep, 

And  mock'd  the  dead  bones  that  lay  scatter'd  by. 

Brak.  Had  you  such  leisure  in  the  time  of  death 
To  gaze  upon  these  secrets  of  the  deep? 

Clar.  Methought  I  had ;  and  often  did  I  strive 
To  yield  the  ghost :  but  still  the  envious  flood 
Kept  in  my  soul,  and  would  not  let  it  forth 
To  find  the  empty,  vast,  and  wand'ring  air; 
But  smother'd  it  within  my  panting  bulk. 
Which  almost  burst  to  belch  it  in  the  sea. 

Brack.  Awak'd  you  not  with  this  sore  agony  1 

Clar.  No,  no,  my  dream  was  lengthen'd  after  life ; 
O,  then  began  the  tempest  to  my  soul  ! 

1  pass'd,  methought,  the  melancholy  flood 
With  that  sour  ferryman  which  poets  write  of, 


SOAP.  55 

Unto  the  kingdom  of  perpetual  night. 

The  first  that  there  did  greet  my  stranger  soul, 

Was  my  great  father-in-law,  renowned  Warwick; 

Who  spake  aloud, — "What  scourge  for  perjury 

Can  this  dark  Monarchy  afford  false  Clarence'?" 

And  so  he  vanish'd :  Then  came  wandering  by 

A  shadow  like  an  angel,  with  bright  hair 

Dabbled  in  blood;  and  he  shriek'd  out  aloud, — 

''  Clarence  is  come, — false,  fleeting,  })erjur'd  Clarence, — 

That  stabb'd  me  in  the  field  by  Tewkesbury; — 

Seize  on  him,  furies,  take  him  unto  torment  1" 

With  that,  methought,  a  legion  of  foul  fiends 

Environ'd  me,  and  howled  in  mine  ears 

Such  hideous  cries,  that  with  the  very  noise 

I  trembling  wak'd,  and,  for  a  season  after. 

Could  not  believe  but  that  I  was  in  hell ; 

Such  terrible  impression  made  my  dream. 

— Shakespeare. 


SOAP. 


This  very  useful  article  is  produced  by  a  combination  of 
tallow  or  oil  with  soda  or  potash ;  with  soda,  hard  soap 
is  formed;  with  potash,  soft  soap.  The  yellow  soap  of 
commerce  has  also  an  addition  of  resin  or  turpentine, 
and  often  palm  oil;  these  give  it  its  yellow  colour  and 
peculiar  smell;  pure  white  soap  is  made  by  boiling  a 
solution  of  soda  with  tallow  or  olive  oil.  Ordinary  soaps 
are  generally  made  by  mixing  a  solution  of  tiie  soda  of 
commerce  (carbonate  of  soda)  with  quick  lime.  This  takes 
away  the  carbonic  acid  and  makes  the  soda  what  is 
called  "  caustic;"  this  solution  is  drawn  off,  and  kitchen 
stuff,  tallow,  turpentine,  and  sometimes  palm  oil,  are 
added  and  boiled  together,  until  all  is  converted  into 
soap,  but  a  large  quantity  of  water  remaining,  it  is 
necessary  to  separate^the  soap  from  this.  For  this  purpose 


56  PROORESSIVE  READER. 

salt  is  added  until  the  water  becomes  so  heavy  that  the 
soap  rises  to  the  surface,  whence  it  is  removed  into 
moulds  or  frames  and  allowed  to  cool,  when  it  is  cut 
into  bars  for  sale. 

Soft  soap  is  made  in  the  same  way,  using  potash 
instead  of  soda,  and,  generally,  a  large  quantity  of  train- 
oil.  Castile  soap  is  pure  soda  soap,  and  the  bluish  or 
red  mottled  appearance  is  produced  by  stirring  in  some 
sulphate  of  iron  (green  vitriol);  when  new,  it  is  of  a 
bluish  colour,  but  gets  red  by  exposure  to  the  air. 

Oils  and  fats  combine  with  the  oxides  of  several  of 
the  metals,  and  these  compounds  are  all  soaps,  but  by 
far  the  greater  number  of  these  are  useless  as  such, 
being  quite  insoluble  in  water.  A  combination  of  oxide 
of  lead  with  olive  oil  forms  a  firm  solid  substance,  known 
as  lead  plaster,  which,  with  the  addition  of  a  little 
resin,  is  used  in  surgery,  and,  when  spread  upon  linen 
or  calico,  forms  the  common  adhesive  plaster. 

Oils  and  fats  all  consist  of  a  combination  of 
organic  acids  with  glycerine.  When  these  fats  are 
boiled  with  soda,  potash,  or  metallic  oxides,  a  com- 
bination of  the  oxide  and  fatty  acid  takes  place, 
forming  in  the  ordinary  soap,  stearate,  oleate,  and 
margarate  of  soda — these  constitute  soap.  The  gly- 
cerine is  set  free,  and,  when  purified,  forms  a  sweet, 
oily,  colourless  fluid,  very  similar  to  syrup,  but  not  so 
sweet;  it  has  lately  been  used  for  several  purposes, 
especially  as  a  remedy  for  "chapped  hands:"  a  soap 
called  "  glycerine  soap"  has  lately  been  used  for  the 
same  purpose ;  it  is  made  without  separating  the 
glycerine.  Fancy  soaps  are  made  from  good  yellow 
soap,  coloured  and  scented.  "White  Windsor  soap  is  a 
pure  kind  of  soap  made  of  tallow  and  soda;  the  brown 
Windsor  soap  is  coloured  to  imitate  old  soap,  for  soap 
Avhen  recent  is  very  soft,  and  contains  much  water,  it  is, 
therefore,  found  much  more  economical  to  keep  it  till  it 
gets  quite  hard  from  the  loss  of  water;  this,  however, 
produces  a  brownish  colour.  The  history  of  "  Old 
Brown  Windsor  Soap"  is,  therefore,  similar  to  that  of 
brown  brandy — both  being  colourless  when  new,  and 


LEATHER.  57 

both  being  coloured  to  imitate  age,  and  carried  to  such 
a  ridiculous  extent,  that  they  become  totally  unlike  the 
articles  they  are  intended  to  imitate. 

Before  the  process  for  making  soda  from  sea-salt  was 
in  general  use,  barilla  was  the  substance  employed  to 
make  hard  soap  with.  It  was  an  impure  kind  of  soda 
procured  by  burning  sea-weed,  and  contained  a  certain 
proportion  of  iron,  and  in  the  ley  which  was  made  by 
adding  lime  there  was  a  dark-coloured  sediment;  this 
on  being  stirred  up  with  the  soap  produced  a  dark 
mottled  appearance,  and  gave  rise  to  the  term  Mottled 
Soap. 

Since  the  introduction  of  soda,  it  also  has  to  be 
imitated  to  keep  up  an  article  of  a  well-known  quality. 

Soap  is  quite  soluble  in  spirit  and  also  in  warm  dis- 
tilled water,  but  in  ordinary  water  it  is  to  a  great 
extent  insoluble,  producing  a  milky  solution;  this  is 
owing  to  the  lime  contained  in  the  water  which  forms 
an  insoluble  soap;  soap  has  therefore  been  used  as  a 
test  of  the  hardness  of  water.  A  solution  of  soap  in 
spirit  being  dropped  into  a  specimen  of  the  water,  the 
amount  of  sediment  shews  its  hardness. — Boys^  Book  oj 
Industrial  Information. 


LEATHEK. 


Tanning  is  the  name  given  to  the  process  for  converting 
the  skins  of  animals  into  leather,  by  combining  them 
with  a  substance  called  "  Tannin."  This  exists  in  many 
vegetable  substances,  such  as  oak-bark,  gall-nuts, 
sumach,  &c.,  &c. ;  all  of  these,  and  many  more,  are  used 
for  tanning,  but,  on  account  of  its  cheapness,  oak-bark 
is  the  usual  substance  employed. 

It  is  tannin  which  gives  the  quality  of  astringency  to 
many  vegetables,  and  this  very  taste  of  astringency  is 
produced  by  a  partial  contact  of  the  tannin  with  the 
surface  of  the  mouth. 

The  skins  (called  "  hides"  or  '^  pelts")  are  first  freed 


68  PROGRESSIVE  READER. 

from  all  loose  pieces  of  flesh,  fat,  or  skin;  the  hair  is 
then  removed  by  soaking  them  in  lime  and  water.  The 
skins  are  next  laid  in  the  "  tanpit,"  between  layers  of 
crushed  oak-bark,  until  the  pit  is  nearly  full;  water  is 
then  pumped  in,  and  the  whole  is  allowed  to  remain  for 
several  weeks  or  months  (according  to  the  thickness  of 
the  skin),  during  which  time,  however,  the  skins  are 
changed  in  position,  by  removing  them  from  one  pit  to 
another  with  fresh  bark  in  it,  so  that  those  taken  from 
the  top  of  the  first,  are  placed  at  the  bottom  of  the  next; 
and  this  is  done  from  time  to  time,  in  order  that  all 
may  receive  the  same  pressure  and  strength  of  tan- 
liquor.  Yery  thick  bodies  take  a  year  to  tan  perfectly 
in  this  way,  and  consequently  many  processes  have  been 
tried  to  quicken  the  operation;  but  the  leather  made 
most  slowly  seems  to  wear  the  best,  and  consequently 
fetches  a  higher  price. 

Skins  which  are  thin,  and  to  be  used  for  fancy-work, 
as  for  book-binding  and  glove-making,  are  either  tanned 
with  ''  sumach,"  or  with  alum  and  salt  made  into  a  paste 
with  flour  and  yolk  of  eggs;  this  is  put  into  a  tub,  and 
the  mixture  and  skins  Avorked  together  till  they  are 
thoroughly  united. 

Besides  boots  and  shoes,  leather  is  used  for  the  harness 
of  horses,  covers  for  seats,  gloves,  and  innumerable  other 
articles. 

For  some  uses  the  leather  is  required  to  be  very  thin, 
and  of  exactly  one  thickness.  This  is  obtained  by  the 
process  of  splitting,  for  which  a  machine  is  used  whose 
exactness  is  such,  that  one  slice  is  taken  from  the  inner 
part  of  the  skin  without  cutting  a  hole  in  any  part.  The 
skin  is  stretched  tightly  round  a  roller,  which  slowly 
revolves  against  a  straight  knife-edge,  fixed  at  a  certain 
distance  from  it,  according  to  the  thickness  of  the  skin, 
and  which  is  passed  by  the  machine  backwards  and 
forwards,  cutting  the  skin  a  little  further  each  time. — 
Boys  Book  of  hidustrial  hij'ormaiion. 


PAPER.  59 


PAPER. 


This  important  article  of  civilization  is  made  from  rags, 
and  other  fibrous  materials,  according  to  the  kind  of 
paper  required,  the  finest  and  thinnest  white  paper  (such 
as  bank-notes  and  foreign  writing  paper)  being  made  of 
old  clean  linen  rags ;  thicker  paper,  of  linen  and  cotton 
rags;  newspapers,  of  coarse  linen,  white  rope,  Esparto 
grass,  palm,  and  the  ground  fibre  of  the  aspen  and 
poplar,  while  brown  paper  is  made  of  all  sorts  of  rope- 
yarns,  or  sacking,  and  some  kinds  have  a  considerable 
amount  of  straw  bleached  and  worked  up  in  them, 
largely  mixed  with  gypsum,  clay,  and  ochre,  to  give 
weight  and  colour.  The  rags  are  first  sorted  and  cut 
up  into  small  pieces;  they  are  then  placed  on  a  revolv- 
ing screen  to  separate  all  dust;  after  which  they  are 
put  into  cylindrical  or  spherical  boilers,  where,  mixed 
with  lime  and  soda,  and  constantly  agitated,  they  are 
boiled  by  steam  at  high  pressure  for  many  hours,  until 
all  grease  and  dirt  are  entirely  dissolved.  They  are 
next  put  into  the  washing-machine  (through  which 
a  stream  of  water  runs)  wliere  they  are  torn  by  a 
heavy  roller,  having  iron  knives  fastened  to  its  edge 
or  surface,  which  work,  as  the  machinery  is  turned, 
against  knives  of  a  similar  description  fastened  to  the 
bottom  of  the  cistern.  When  the  rags  are  thoroughly 
washed,  and  at  the  same  time  torn  to  a  coarse  pulp,  they 
constitute  what  the  workmen  call  ''half-stuff."  This 
is  mixed  with  chloride  of  lime  (the  machine  being  again 
set  in  motion)  for  the  purpose  of  bleaching  the  pulp, 
in  which  solution  it  remains  until  it  is  quite  colourless. 
The  pulp  is  now  either  put  into  another  machine 
of  the  same  description,  which  cuts  sharper  and  finer  ; 
or  else  the  same  machine,  used  at  first,  is  so  screwed  up 
as  to  cause  the  knives  to  come  more  closely  together; 
in  either  case,  the  rate  of  turning  is  greatly  increased, 
so  that  the  wheel  makes  about  150  revolutions  per 
minute,  and  completely  grinds  up  the  pulp  till  it  is 
perfectly  smooth.  At  this  part  of  the  i>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  'pearl<isli,  'potash,  hdp,  &c.  The  use  of  the 
alkali  is  to  cause  the  flint  to  melt  when  in  the  furnace. 


THE  HISTORY   OF  THE  ]\UNUFACTURE  OF  GLASS.    9l 

Tlio  best  form  in  which  flint  is  met  with  for  the  purpose 
of  makins:  orlass,  is  in  the  state  of  sea-sand :  and  those 
kinds  best  adapted  to  the  purpose  in  Engl.and,  are  pro- 
cured from  Lynn,  in  Norfolk,  and  from  Alum  Bay,  in 
the  Isle  of  Wight. 

The  first  process  consists  in  what  is  called  fritilmi^ 
that  is,  placing  the  materials  in  a  crucil^le,  and  sub- 
mittino:  them  to  the  action  of  a  violent  heat,  for  the 
purpose  of  driving  off  any  moisture  they  may  contain, 
and  to  prevent  their  swelling  too  much  when  placed  in 
the  melting-pots,  which  are  formed  of  a  kind  of  clay 
that  is  able  to  endure  the  action  of  fire  without  melting. 
When  the  materials  are  sufliciently  fritted,  they  are 
thrown  into  these  pots  with  clean  iron  shovels,  the  fire 
being  previously  raised  to  its  greatest  intensity,  to 
prevent  the  whole  furnace  from  being  chilled,  and  to 
save  time.  As  the  fritted  materials  are  much  more 
bulky  than  when  they  fall  into  a  thin  flowing  glass, 
the  pots  receive  their  full  charge  by  two  or  three 
successive  portions,  the  last  added  being  always  tho- 
roughly melted  down  before  a  fresh  charge  is  thrown  in. 
When  full,  the  opening  in  the  pot  is  closed  with  red 
clay,  except  a  small  hole  for  examining  the  work,  and 
when  the  glass  is  well  refined,  and  about  to  be  worked 
off,  this  opening  is  again  enlarged  by  the  removal  of  the 
clay. 

The  crucibles,  or  pots,  in  which  the  glass  is  melted, 
are  of  an  upright  form,  with  the  opening  on  the  side 
near  to  the  top ;  they  are  arranged  in  a  circle,  and  built 
into  a  conical  furnace,  the  walls  of  which  are  in  the 
form  of  a  sugar-loaf 

The  kinds  of  glass  manufiictured  are  of  various 
qualities,  the  commonest  being  that  of  which  wine 
bottles  are  made. 

Windows  and  plate-glass  afe  both  considerably  harder 
in  texture  and  more  brittle  than  that  which  is  called 
fluid- glass,  of  which  wine-glasses  and  decanters,  lamp- 
glasses,  ttc,  are  made.  Various  contrivances  are  made 
use  of  for  the  purpose  of  forming  them  into  different 
shapes,  but  the  material  parts   of  the   operations    ar^ 


92  PROGRESSIVE  READER. 

much  the  same  as  those  ah-eady  mentioned.  In  some 
instances,  brass  moulds  are  employed,  into  which  the 
different  articles  are  blown,  and  in  this  manner  many 
excellent  imitations  of  cut  glass  are  formed. 

1.  Flint  Glass. — This  was  originally  named  from  the 
flint  formerly  used  in  its  manufacture,  but  which  is  now 
superseded  by  fine  sand,  selected  with  care  from  various 
districts.  Sand,  pearlash,  and  litharge,  are  the  materials 
generally  employed  for  the  production  of  flint  glass;  but 
diff^erent  manufacturers  use  various  proportions  of  these 
substances,  as  their  scientific  knowledge  or  experience 
may  suggest.  Some  skilful  glass-makers  fuse  together 
one  hundred  parts  of  Lynn  sand,  sixty  parts  of  litharge, 
and  thirty  of  purified  joearlash. 

When  the  materials  have  been  submitted  to  the  action 
of  the  fire  for  a  certain  time,  A^arying  from  thirty  to 
thirty-six  hours,  they  have  become  perfectly  liquid;  the 
fire  is  then  damped,  and  the  glass  in  this  fluid  state,  is 
suffered  to  cool  to  such  an  extent  as  to  become  suffi- 
ciently thick  to  be  taken  up  on  the  end  of  an  iron  rod. 
When  in  this  state  there  is  perlia])s  no  substance  in 
nature  so  ductile,  or  so  easily  moulded  into  any  form 
that  may  be  required. 

2.  Crown  Glass. — This,  though  not  so  rich  as  the  pre- 
ceding, must  not  be  passed  over  in  silence,  being  the 
best  species  of  window  glass,  and  therefore  contributing 
to  the  comforts  of  all  those  numerous  families  Avho  in- 
habit the  better  class  of  houses.  It  is  also  composed  of 
different  materials  from  flint  or  plate-glass,  for,  whilst 
much  metal  enters  into  these,  little  is  allowed  to  mix 
with  the  ingredients  from  which  crown  glass  arises.  It 
is,  therefore,  much  lighter  and  harder  than  those  kinds 
into  which  so  softening  and  heavy  a  substance  as 
litharge  (oxide  of  lead)  enters.  The  substances  used  by 
different  manufacturers  vary  exceedingly  in  their  pro- 
portions, each  having  his  own  pet  system  of  working. 
The  best  French  crown  glass  is  formed  from  one  hun- 
dred parts  of  fine  white  sand,  added  to  the  same 
quantity  of  broken  crown  glass,  and  with  these  elements 
twelve  parts  of  carbonate  of  lime,  and  four  times  that 


THE   HISTORY   OF  THE   MANUFACTURE   OF   GLASS.    93 

amount  of  carbonate  of  soda,  are  mingled.     But  in  this 
country  the  following  proportions  are  frequently  used  : — 

Sand, 200  lbs. 

Kelp,          .......  330    ,, 

Lime,                  .         .         .         .         .         .  15    ,, 

Broken  crown  glass, 200    , , 

"When  superior  glass  is  required,  other  proportions 
are  employed,  whilst  pearlash  and  saltpetre  are  sub- 
stituted for  the  kelp.  What  is  this  kelp,  which  we  liave 
not  hitherto  had  occasion  to  mention?  It  is  the  ashes 
of  sea-weeds,  which  were  formerly  gathered  in  large 
quantites  along  the  shores  of  Ireland  and  Scotland,  and 
in  some  places  cultivated  by  the  landowners  with  the 
greatest  care.  But  the  alkaline  matter,  resulting  from 
the  burning  of  kelp,  was  too  coarse  and  impure  for  use 
when  a  superior  glass  w^as  required,  and  it  is  now  rarely 
employed  except  in  cases  when  fine  material  is  not  the 
object.  The  introduction  of  Barilla*  at  a  moderate 
duty  from  abroad,  and  the  reduction  of  the  duty  on  salt, 
from  which  alkali  for  the  glass-works  is  now  made,  have 
freed  our  manufacturers  from  the  necessity  of  using 
kelp  in  their  operations. 

The  wonderful  ductile  property  of  glass,  cannot, 
perhaps  be  exhibited  to  greater  advantage  than  when 
the  workman  avails  himself  of  it  in  the  manufacture  of 
crown  glass.  His  mode  of  proceeding  is,  in  the  first 
place,  to  dip  a  long  iron  tube,  called  imnten  or  the  lount^ 
the  end  of  which  has  been  previously  heated,  into  the 
melting-pot,  and  to  take  out  as  much  glass  as  will  adhere 
to  it;  this  operation  he  repeats  until  his  judgment  tells 
him  he  has  sufhcient  metal  on  the  end  of  the  tube  to 
form  the  table  of  glass  he  is  about  to  blow.  He  then 
moulds  the  metal  into  a  regular  form  by  rolling  it  on  a 
smooth  iron  table;  when  this  is  accomplished,  he  blows 
through  the  tube  and  forms  the  glass  into  a  hollow  vessel, 
shaped   like   a   pear.      He   continues   to    enlarge    this 

*  A  carbonate  of  soda,  imported  iu  large  qnantities  from  Spain, 
Italy,  Sicily,  and  the  Canary  Isles,  obtained  from  two  plants,  cue 
of  which  is  called  Barilla- 


94  PROGRESSIVE  READER. 

form  by  alternately  heating  tlie  glass,  and  blowing 
through  the  tube;  at  the  same  time  lengthening  the 
neck,  by  rolling  it  on  an  iron  rod,  fixed  to  a  kind 
of  seat.  It  is  now  carried  to  the  mouth  of  a  larger 
furnace,  called  the  hottoming-hole,  in  front  of  which  a 
low  wall  is  built  to  protect  the  workmen  from  the  heat; 
it  is  here  again  heated,  and  whirled  round  with  a  slow 
and  steady  motion.  The  effect  of  this  is  to  flatten  the 
wide  end  of  the  glass,  owing  to  the  tendency  of  the 
metal  to  fly  from  the  centre  on  which  it  revolves,  in  the 
same  manner  as  the  water  does  from  a  wet  mop  when 
twirled  on  the  wrist. 

A  second  workman  now  comes  to  the  assistance  of  the 
first,  and  having  taken  up  a  portion  of  the  metal  on  the 
end  of  an  iron  rod,  smaller  and  lighter  than  that  first  used, 
he  applies  it  to  the  centre  of  the  flat  bottom  of  the  glass 
held  by  the  other,  to  which  it  adheres.  The  first  work- 
man now  touches  the  glass  where  it  is  attached  to  his 
blowing  tube  with  a  cold  iron  rod  which  has  been 
dipped  in  water,  this  causes  the  glass  to  crack,  and 
the  blow-pipe  is  easily  detached.  Taking  hold  now  of 
the  smaller  rod,  he  presents  the  broken  end  of  the  glass 
to  the  heat  of  the  furnace,  and  continues  the  whirling 
motion;  the  effect  of  this  is  to  enlarge  the  opening  or 
mouth  of  the  vessel.  As  the  work  proceeds,  the  work- 
man impels  the  glass  round  with  greater  rapidity,  till  at 
length  the  blazing  metal  flies  out  with  a  jerk,  with  great 
force,  and  with  a  loud  ruftling  noise,  like  the  rapid  un- 
furling of  a  flag  in  a  strong  breeze.  This  part  of  the 
process  is  cdAXedi  flasl ting  the  glass.  The  sudden  extension 
of  the  glass  in  this  part  of  the  process  is  sure  to  strike 
the  spectator,  who  sees  it  for  the  first  time,  with  surprise, 
and  induces  him  to  expect  that  the  glowing  mass  will 
be  torn  to  pieces  by  the  violence  of  the  shock.  It  is 
now  moved  more  sloAvly  round,  till  it  is  sufficiently 
cool  to  retain  its  form ;  the  rod  is  then  broken  off*  in  the 
same  manner  as  before,  and  the  circle  of  glass  is  carried 
to  the  ayinealing-furnace,  where  it  is  gradually  cooled. 
The  knot  which  is  found  in  window-glass,  shows  the  spot 
from  which  the  iron  was  broken. 


THE   IIISTORY  OF  THE   MANUFACTURE   OF  GLASS.    95 


Part  III. 

There  is  a  kind  of  glass  called  German  plate,  (much 
thinner  than  the  genuine  plate-glass)  which  is  made  by 
blowing  the  metal.  The  metal  is  first  blown  into  a 
long  pear-like  shape,  one  end  of  this  is  pierced  with  an 
iron  instrument,  and  the  opening  is  afterwards  enlarged 
by  the  same  means.  A  slit  is  now  made  with  a  pair  of 
shears  through  half  its  length,  and  the  iron  instrument 
having  been  dipped  in  the  melted  metal,  is  applied  to 
the  open  end.  Tlie  iron  rod  is  now  broken  off,  and  the 
of)ening  enlaiged  to  the  same  size  as  that  at  the  opposite 
end;  the  form  is  now  a  perfect  cylinder  like  a  roll  of 
paper.  The  slit  is  now  continued  the  whole  length,  and 
being  laid  upon  a  smooth  iron  table,  it  falls  flat  like  a 
sheet  of  paper. 

Plate-glass. — The  production  of  this  costly  material 
demands  far  greater  care  than  the  preceding  kinds, 
both  in  the  selection  of  the  ingredients,  and  in  the 
careful  fusion  of  the  mass  and  rolling  of  the  plates.  To 
make  1,200  lbs.  of  plate-glass  1,700  lbs.  of  material  is 
required,  made  up  of  the  following  substances  mixed  in 
proper  proportions  :— 

Lbs. 
Lynn  Sand,  .         .         .         .         ;         .         .         720 

Fine  Soda, 450 

Slaked  Quicklime, 80 

Nitre, 25 

Old  plate-glass  broken  up, 425 


1,700 


It  will  be  seen  that  exactly  one  cpiarter  of  the  w^hole  is 
old  glass,  without  which  the  quality  required  cannot  be 
produced.  When  heated  to  a  liquid  mass,  the  wdiole  is 
laded  out  into  a  vessel  called  a  cuvette,  from  which,  after 
being  further  heated,  it  is  poured  on  to  the  surface  of 
a  long  table,  made  of  copper,  when  a  heavy  polished 
copper  roller  is  passed  over  its  surfoce,  reducing  it  iu 


9G  PROGRESSIVE   READER. 

this  manner  to  an  equal  thickness  over  its  whole  area. 
The  operation  of  casting  takes  place  close  to  the  mouth 
of  the  aiinecding-furnace,  into  which  it  is  carried 
immediately  it  becomes  solid.  But  the  large  plates 
of  glass  are  by  no  means  fitted  for  use  when  withdrawn 
from  the  annealing  oven;  three  processes  are  yet  necessary 
before  they  reflect  the  clear  image  from  the  silvered 
mirrors,  or  adorn  the  windows  of  our  mansions.  They 
are  first  cut  by  the  diamond  to  the  shapes  required,  an 
operation  requiring  no  description  here.  The  2:)lates  are 
now  ground,  to  remove  the  roughness  found  on  the 
surfaces.  This  work  requires  great  care,  it  being 
necessary  to  plane  off  the  roughness  without  scratching 
the  face  of  the  glass.  Some  powdered  flint  is  therefore 
spread  over  the  plate,  and  rubbed  along  the  surface  by 
machinery,  which,  in  the  larger  glass-houses,  is  moved 
by  steam.  After  the  flint  has  removed  the  larger 
protuberances,  emery  powder  is  applied,  first  coarse,  and 
then  finer,  until  by  successive  frictions  the  plate  begins 
to  exhibit  a  beautiful  level. 

But  all  is  not  yet  done;  the  polishing  now  follows. 
In  this  operation,  pieces  of  wood  covered  with  numerous 
folds  of  cloth,  with  wool  between  the  folds,  are  used  to 
bring  the  finished  plate  to  its  last  degree  of  beauty. 
The  friction  of  these  cloth  rollers  would  not,  however, 
be  effective  without  the  use  of  a  peculiar  substance, 
called  colcoth  (the  red  oxide  of  iron),  used  for  polishing 
other  hard  surfaces  besides  those  of  plate-glass.  Thus, 
from  the  fusion  of  the  Lynn  sand,  the  soda  and  lime, 
arises  the  product,  which,  having  passed  through  the 
annealing-oven,  the  grinding,  and  the  polishing,  is  now 
to  take  its  place  amongst  the  highly  elaborated  pro- 
ductions of  art. 

The  various  kinds  of  glass  we  have  been  speaking  of, 
possess  different  properties,  according  to  the  purposes  to 
which  they  are  to  be  applied.  Flint-glass,  of  which 
most  ornamental  articles  are  made,  is  rendered  softer 
than  the  other  sorts,  and  plate-glass,  on  the  contrary,  is 
made  of  as  hard  a  ifexture  as  possible,  to  prevent  its 
being  easily  scratched. 


niE  HISTORY  OF  THE  MANUFACTURE  OF  GLASS.    97 

We  liave  already  spoken  of  tlie  glass  being  placed  in 
the  annealing  furnace  which  might  more  a]:>propriately  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  0 ;  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,<?istcd  by 
the  greatest  nations  of  the  earth. 

IV.  The  American  variety  chiefly  comprise  the  Indian 
tribes  who  people  that  continent.  They  possess  large 
statures,  receding  foreheads,  aquiline  noses,  and  co[)per- 
coloured  skins.  The  race  is  rapidly  decreasing  in  nuni' 
bers,  and,  ere  many  years  have  passed,  will  become 
extinct;  yet  they  had  attained  a  high  state  of  civilization 
in  Mexico  and  Peru,  when  the  Spaniards,  under  Cortes 
and  Pizarro,  conquered  those  countries. 

V.  The  Malays  are  so  named  because  this  variety 
chiefly  exists  in  the  Malayan  peninsula.  They  have  dark- 
coloured  skins,  low  foreheads,  and  coarse  black  hair. 
The  Malays  proper  are  distinguished  for  their  immoral 
habits  and  piratical  pursuits.  Some  of  the  members  of 
this  group  are  the  lowest  in  intellect  of  all  the  nations. 
The  Australians  belonoj  to  this  division. 

Cuvier,  after  much  study,  decided  that  only  three 
varieties  of  the  human  race  exist — the  Caucasian,  the 
Mongolian,  and  the  African;  he  held  that  the  Americans 
and  Malays  were  only  portions  of  the  Mongolian  class. 
His  views  are  now  held  by  many  learned  men.  Change 
of  climate  and  change  of  habits  would  rapidly  cause  the 
inhabitants  of  America  or  the  Malay  peninsula  to  differ 
from  the  Mongolian. 

The  great  types  of  humanity  continue,  and  the  three 
great  races  always  exist;  but  the  nations,  forming  those 
races,  attain  to  periods  of  prosperity,  and  then  become 
extinct,  as  nations.  The  great  conquering  nations  of 
the  world  have  died  out;  witness  the  Assyrians,  the 
Persians,  and  the  Romans.  The  most  ancient  nation  is 
the  Jewish;  they  continue  to  increase  in  number,  and  to 
be  as  "the  sand  upon  the  seashore,"  but  they  have  never 
regained  their  ancient  prosperity. 


196  PROGRESSIVE  READER. 


THE    UNION    OF    LABOUR    AND    INTELLEC- 
TUAL ATTAINMENTS. 

ADDRESS    OF    THE    LATE    EARL'OF    CARLISLE,    AT    THE 
SHEFFIELD    ATHEN^UM,    SEPTEMBER,    1847. 

Those  of  you  wlio  liave  had  the  opportunity  of  con- 
sulting the  old  legends  of  classical  mythology,  are  aware 
that  among  the  fancied  deities  with  which  they  peopled 
the  world,  there  was  one  more  especially  regarded  as 
the  God  of  labour,  and  of  handicraft^  Vulcan  by  name, 
who  was  always  represented  as  being  employed  in  huge 
smithies  and  workshops,  hammering  at  heavy  anvils, 
and  blowing  vast  bellows,  heating  vast  furnaces,  and 
begrimed  with  soot  and  dirt.  Well,  for  this  hard- 
working, and  swarthy-looking  divinity,  they  wished  to 
pick  out  a  wife.  And  they  did  not  select  for  him  a 
mere  drab — not  a  person,  taken  herself  from  the 
scullery  or  kitchen-dresser;  but  they  chose  for  him 
Venus,  the  Goddess  of  love  and  beauty.  Now,  ladies 
and  gentlemen,  pick  out  for  me  the  moral  of  this  tale, 
for  I  believe  that  nothing  ever  was  invented, — certainly 
nothing  by  the  polished  and  brilliant  imagination  of 
the  Grecian  intellect, — which  has  not  its  own  meaning, 
and  its  moral. 

But  what  is  the  special  meaning  of  the  marriage  of 
Vulcan  with  Venus — of  the  hard-working  artificer  with 
the  laughter- loving  queen — of  labour  with  beauty? 
What  is  it  but  this,  that  even  in  a  busy  hive  of  industry 
and  toil  like  this,  even  here,  upon  a  spot  which  is  in 
many  respects  no  inapt  representative  of  the  fabled 
workshop  of  Vulcan,  even  here,  amid  the  clang  of 
anvils,  the  noise  of  furnaces,  and  the  sputtering  of 
forges — even  here,  amid  stunning  sounds,  and  sooty 
blackness,  the  mind — the  untrammelled  mind-may  go 
forth,  may  pierce  the  dim  atmosphere  which  is  poised 
all  around  us,  may  wing  its  way  to  the  freer  air  and 
purer  light  which  dwells  beyond,  and  may  ally  itself 
with  all  that  is  most  fair,  genial,  and  lovely  in  creation. 


LA.BOUB  AND  INTELLECTUAL  ATTAINLIENTS.       107 

So,  gentlemen,  I  say  your  labour,  your  downright,  hard, 
swarthy  kibour  may  make  itself  the  companion,  the 
helpmate,  and  the  husband  of  beauty — of  physical 
beauty,  as  I  liave  reason  to  believe,  from  the  inspection 
which  I  am  able  even  now  to  command,  and  I  have  no 
doubt  that  a  more  intimate  acquaintance  with  your 
wives,  sisters,  and  daughters,  would  enable  me  to  prove 
that  I  was  not  here  wrong  in  my  illustration, — but 
besides  this  beauty,  I  say,  your  labour  may  ally  itself 
with  intellectual  beauty — the  beauty  which  is  connected 
with  the  play  of  fancy,  with  the  achievements  of  art, 
and  with  the  creations  of  genius ;  beauty,  such  as 
painting  fixes  upon  the  glowing  canvas,  such  as  the 
sculptor  embodies  in  the  breathing  marble  such  as 
architecture  devclopes  in  her  stately  and  harmonious 
proportions,  such  as  music  dresses  with  the  enchantment 
of  sound.  Now  it  is  to  the  perception  and  cultivation 
of  the  beautiful  in  these  departments  that  I  look  upon 
your  Schools  of  Design,  and  your  concerts,  and  many  of 
the  lectures  which  you  hear  from  able  and  gifted  men, 
as  intended  to  be  subservient;  and  I  strongly  advise 
the  members  of  this  Mechanics'  Institution  to  shew  a 
discriminating  and  generous  support  of  these  tasteful 
and  humanizing  pursuits.  Above  all,  I  advise  you  to 
cultivate  a  love  of  reading — that  which  makes  you 
almost  independent  of  other  aids  and  appliances,  and 
puts,  with  very  moderate  help,  the  Avliole  domain  of 
philosophy,  history,  and  poetry,  within  your  individual 
command. 

"Why,  gentlemen,  a  man  is  almost  above  the  world, 
who  possesses  two  books.  I  do  not  mean  to  put  the 
two  books  which  I  am  about  to  mention  upon  the  same 
level,  far  from  it,  nor  am  I  wishing  to  intimate  to  you 
that  two  books  are  sufficient  for  your  study  and  perusal. 
I  am  only  mentioning  them  as  representatives  of 
what  is  most  excellent,  though  difi'erent  in  degree. 
But  I  say  that  a  man  is  almost  above  the  world  who 
possesses  his  Bible  and  his  Shakespeare — his  Shake- 
speare for  his  leisure — his  Bible  for  all  time.  I  said 
Bome  time  ago,   that  labour,   even  the  labour  of   this 


198  PROGRESSIVE   READER. 

district,  may  unite  itself  with  intellectual  beauty.  But 
there  is  a  beauty  of  a  still  higher  order  with  which  I 
feel  even  more  assured  it  is  still  more  open  to  it  to  unite 
itself:  I  mean  with  moral  beauty — the  beauty  connected 
with  the  affections,  the  conscience,  the  heart,  and  the 
life.  It  is  indeed  most  true  that  in  the  very  busiest 
and  darkest  of  your  workshops — in  the  most  wearying 
and  monotonous  tasks  of  your  daily  drudgery,  as  also 
in  the  very  humblest  of  your  own  homes — by  the  very 
smallest  of  your  fireplaces — one  and  each  of  you,  in  the 
zealous  and  cheerful  discharge  of  the  daily  duty — in 
respect  for  the  just  rights  and  in  consideration  for  the 
feelings  of  others — in  the  spirit  of  meekness,  and  in  the 
thousand  charities  and  kindnesses  of  social  and  domestic 
intercourse, — one  and  each  of  you  may  attain  to  and 
exhibit  that  moral  beauty  of  which  I  have  spoken — that 
beauty  which  is  beyond  all  others  in  degree,  because, 
when  it  is  attained  to,  it  is  the  perfection  of  man's 
nature  here  below,  and  is  the  most  faithful  reflection  of 
the  will  and  image  of  his  Creator.  And  thus,  ladies 
and  gentlemen,  1  close  my  explanation  of  the  marriage 
of  Yulcan  and  Venus — of  Labour  with  Beauty,  and 
with  it  I  close  the  remarks  which  I  have  risen  to  offer 
you  this  evening. 


THE  DOUGLAS. 

The  castle  gates  were  open  flung, 

The  quivering  drawbridge  rocked  and  rung, 

And  echoed  loud  the  flinty  street 

Beneath  the  coursers'  clattering  feet, 

As  slowly  down  the  deep  descent 

Fair  Scotland's  King  and  nobles  went, 

While  all  along  the  crowded  way 

Was  jubilee  and  loud  huzza. 

And  ever  James  was  bending  low, 

To  his  v/hite  jennet's  saddle  bow, 


THE   DOUGLAS.  l99 

i)offing  iiis  cap  to  city  dame," 
"Who  smiled  and  blushed  for  pride  and  shame. 
And  well  the  simperer  might  be  vain^ — 
He  chose  the  fairest  of  the  train. 
Gravely  he  greets  each  city  sire, 
Commends  each  pageant's  c^naint  attire, 
Gives  to  the  dancers  thanks  aloud, 
And  smiles  and  nods  upon  the  crowd, 
Who  rend  the  heavens  with  their  acclaims, 
"  Long  live  the  Commons'  King,  King  James !" 
Behind  the  King  thronged  peer  and  knight, 
And  noble  dame  and  damsel  bright. 
Whose  fiery  steeds  ill-brooked  the  stay 
Of  the  steep  street  and  crowded  way. 
— But  in  the  train  you  might  discern 
Dark  lowering  brow  and  visage  stern ; 
There  nobles  mourned  their  pride  restrained, 
And  the  mean  burghers'  joy  disdained^ 
And  chiefs,  who,  hostage  for  their  clan, 
Were  each  from  home  a  banished  man. 
There  thought  upon  their  own  gray  tower, 
Their  waving  woods,  their  feudal  power, 
And  deemed  themselves  a  shameful  part 
Of  jDageant  wdiich  they  cursed  in  heart. 

Now,  clear  the  King!  for,  hand  to  hand, 
The  manly  wrestlers  take  their  stand- 
Two  o'er  the  rest  superior  rose, 
And  ])roud  demanded  mightier  foes, 
Nor  called  in  vain ;  for  Douglas  came. 
— For  life  is  Hugh  of  Larbert  lame, 
Scarce  better  John  of  Alloa's  fare, 
Whom  senseless  home  his  comrades  bear. 
Prize  of  the  wrestling  match,  the  King 
To  Douglas  gave  a  golden  ring, 
While  coldly  glanced  his  eye  of  blue, 
As  frozen  drop  of  wintry  dew. 
Douglas  would  speak,  but  in  his  breast 
His  struggling  soul  his  words  snppress'd: 
Indi2;nant  then  he  turned  him  where 


200  PROGJtlESSIVE  READER. 

Their  arm  the  brawny  yeomen  bare, 

To  hurl  the  massive  bar  in  air. 

When  each  his  utmost  strength  had  shewn, 

The  Douglas  rent  an  earth-fast  stone 

From  its  deep  bed,  then  heaved  it  high, 

And  sent  the  fragment  through  the  sky, 

A  rood  beyond  the  farthest  mark; — 

And  still  in  Stirling's  royal  park. 

The  gray-haired  sires,  who  know  the  past, 

To  strangers  point  the  Douglas-cast, 

And  moralize  on  the  decay 

Of  Scottish  strength  in  modern  day. 

The  vale  with  loud  applauses  rang. 
The  Ladies'  Rock  sent  back  the  clang; 
The  King,  with  look  unmoved,  bestowed 
A  purse  well  filled  with  pieces  broad. 
Indignant  smiled  the  Douglas  proud, 
And  threw  the  gold  among  the  crowd, 
Who  now,  with  anxious  wonder  scan, 
And  sharper  glance,  the  dark  gray  man; 
Till  whispers  rose  among  the  throng, 
That  heart  so  free,  and  hand  so  strong, 
Must  to  the  Douglas  blood  belong  : 
The  old  men  mark'd,  and  shook  the  head, 
To  see  his  hair  with  silver  spread. 
And  winked  aside,  and  told  each  son 
Of  feats  upon  the  English  doue. 
Ere  Douglas  of  the  stalwart  hand' 
Was  exiled  from  his  native  land. 
The  women  praised  his  stately  form, 
Though  wreck'd  by  many  a  winter's  storm; 
The  youth  with  awe  and  wonder  saw 
His  strength  surpassing  nature's  law. 
Thus  judged,  as  is  their  wont,  the  crowd, 
Till  murmurs  rose  to  clamours  loud. 
But  not  a  glance  from  that  proud  ring 
Of  peers  who  circled  round  the  King, 
With  Douglas  held  communion  kind. 
Or  called  the  banislied  mau  te  mind; 


THE  DOUGLAS.  201 

No,  not  from  those  who,  at  the  chase, 
Once  held  his  side  the  lionoured  place, 
Begirt  his  board,  and,  in  the  field, 
Found  safety  underneath  his  shield ; 
For  he,  whom  royal  eyes  disown, 
When  was  his  form  to  courtiers  known ! 

The  Monarch  saw  the  gambols  flag, 

And  bade  let  loose  a  gallant  stag, 

Whose  pride,  the  holiday  to  crown, 

Two  favourite  grey-hounds  should  pull  down, 

That  venison  free,  and  Bordeaux  wine. 

Might  serve  the  archery  to  dine. 

But  Lufra, — whom  from  Douglas'  side 

Kor  bribe  nor  threat  could  e'er  divide. 

The  fleetest  hound  in  all  the  ISTorth, — 

Brave  Lufra  saw,  and  darted  forth. 

She  left  the  royal  hounds  mid-way, 

And,  dashing  on  the  antler'd  prey, 

Sunk  her  sharp  muzzle  in  his  flank, 

And  deep  the  flowing  life-blood  drank. 

The  King's  stout  huntsman  saw  the  sport 

By  strange  intruder  broken  short. 

Came  up,  and  with  his  leash  unbound, 

In  anger  struck  the  noble  hound. 

— The  Douglas  had  endured,  that  morn, 

The  King's  cold  look,  the  nobles'  scorn, 

And  last,  and  worst  to  spirit  proud, 

Had  borne  the  pity  of  the  crowd  ; 

But  Lufra  had  been  fondly  bred, 

To  share  his  board,  to  watch  his  bed, 

And  oft  would  Ellen,  Lufra's  neck, 

In  maiden  glee,  with  garlands  deck ; 

They  were  such  playmates,  that  with  name 

Of  Lufra,  Ellen's  image  came. 

His  stifled  wrath  is  brimming  high. 

In  darkened  brow  and  flashing  eye; 

As  waves  before  the  bark  divide, 

The  crowd  gave  way  before  his  stride; 

Needs  but  a  buflet  and  no  more. 


202  PROGRESSIVE  ilEADER. 

The  groom  lies  senseless  in  his  gore. 
Such  blow  no  other  hand  could  deal, 
Though  gauntleted  in  glove  of  steel. 

Then  clamoured  loud  the  royal  train, 
And  brandished  swords  and  staves  amain. 
But  stern  the  Baron's  warning — "  Back ! 
Back  on  your  lives,  ye  menial  pack ! 
Beware  the  Douglas." — "  Yes  !  behold, 
King  James,  the  Douglas,  doomed  of  old. 
And  vainly  sought  for  near  and  far, 
A  victim  to  atone  the  war, 
A  willing  victim  now  attends, 
Nor  craves  thy  grace  but  for  his  friends." — ■ 

*'  Thus  is  my  clemency  repaid, 
Presumptuous  Lord!"  the  Monarch  said; 

"  Of  thy  mis-proud  ambitious  clan. 
Thou,  James  of  Both  well,  wert  the  man, 
The  only  man,  in  whom  a  foe 
My  woman  mercy  would  not  know : 
But  shall  a  Monarcli's  presence  brook 
Injurious  blow,  and  haughty  look? — 
Who  ho !  the  Captain  of  our  Guard ! 
Give  the  offender  fitting  ward. — 
Break  off  the  sports!" — for  tumult  rose, 
And  yeomen  'gan  to  bend  their  bows. — 

*•  Break  off  the  sports!"  he  said,  and  frowned, 

*'  And  bid  our  horsemen  clear  the  ground." 

Then  uproar  wild  and  misarray 

Marr'd  the  fair  form  of  festal  day. 

The  horsemen  pricked  among  the  crowd, 

Kepelled  by  threats  and  insult  loud ; 

To  earth  are  borne  the  old  and  weak, 

The  timorous  fly,  the  women  shriek; 

With  flint,  with  shaft,  with  staff,  with  bar. 

The  hardier  urge  tumultuous  war. 

At  once  round  Douglas  darkly  sweep 

The  royal  spears  in  circle  deep, 

And  slowly  scale  the  pathway  steep; 


THE  DOUGLAS.  203 

Wlnlo  on  tlieir  rear  m  tliunder  pour 
The  rabble  with  flisordered  roar. 
With  grief  the  noble  Douglas  saw 
The  commons  rise  agaiiLst  the  law, 
And  to  the  leading  soldier  said, 
**  Sir  John  of  Hyndford  !  'twas  my  bkide 
That  knighthood  on  thy  shoiilder  laid, 
For  that  good  deed,  permit  me  then 
A  word  With  these  misguided  men. 

"  Hear,  gentle  friends !  ere  yet,  for  me, 
Ye  break  the  bands  of  fealty. 
My  life,  my  honour,  and  my  cause, 
I  tender  free  to  Scotland's  laws. 
Are  these  so  weak  as  must  require 
The  aid  of  your  misguided  irel 
Or,  if  I  suffer  causeless  wrong, 
Is  then  my  selfish  rage  so  strong, 
My  sense  of  public  weal  so  low, 
That,  for  mean  vengeance  on  a  foe, 
Those  cords  of  love  I  should  unbind, 
Which  knit  my  country  and  my  kind? 
Oh  no !  Believe,  in  yonder  tower 
It  will  not  sootlie  my  captive  hour, 
To  know  those  spears  oui  foes  should  dread, 
For  me  in  kindred  gore  are  red; 
To  know  in  fruitless  brawl  begun, 
For  me,  that  mother  wails  her  son; 
For  me,  that  widow's  mate  exjnres, 
For  me,  that  orphans  weep  tlieir  sires, 
That  patriots  mourn  insulted  laws. 
And  curse  the  Douglas  for  the  cause. 
Oh  let  your  patience  ward  such  ill, 
And  keep  your  right  to  love  me  still  i'' 

The  crowd's  wild  fury  sank  again 
In  tears,  as  tempests  melt  in  rain. 
With  lifted  hands  and  eyes,  they  prayed 
For  blessings  on  his  generous  head, 
Who  for  his  country  felt  alone, 


^04  PROGRESSIVA  READER* 

And  prized  lier  blood  beyond  his  own* 

Old  men,  upon  the  verge  of  life, 

Blessed  him  who  stayed  the  civil  strife  3 

And  mothers  held  their  babes  on  high, 

The  self-devoted  chief  to  spy; 

Triumphant  over  wrong  and  ire, 

To  whom  the  prattlers  owed  a  sire: 

Even  the  rouo;li  soldier's  heart  was  moved; 

As  if  behind  some  bier  beloved, 

"With  trailing  arms  and  drooping  head, 

The  Douglas  up  the  hill  he  led. 

And  at  the  castle's  battled  verge, 

With  sighs,  resigned  his  honoured  charge, 

^^ScoWs  "  Lady  of  the.  Lake!^ 


DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  INTELLECT. 

ADDRESS    OF    THE    LATE    EARL    OP    CARLISLE,    DELIVERED 
AT    THE    mechanics'    INSTITUTION,    LINCOLN,    1851. 

I  KNOW  that  the  enemies  of  Mechanics'  Institutes,  and 
of  popular  institutions  generally,  have  been  apt  to  say 
that  they  have  a  tendency  to  make  the  mechanics  and 
working  men,  whom  especially  they  are  intended  to 
benefit,  puffed  up,  presumptuous,  conceited,  and  discon- 
tented. All  I  can  say  is,  that  if  they  do  so,  they  fail 
singularly  in  their  purpose,  and  fall  far  short  of  their 
aim.  It  appears  to  me  that  there  are  two  principles 
upon  which  we  must  mainly  rely  for  success  in  any 
attempts  to  raise  and  regenerate  mankind.  The  one  is 
to  have  a  very  high  opinion  of  what  we  can  do,  the 
height  to  which  we  can  soar,  the  advance  in  knowledge 
and  in  virtue  which  we  may  make, — that  is,  ambition  as 
concerns  our  capacities.  The  other  is  to  have  a  mean 
opinion  of  what  we  at  any  time  know,  or  at  any  time 
have  already  done,— that  is,  humility  as  concerns  our 


DEVELOPEMENT  OF  THE  INTELLECT.  205 

attainments.  The  ambition  shonlcl  be  ever  stirring  ns  up 
to  the  even  and  steady  developement  of  righteous  prin- 
ciples, and,  where  the  opportunity  presents  itself,  to  the 
performance  of  noble,  meritorious,  and  unselfish  actions. 
The  humility  should  ever  keep  in  view  that  there  is  no 
sphere  of  life,  however  humble,  no  round  of  duties,  how- 
ever unexciting,  which  any  of  you  may  not  enrich  and 
elevate  with  qualities  beside  wliich  the  successes  of 
statesmen  and  the  triumphs  of  conquerors  are  but  poor 
and  vulofJii*.  I  believe  there  is  no  eminence  to  which 
man  may  not  reach,  but  he  must  reach  it  by  subordi- 
nating all  unlawful  impulses,  and  by  subduing  all  mean 
ambitions.  There  is  a  general  craving  in  the  human 
mind  for  greatness  and  distinction.  That  greatness  and 
distinction,  I  am  thankful  to  think,  is  within  the  reach 
of  any  one  to  obtain ;  but  the  greatness  and  distinction 
must  not  be  without  you,  but  within  you. 

I  should  be  sorry  to  appear  to  take  this  opportunity 
of  preaching  what  might  be  called  a  sermon,  but  I  feel 
so  fervid  an  interest  in  the  welfare  and  progress  of  the 
great  body  of  my  countrymen,  that  I  cannot  refrain 
from  enjoining  them,  even  while  I  would  invite  them  to 
a  full  enjoyment  of  all  the  rich  resources  and  all  the 
innocent  } Measures  of  this  our  variegated  world,  never 
to  lose  hold  of  religion.  I  do  not  mean  that  you  should 
necessarily  confine  it  within  those  stiff  and  narrow 
grooves  in  which  some  would  imprison  its  ethereal 
spirit;  but  I  feel  assured  that  it  is  the  source 
among  mankind  of  all  that  is  large,  and  of  all 
that  is  lovely,  and  that  without  it  all  would  be 
dark  and  joyless.  Under  her  sacred  wing  you  may 
securely  resign  yourselves  to  all  that  is  improving 
in  knowledge,  or  instructing  in  science,  or  captivating  in 
art,  or  beautiful  in  nature.  The  Architect  of  the  Uni- 
verse, the  Author  of  Being,  such  as  Christianity  repre- 
sents Him,  cannot  but  approve  of  every  creature,  that 
He  has  made,  developing  to  the  utmost  extent  the 
faculties  He  has  given  him,  and  examining,  in  all  its 
depth  and  mystery,  every  work  of  His  hand.  Shut  up 
the  page  of  knowledge  and   the  sources  of  enjoyment 


206  PROGRESSIVE  READER. 

from  the  multitude,  because  some  have  ocoasionally 
abused  the  blessed  privilege!  Why,  the  very  same 
argument  would  consign  every  man  and  woman  to  a 
cloister,  because  the  world  and  active  life  are  full  of 
traps  and  pitfalls.  No  !  Pre-eminent  and  supreme  as 
I  am  convinced  religion  is,  yet  to  make  her  so  in  the 
convictions  and  hearts  of  men,  I  feel  she  must  discard 
all  timidity,  must  front  every  truth  in  the  full  blaze  of 
light,  and  sympathize  with  every  pursuit  and  every 
impulse  of  our  race. 

I  have  thus  briefly  shadowed  forth  the  reasons  why 
no  person  ought  to  frown  upon  Mechanics'  Institutions. 
I  do  not  wish  to  attribute  to  them  any  exaggerated  or 
imaginary  value;  I  do  not  hold  them  fortli  as  singly 
containing  the  elements  with  which  we  should  hope  to 
regenerate  modern  society;  but  it  is  because  I  believe 
them  calculated  happily  to  cliime  in  with  the  existing 
wants  and  prevailing  dispositions  of  the  times,  to  afford 
opportunities  for  improvement  and  developement  in 
quarters  where  they  would  not  otherwise  be  found,  to 
promote  innocent  recreation  and  blameless  amusements, 
and  generally  to  assist  the  progress  of  mankind,  tliat  I 
thus  venture  to  recommend  them  to  your  cordial  sym- 
pathy and  your  active  assistance. 


ON  THE  BENEFITS  CONFEKRED  BY 
EDUCATION. 

A  SPEECH  DELIVERED  BY  THE  LATE  EARL  OF  CARLISLE, 
AT  THE  DISTRIBUTION  OF  PRIZES  AT  HUDDERSFIELD 
COLLEGE,    DECEMBBK,    1863. 

Well,  then,  my  young  friends,  if  you  will  allow  me  to 
turn  myself  to  you, — when  the  motives  for  diligent 
application  are  so  varied  and  important,  when  the 
returns  to  it  are  so  sure  and  so  promising, — for  though 


BENEFITS   CONFERRED  BY  EDUCATION.  207 

we  hear  very  often  of  bad  bargains  and  ruinous  specula- 
tions, yet  I  feel  sure,  however  long  your  life  may  be, 
you  will  hardly,  in  the  course  of  it,  ever  meet  with  a 
man  who  will  tell  you  that  he  regrets  the  time  which  he 
has  spent  in  the  acquisition  of  know^ledge,  or  repents  of 
having  become  a  scholar, — resolve  now,  if  you  never 
did  so  before,  not  to  lose  those  precious  hours,  the 
weight  of  which  may  be  prized  in  gold,  while  they  have 
the  speed  and  lightness  of  feathers;  and  most  of  all  I 
wish  you  to  prize  beyond  all  other  acquisitions — beyond 
the  acquisition  of  learning,  however  solid,  or  the  mastery 
of  accomplishments,  however  brilliant;  prize  before  them 
all,  the  formation  of  individual  character,  the  building 
u])  of  moral  habits,  the  whole  pervading  discipline  of 
duty.  Join  docility  and  teachableness  in  your  studies 
to  that  independence  and  resolution  of  will,  which  will 
enable  you  to  apply  and  to  appropriate  to  yourselves 
the  teachings  of  others'  wisdom,  and  the  lessons  of  your 
own  experience;  so  that  when  the  time  shall  come  for 
your  leaving  the  friendly  shelter  of  this  institution,  and 
for  launching  out  your  small  barks  into  the  wide- and 
stormy  sea  of  life,  you  may  not  only  carry  with  you 
those  honourable  certificates  of  approval  of  your  past 
exertions  and  conduct,  which  I  have  Iiad  the  satisfoction 
of  delivering  to  two  of  your  number  this  day,  but  you 
may  go  forth  into  the  busy  arena  of  the  world,  and 
there,  whatever  may  be  your  special  calling, — in  litera- 
ture and  art,  in  science  or  in  business,  amidst  public 
avocations  or  among  family  connections, — you  may  at 
last,  one  and  all  of  you,  be  fitted  and  prepared  to  play 
the  part  of  useful  Christian  citizens. 

I  would  now  only  gently  remind  even  those  who 
have  so  honourably  come  forward  in  support  of  this 
institution,  that  while  they  desire  to  promote  the  cause 
of  a  creditable  and  liberal  education  amongst  those 
members  of  society  for  whom  it  is  calculated,  they  must 
not  forget,  that  in  these  times  it  is  most  indispensable 
to  the  welfare  and  even  to  the  salvation  of  the  country 
at  large,  that  the  benefits  of  education  should  not  be 
confined  to  any  particular  class  of  persons;  but  that  they 


208  PROGRESSIVE  READER, 

sliould  be  extended  to  every  S23ecies  of  occupation,  and 
to  every  department  of  society.  Given  already  to  the 
nobles,  to  the  merchants,  to  the  master  manufacturers, 
they  ought  not  to  be  withheld  from  the  mechanic,  the 
labourer,  and  the  cottager.  You  have  made  ample  and 
splendid  provision  in  order  to  meet  the  exigencies  of 
those  that  are,  comparatively  speaking,  in  easier  circum- 
stances, and  in  so  doing  you  have  done  most  wisely,  and 
most  well.  May  those  classes  enjoy  and  appropriate 
the  advantages  tlius  held  out  to  them;  may  we  hear  of 
your  sons  giving  themselves  up  with  ardour  to  all  the 
studies  of  this  place;  may  they  delight  in  the  sublime 
lay  of  Homer,  and  the  faultless  lines  of  Yirgil;  may 
they  obtain  a  proficiency  in  every  polite  and  graceful 
accomplishment,  or  wing  their  adventurous  flight 
through  the  highest  realms  of  science !  But  while  they 
do  all  this,  be  it  our  care  also  to  provide  that,  if  you 
will,  a  plainer,  but  still  a  sound  and  substantial  nourish- 
ment shall  be  aflbrded  to  the  bulk  of  the  nation,  to 
those  who  make  the  pith  and  marrow  of  our  people. 
See  that  it  is  put  within  their  reach;  see  that  it  oflers 
itself  to  their  notice;  see  that  it  wooes  their  acceptance; 
even  let  it  be  pressed  upon  them,  though  they  should  at 
first  sight  seem  uriwilling  to  take  advantage  of  it. 
While  you  support  Academies  and  Colleges,  give  your 
assistance  and  your  countenance  also  to  working  mens' 
classes,  and  to  Mechanics'  Institutes.  While  you  amply 
uphold  the  credit  of  Huddersfield  College,  promote  also 
the  prosperity  of  the  day-school  and  the  Sunday-school. 
Let  education  be  provided  for  the  heirs  of  poverty  and 
the  children  of  toil,  as  a  genial  relaxation  from  the 
weary  hours  of  labour;  let  it  be  provided  for  them  as  a 
solid  and  sustaining  nurture  for  the  intellectual,  the 
moral,  and.  the  spiritual  cravings  of  their  nature.  And 
let  me  give  this  parting  exhortation  to  you, — that 
within  the  whole  range  of  your  several  spheres,  accord- 
ing to  the  best  of  your  abilities,  you  should  promote  the 
united  cause  of  a  free  conscience  and  an  universe^! 
education, 


^yATE^.  :  209 


WATEE. 


In  treating  of  <a  substance  so  common  as  water,  it  may 
be  expected,  that  Ave  shall  not  have  to  use  many  un- 
common words.  Wherever  this  is  necessary,  we  shall 
endeavour  to  explain  them,  as  they  occur,  in  such  a  way 
as  to  remove  any  difficulty  which  they  might  occasion. 

Water  is  not  a  simple  substance :  it  is  composed  of  two 
gases  or  airs — oxygen  and  hydrogen — united  in  the  pro- 
jjortion  of  eight  to  one  in  weight  so  that  nine  pound.s 
of  water  contains  eight  pounds  of  oxygen  and  one  pound 
of  hydrogen,  chemically  combined.  All  matter,  with 
which  we  arc  acquainted,  is  cajiable  of  existing  in  three 
forms — solid,  fluid,  or  aeriform;  and  water  is  found  under 
each  of  these  forms.  It  is  either  solid,  as  in  ice,  liai], 
or  snow;  or  liquid,  as  it  is  generally  found  in  temperate 
or  warm  climates;  or  gaseous — that  is,  in  the  form  of  aii 
invisible  vapour,  as  in  steam.  Without  entering  into 
the  question  as  to  the  cause  of  this  change  in  the  form 
of  bodies,  we  may  consider,  that  the  very  small  particles, 
of  which  bodies  are  composed,  arc  capable  of  being  acted 
■upon  by  two  opposite  forces.  By  one  of  these,  which  is 
called  the  attraction  of  cohesion,  the  particles  of  a  body 
are  drawn  together;  by  the  other,  which  is  called  the 
repulsion,  they  have  a  tendency  to  separate  from  one 
another.  If  the  attractive  force  is  the  stronger,  the 
body  requires  force  to  separate  its  parts, — or  it  is  a  solid ; 
if  the  attractive  and  repulsive  forces  are  exactly  equal, 
the  parts  of  the  body  can  be  separated  by  the  least 
force,— or  the  body  is  a  fluid;  if  the  repulsive  force  is  the 
stronger,  the  particles  require  some  force  to  keep  them 
near  one  another,  the  body  resists  compression, — or  it  is 
an  air  or  A-apour.  Heat  has  the  property  of  increasing 
the  repulsive  or  expansive  powers  of  the  particles  of 
bodies;  and  a  very  simple  experiment  will  shew  the 
manner  in  which  water  will  assume  the  form  of  a  solid, 
a  ii\iid,  or  a  vapour,  by  the  influence  of  heat. 

)Suppose  A,  B,  C,  D  is  a  closed  glass  vessel,  containing 
S.  VI.  o 


210 


PROGRESSIVE   READER. 


at  the  bottom  a  small  quantity  of  pounded  ice  or  frozen 
snow,  S,  and  that  a  tliermometer,  T,  lias  its  bulb  im- 
mersed in  tlie  ice,  wliicb  will,  of  course,  mark  a  tem- 
perature at  least  as  low  as  32°  of  Fahrenlieit.  Suppose, 
:also,  that  the  cubical  contents  of  the  vessel  are  full 
1,700  or  1,800  times  as  great  as  those  of  the  part 
occupied  by  the  ice,  S.  Now,  let  heat  be  applied  at  the 
bottom,  as,  for  instance,  by  a  lamp,  or  by  setting  the 
vessel  on  a  heated  plate,  and  observe  what  takes  place. 

If  the  temperature  of  the  ice  is  below  the  freezing 
point,  or  32"^,  the  mercury  in  the  thermometer  first  rises 
to  that  point,  and  then  the  ice  begins  to  melt.  During 
the  time  of  melting,  the  temperature,  as  indicated  by 
the  thermometer,  does  not  rise  at  all.  The  mercurv 
still  stands  at  the  freezing  point  till  every  particle  of 
the  ice  is  melted.  The  mercury  in  the  tliermometer 
then  begins  to  rise  until  it  reaches  212^,  the  boiling 
point  of  water.  Before  that  time,  bubbles  will  be 
observed  rising  in  the  water ;  and  as  soon  as  the  water 
boils  and  begins  to  be  converted  into  steam,  the  tem- 
perature, as  indicated  by  the  thermometer,  again  ceases 
to  increase;  the  mercury  is  stationary  at  the  boiling 
2">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<iy,  Sir  Nicholas, 
Let  it  alone;  my  state  now  v/ill  but  mock  me. 


222     -  PROGRESSIVE   READER. 

When  I  came  hither  I  was  Lord  Higli  Constable 
And  Duke  of  Buckingham  ;  now  poor  Edward  Bohnn. 
Yet  I  am  richer  than  my  base  accusers, 
That  never  knew  wliat  truth  meant :  I  now  seal  it ; 
And  with  that  blood  will  make  them  one  day  groan  for 't. 
My  noble  father,  Henry  of  Buckingham, 
"Who  first  raised  head  against  usurping  Bichard, 
Elying  for  succour  to  his  servant.  Banister, 
Being  distress'd,  was  by  that  wretch  betrayed, 
And  Avithout  trial,  fell ;  God's  peace  be  with  him  ! 
Henry  the  seventh  succeeding,  truly  pitying 
My  father's  loss,  like  a  most  royal  prince, 
[Restored  me  to  my  honours,  and  out  of  ruins 
Made  my  name  once  more  noble.     Now  his  son, 
Henry  the  Eighth,  life,  honour,  name,  and  all 
That  made  me  happy,  at  one  stroke  has  taken 
Eor  ever  from  the  Avorld.     I  had  my  trial, 
And,  must  needs  say,  a  noble  one ;  which  makes  me 
A  little  happier  than  my  wretched  father ; 
Yet  thus  far  we  are  one  in  fortunes — both 
Eell  by  our  servants,  by  those  men  we  loved  most ; 
A  most  unnatural  and  faithless  service ! 
Heaven  has  an  end  in  all ;  yet,  you  that  hear  me, 
This  from  a  dying  man  receive  as  certain  : 
Where  yon  are  liberal  of  yoTir  loves  and  counsels, 
Be  sure  you  be  not  loose  j  for  those  you  make  friends, 
And  give  your  hearts  to,  when  they  once  perceive 
The  least  rub  in  your  fortunes,  fall  away 
Like  water  from  ye,  never  found  again 
But  where  they  mean  to  sink  ye.     All  good  people. 
Pray  for  me  !     I  must  now  forsake  ye  :  the  last  hour 
Of  my  long  weary  life  is  come  upon  me. 
Earevv^ell  • 

And  when  you  would  say  something  that  is  sad, 
Sj^eak  hoYf  X  fell.     I  have  done  ;  and  God  forgive  me ! 

■ — Shakespeare^ s  Henry  the  Eighth. 


CAPILLARY   ATTRACTION.  223 

CAPILLARY  ATTRxVCTION. 

The  Latin  word  for  a  liair,  siicli  as  tlic  liairs  of  tlie 
head,  is  ccqnllus,  and  a  word  derived  from  this  has  been 
applied  to  any  tubes  of  wliich  the  bore  is  exceedingly 
small.  When,  therefore,  any  of  our  readers  meet  with 
the  term  capillary  tulje,  they  will  understand  that, 
although  the  term  bears  a  very  learned  sound  with  it, 
yet  it  means  nothing  more  than  a  fine  hair-like  tube. 
Glass  tubes  can  be  made  less  than  one-hundredth  part 
of  an  inch  in  diameter,  and  these  are  called  capillary 
tubes.  The  term,  however,  is  often  applied  to  tubes 
considerably  thicker  than  a  hair. 

Such  tubes  exhibit  peculiar  effects  on  liquids  con- 
tained in  them,  and  on  liquids  into  which  they  arc 
immersed.  We  all  know  that  a  liquid,  under  general 
circumstances,  maintains  a  constant  level  at  every  part 
of  its  surface;  and  if  we  dip  into  a  liquid  a  broad  tube, 
open  at  both  ends,  such  as  a  lamp-glass,  the  liquid  will 
rise  inside  that  tube  to  the  same  height  as  the  level  of 
the  surface  of  the  liquid  outside,  but  no  higher.  These 
arc  circumstances  with  which  we  are  so  flimiliar,  that 
we  take  no  note  of  them;  but  when  we  thrust  a  tube  of 
very  small  bore  into  a  liquid,  the  liquid  rises  in  the 
tube,  but  not  always  to  the  same  height  as  the  exterior 
surface  of  the  liquid,  sometimes  higher,  and  at  other 
times  lower. 

The  circumstance,  orthe  property,  which  leads  the  liquid 
to  rise  to  a  greater  or  less  height,  is  called  capillary  attrac- 
tion ;  and  the  four  little  sections  in  lig.  1,  will  serve  to  illus- 
trate examples  of  this  kind  of  attraction.^ 

If  we  have  two  class  tubes 
of  equal  size,  A  and  B,  which 
are  stopped  at  the  lower  ends, 
and  if  we  pour  mercury  (that 
is  quicksilver)  into  A,  and  v»^ater 
into  B,  we  shall  generally  find  that 
the  surf  ice  of  the  mercury  in  A, 
v.ill be  round,  or  convex,  or  swelled 


|i-  3 


i 


B 


m  r?]c    '-wi 


|D 


upwards,    while     the     surface     of  Tiff- 1- 

the   water    in   B,    will    be   sunken,    or    hollowed,    or 


224  PROGRESSIVE   READER. 

concave.  Now  this  difference  arises  from  tlie  different 
way  in  wliicli  glass  is  affected  towards  tlie  two  fluids. 
Mercury  and  glass  have  a  sort  of  repulsion  for  each 
other ;  they  act  as  if  they  did  not  wish  to  come 
together.  If  we  drop  a  little  mercury  on  a  piece  of 
glass  '  t  will  not  spread  like  water,  but  will  remain  as  a 
small  globe  of  mercury,  so  as  to  touch  the  glass  as  little 
as  possible.  Now  it  is  for  that  reason  that  the  top  o-f 
the  mercury  in  the  tube  is  convex;  the  tube  drives  or 
repels  the  mercury  from  it,  so  that  the  later  is  accumu- 
lated in  a  heap  in  the  middle  of  the  tube. 

A  line  drawn  across  the  top  of  the  little  mound  of 
mercury  shews  liow  much  it  is  depressed  at  the  sides 
of  that  mound,  on  account  of  the  repulsion  of  the  glass. 
With  the  tube,  B,  however,  it  is  different.  Water  and 
glass  have  an  attraction,  or,  if  we  may  use  the  term,  a 
liking  for  each  other,  and  the  glass  draws  the  water 
towards  it  whenever  an  opportunity  occurs.  If  we 
drop  a  little  water  on  a  clean  piece  of  glass,  it  does  not 
remain  in  globular  drops  like  the  mercury,  but  spreads 
out,  as  if  to  gain  as  laro;e  a  surface  of  contact  with  the 
glass  as  possible.  Now  such  is  the  case  in  the  tube. 
The  sides  of  the  tube  draw  the  water  towards  it  all 
round,  so  that  the  centre  is  deprived  of  some  of  its 
water,  and  becomes  depressed  or  concave.  If  we  draw 
a  line  across  the  centre  of  the  surface  of  the  water,  we 
find  that  there  is  a  considerable  portion  above  the  level 
near  the  sides  of  the  tube. 

Suppose,  now,  that  the  tubes  Avere  a  little  larger  than, 
these,  and  that  very  small,  or  capillary  tubes,  were 
thrust  down  the  middle  of  them,  C  will  represent  the 
effect  Avlien  mercury  is  the  liquid  employed,  and  D 
when  the  liquid  is  water.  If  0  be  partly  filled  with 
inercury  before  the  small  tube  is  inserted,  the  surface 
will  be  convex,  as  before  described ;  and  on  immersing 
the  small  tube,  mercury  will  ascend  into  it,  but  not  to 
the  same  height  as  the  level  of  the  mercury  in  the  outer 
tube,  and  the  mercury  in  both  tubes  will  be  convex  at 
the  surface.  Here  then  we  see  that  mercuiy,  in  accord- 
ance with  the  general  principles  that  regulate  liquids. 


CAPILLARY   ATTRACTION. 


225 


{\scentls  the  inner  tube,  in  order  to  gain  the  .same  level 
as  the  mercury  in  the  outer  tube;  but  it  receives  sucli 
a  check  from  the  repulsion  which  the  glass  manifests 
towards  it,  that  it  cannot  attain  that  level,  but  remains 
at  a  lower  level,  as  in  the  figure,  C.  Let  us  now  turn  to 
D.  When  water  is  poured  into  this  tube,  and  the  small 
tube  immersed  in  the  water,  the  water  rises  to  the  latter, 
not  only  to  the  same  level  as  in  the  outer  tube  but  still 
higher,  while  the  surface  of  the  water  is  concave,  thu^i 
shewing  in  two  different  w^ays  an  attraction  between 
the  glass  and  the  water ;  for,  after  the  water  has 
ascended  in  the  inner  tube  to  the  same  level  as  in  the 
outer,  by  the  exercise  of  the  ordinary  property  of 
liquids,  it  ascends  still  higher,  by  the  attraction  of  the 
sides  of  the  inner  tube  ojierating  to  draw  it  upwards. 
If  the  inner  tube  be  not  more  than  one  hundredth  of  an 
inch  in  diameter,  the  water  ascends  in  this  way,  by 
capillary  attraction  alone,  as  much  as  four  inches. 

In  fig.  2,  we  ha^'e  the  same  facts  proved  by  a  dif- 
ferent mode  of  illustration.  Let  A  represent  water, 
and  A  B,  two  small  balls  (made  'of  any  solid  material 
Avhich  can  be  wetted  by  water), 
placed  upon  the  liquid  surface, 
or  suspended  so  as  to  touch 
and  sink  a  little  below  such 
surface.  AVhen  the  balls  are 
placed  near  each  other,  there 
will  be  a  hollow,  concave  space 
between  them,  formed  by  the 
depression  of  the  water,  as 
shewn  at  A  B  in  the  figure, 
and  resembling  the  concave  at 
B  and  at  D,  in  fig.  1.  If  now,  by  means  of  a  feather, 
WG  wet  the  parts  of  the  balls  near  the  arrows,  the  water 
will  flow^  up  above  the  level,  in  the  direction  of  the 
arrows,  and  wet  the  balls  nearly  to  the  top.  If  wo 
move  the  balls  nearer  to  each  other  in  the  direction  of 
the  arrows,  the  concave  space  between  them  will  become 
more  hollow. 

In  B,  fig.  2,  we  have  mercury,  into  which  the  balls 
S.  VI.  '  i' 


J.  1]-,  •    ^» 


22 G  PROGRESSIVE   READER. 

are  ppvrtly  depressed,  and  the  space  between  them  then 
becomes  convex,  as  in  A  C,  fig.  1. 

If  we  move  the  two  halls  nearer  together,  the  mercury 
between  them  becomes  more  convex. 

0,  fig.  2,  represents  the  curve  formed  by  the  ball  and 
the  water;  the  former  not  being  sliewn  in  the  figure, 
in  order  to  give  a  general  view  of  the  disturbance  of 
the  liquid  surface,  and  its  elevation  above  the  liquid 
level. 

In  D,  fig.  2,  we  have  an  interesting  variation  of  A. 
One  ball  is  completely  wetted,  and  water  rises  up  all 
over  it,  producing  a  general  elevation  above  the  level 
of  the  liquid,   the  other  ball  is  kept  perfectly  dry,  by 
giving  it  a  slight  coating  of  grease  or  of  varnish,  and  i3i 
this  condition  it  repels  the  water  around  it,  and  pro- 
duces the  hollow,  or  depression,  as  shewai  in  the  figure. 
If  the  balls  be  moved   alonoj  in  the  direction  of  the 
arrows,    an    elevation    and   depression  will  accompany 
them  in  the  same  manner  as  if  they  were   stationary. 
We  see,  then,  that  if  one  of  the  balls  be  kept  dry,  and 
the  other  allowed  to  get  wetted,  the  water  will  rise  up 
round  the  latter,  and  be  depressed  round  the  former. 
Did  any  of  our  younger  readers  ever  conside]'  how  it  is 
that  the  oil  in  our  lamps  becomes  consumed?     We  put 
oil  into  a  hollow  case,  and  attach  a  v/ick  of  cotton,  which 
partly  dips  into,  and  partly  rises  above  the  surface  of 
the  oil,  but  we  apply  a  light  to  the  wick,  at  some  dis- 
tance above  the  cistern  of  oil;  how,  then,  does  the  oil 
ascend?     We  may  reply,   that  if  there  Avere  no  such 
thing  as  capillary  attraction,  our  lamps  would  be  of  no 
use  whatever.     Oil,  like  other  fluids,  has  in  general  no 
tendency  to  ascend,  and  it  does  so  in  this  case  only  on 
account  of  the  peculiar  attraction  of  which  we  are  now- 
speaking.     The   wick    consists  of  several  filaments  of 
cotton-thread,  loosely  twisted  together,  and  in  this  form 
the    intervals,    or   interstices,    between    them   act   like 
capillary  tubes,  up  which  the  oil  ascends.     If  we  put  a 
new  wick  and  a  new  supply  of  oil  into  a  lamp,  we 
shortly  see  the  upper  extremity  of  the  Avick  v/et  with 
oil;    for  it  has  ascended  through  the   little    channels 


CAPILLARY   ATTRACTION-  227 

T)etween  the  filaments  of  cotton.  As  tlie  oil  burns  away 
in  form  of  flame,  more  oil  ascends  tlirough  tlic  wick, 
and  thus  a  supply  is  kept  up. 

If  we  fill  a  glass  tumbler  Avitli  water,  and  put  one 
end  of  a  skein  of  thread,  or  of  a  wick  of  cotton,  into  it, 
and  let  the  thread  hang  over  the  edge  of  the  glass,  so 
that  the  other  end  shall  be  outside,  the  glass  will  be 
entirely  emptied.  The  little  filaments  carry  up  the 
water  in  minute  streams  and  channels,  and  when  it  has 
arrived  at  the  edge  of  the  glass,  it  follows  the  course  of 
the  thread  down  the  outside  of  the  fi;lass.  If  one  end 
of  a  towel  or  handkerchief  be  placed  in  a  wash-hand 
basin  containing  water,  and  if  the  towel  hang  over  the 
the  edge,  and  have  the  other  end  outside  the  basin,  the 
water  will  be  conveyed  from  the  basin  in  a  similar 
manner  to  that  in  the  last  experiment.  The  towel  or  the 
handkerchief  is  made  of  linen  or  silken  threads,  each 
of  which  is  formed  of  a  fibrous  material,  and  the  minute 
spaces  between  the  fibres  act  as  capillary  tubes,  and 
conduct  the  water  through  them.  If  a  skein  of  cotton 
or  of  silk  be  placed  partly  into  a  glass  tumbler  full  of 
Tv'ater,  and  the  other  ir^vt  be  placed  in  an  empty  tum- 
bler near  the  first,  the  water  will  flow  from  the  first 
into  the  second  glass,  until  it  is  at  the  same  height  in 
both. 

If  we  take  a  small  square  of  glass,  and  dip  it  edge- 
ways into  a  basin  of  water,  we  shall  see  that  the  v*"ater 
will  slightly  rise  at  the  surface  of  the  glass,  but  in  so 
small  a  degree  as  to  be  hardly  perceptible;  but  if  we 
have  two  squares  of  glass,  and  place  them  jface  to  face, 
but  not  absolutely  touching,  and  then  dip  their  edges 
into  water,  we  shall  find  that  the  water  will  rise  between 
them  to  a  perceptible  height :  we  have,  in  fact,  a  broad, 
flat,  capillary  tube,  up  which  the  water  ascends.  But 
the  most  ])leasing  way  of  producing  this  result  is  to 
place  the  pieces  of  glass  in  contact  at  one  of  their  up- 
right edges,  and  to  let  them  gradually  open  towards  the 
other  upright  edge.  The  water  will  then  ascend  to 
different  heights  between  the  plates,  being  highest  at 
that  side  where  the  glasses  are  in  contact. 


PROGRESSIVE   READER. 


Fig.  3  mo.y  illustrate  this. 


Fisr.  3. 


AYe  have  here  two  pieces 
of  glass  connected  by- 
hinges  at  the  left  edges, 
Avhile  the  opposite  edges 
are  clasped  by  an  in- 
strument which  allows 
lis  to  vary  the  distance 
of  the  two  plates :  when 
the  ph\tes  are  a  little 
opened  at  the  edges, 
they  are  then  in  the 
condition  of  a  book 
very  nearly  closed.  If 
now  the  lower  edges  be 
dipped  in  Avater,  the 
water  will  ascend  to  a  considerable  height  near  the 
hinges,  and  to  a  gradually  decreasing  height  as  we  go 
from  those  edges  to  the  edges  which  are  a  little  opened. 
The  water  forms  a  curved  line,  called  hyjierhola,  Avhicli 
is  represented  by  the  darker  lines  of  the  figure.  This 
experiment  is  more  pleasing  and  striking  if  coloured 
water  be  employed.  For  this  purpose  we  may  drop 
some  red  or  black  ink  into  the  water. 

The  means  by  which  we  know  whether  or  not  a  solid 
and  a  fluid  exert  this  sort  of  attraction  on  one  another 
is  by  observing  whether  the  fluid  wets  the  solid,  or 
immersing  the  latter  in  the  former,  and  drawing  it  out 
again.  When  vre  dip  a  piece  of  glass  into  water,  and 
take  it  out  again  immediately,  the  glass  is  wetted,  whicli 
is  but  another  mode  of  savins;  that  the  o-lass  has  attracted 
the  water.  But  if  we  dip  the  piece  of  glass  into  mer- 
cury, and  take  it  out  again,  we  find  that  the  glass  is  not 
wetted;  no  mercury  adheres  to  it,  because  mercury  and 
glass  do  not  attract  each  other.  Also,  if  we  grease  the 
glass,  water  will  not  adhere  to,  or  be  attracted  by  it. 

The  effect  of  attraction  and  repulsion  exerted  in  this 
way  may  be  further  illustrated  by  fig.  4.  Suppose  we 
have  water  in  a  A^essel,  and  have  plates  of  different  sul>- 
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  Ml 


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  0  P,  till  it  meets 
the  axis  C;  from  the  point  C  draw  the  line  OT  per- 
pendicular to  the  axis  «  X,  and  T  0  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  0  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,  <tc.,  in 
wooden  boxes ;  ten  boxes  can  be  manufactured  in  two 
days.  A  piggery  is  attached  to  the  Sago  establishments, 
the  inhabitants  of  which  must  fare  very  well  on  tho 
refuse  of  the  Sago-washings. — S.  M: 


C  H  E  B  Y  I  L. 


Sweet  Chervil,  or  Sweet  Cicely,  grows  very  like  the 

great  hemlock,  having  large  spread  leaves  cut  into  divers 

parts,  but  of  a  fresher  green  colour  than  the  hemlock, 

s.  Yi.  c. 


2  B 


q 


SG  PrvOGPvESSIVE  KEADER. 


tasting  as  sweet  as  aniseed.  The  stalks  risG  tip  a  yard 
high  or  more,  being  hollow,  having  leaves  at  the  joints, 
but  smaller,  and  at  the  tops  of  the  branched  stalks  are 
tufts  of  white  flowers;  after  which  come  large  and  long 
black  shining  seed,  pointed  at  both  ends,  tasting  quick, 
yet  sweet  and  pleasant.  The  root  is  great  and  white, 
growing  deep  in  the  ground,  and  spreading  out  many 
long  runners,  in  taste  and  smell  stronger  than  the  leaves 
or  seeds. 

Chervil  is  a  native  of  the  Levant,  and  various  parts 
of  Europe,  and  is  sometimes  found  in  its  native  state  in 
this  country.  "When  young,  it  somewhat  resembles 
parsley ;  but  ns  it  runs  to  seed  it  bears  more  the  appear- 
ance of  hemlock.  The  tender  leaves  are  grateful  to  tho 
palate,  especially  when  used  in  soups  and  salads.  It  is 
much  cultivated  by  the  French  and  Dutch,  who  are  so 
fond  of  it,  that  they  scarcely  ever  omit  it  in  their  soups 
and  salads ;  and  it  is  considered  to  be  a  milder  and  moro 
agreeable  addition  to  seasonings  than  the  parsley  so 
generally  used  by  English  cooks.  Gerard,  about  two 
hundred  years  ago,  had  an  extensive  garden  in  London, 
in  that  part  of  Holborn  now  called  Hatton  Garden,  and 
in  his  Herbal  he  says : — '*  The  great  sweet  chervil 
growcth  in  my  garden,  and  in  the  gardens  of  other  men 
who  have  been  dilicrent  in  these  matters."  He  recom- 
mends  the  root  of  this  plant  to  be  first  boiled,  and  then 
eaten  with  oil  and  vinegar,  ''  which  is  very  good  for  old 
people  that  are  dull  and  without  courage;  it  rejoiceth 
and  comforteth  the  heart,  and  increaseth  their 
strength." 

We  select  from  Mr.  Rogers'  Vegctahh  Cultivator  tho 
method  of  rearing  this  useful  j)lant;  Chervil  is  annual, 
and  the  seed  should  be  sown,  to  keep  up  a  succession, 
from  the  beginning  of  March  till  June,  at  the  intervals 
of  about  a  month,  as  the  younger  it  is  the  higher  flavour 
it  imparts. 

The  seed  may  bo  sown  in  shallow  drills,  from  six  to 
nine  inches  apart,  and  covered  over  liglitly  with  the 
mould ;  it  can  also  be  sown  broadcast  and  raked  in  lightly 
and  evenly.     If  the  plants  rise  thick;  a  slight  thinning 


ITLOWERS.  387 

will  bo  necessary ;  and  in  dry  weather  a  little  water  will 
be  useful. 

To  have  chervil  for  use  throughout  winter,  it  should 
be  sown  towards  the  end  of  August  in  a  three  or  four 
foot  bed,  which  may  be  hooped  over  and  the  plants  pro- 
tected with  mats  in  frosty  weather.  The  plants  remain 
where  sown,  and  are  never  transplanted.  They  are 
proper  for  gathering  when  the  leaves  are  three  or  four 
inches  in  growth,  and  must  be  cut  off  close ;  they  will 
shoot  up  again,  and  may  be  gathered  in  succession,  though 
the  plants  of  the  spring  and  summer  sowing  soon  spindle 
up  into  seed  stalks,  ceasing  to  produce  young  leaves, 
which  are  the  useful  parts. 


F  L  O  W  E  K  S. 


Sweet  nurslings  of  the  vernal  skies, 

Bathed  in  soft  airs,  and  fed  with  dew, 
"What  more  than  magic  in  you  lies, 

To  fill  the  heart's  fond  view  ? 
In  childhood's  sports,  companions  gay, 
In  sorrow,  on  Life's  downward  way, 
How  soothing !  in  our  last  decay 
Memorials  prompt  and  true. 

Ilelics  ye  are  of  Eden's  bowers, 
As  pure,  as  fragrant,  and  as  fair, 

As  when  ye  crown'd  the  sunshine  hours 
Of  happy  wanderers  there. 

FaH'n  all  beside — the  world  of  life. 

How  is  it  stain' d  with  fear  and  strife  ! 

In  Reason's  world  what  storms  are  rife, 
"What  passions  rango  and  glare  ! 

Bat  cheerful  and  unchancjed  the  while 
Your  first  and  perfect  form  ye  shew. 


388  PROGRESSIVE  RE^iDER. 

The  same  that  won  Eve's  matron  smile 
In  the  world's  opening  glow. 

The  stars  of  heaven  a  course  are  taught 

Too  high  above  our  human  thought ; 

Ye  may  be  found  if  ye  are  sought, 
And  as  we  gaze,  we  know. 

Ye  dwell  beside  our  paths  and  homes, 

Our  paths  of  sin,  our  homes  of  sorrow, 
And  guilty  man  where'er  he  roams. 
Your  innocent  mirth  may  borrow. 
The  birds  of  air  before  us  fleet, 
Tliey  cannot  brook  our  shame  to  meet — 
But  we  may  tasto  your  solace  sweet, 
And  come  acain  to-morrow. 


Ye  fearless  in  your  nests  abide — 

Nor  may  we  scorn,  too  proudly  Avise, 
Your  silent  lessons,  undescried 

By  all  ]jut  lowly  eyes  : 
!For  ye  could  draw  th'  admiring  gaze, 
Of  Him  who  worlds  and  hearts  surveys  : 
Your  order  wild,  your  fragrant  maze, 
He  taught  us  how  to  prize. 

Ye  felt  your  Maker's  smile  that  hour. 

As  when  He  paused  and  own'd  you  good; 

His  blessing  on  earth's  primal  bower. 
Ye  felt  it  all  renew' d, 

"What  care  ye  now,  if  winter's  storm 

Sweep  ruthless  o'er  each  silken  form? 

Christ's  blessing  at  your  heart  is  warm, 
Ye  fear  no  vexing  mood. 

Alas  !  of  thousand  bosoms  kind, 
That  daily  court  you  and  cares??, 

How  few  the  happy  secret  lin<l 
Of  your  calm  loveliness  ! 


DOMESTIC  ECONOMY.  380 

"  Live  for  to-day  !  to-morrow's  light 
To-morrow's  cares  shall  bring  to  sight ; 
Go  sleep  like  closing  flowers  at  night, 

And  Heaven  thy  morn  will  bless." — Keble. 


DOMESTIC    ECONOMY. 

Household  Management. 

The  first  habit  to  be  learnt  in  the  management  of 
a  house,  and  one  which  cannot  be  learnt  too  young,  is 
that  of  early  rising.  In  very  many  houses  all  the 
muddle  is  caused  by  getting  up  too  late :  the  breakfast 
is  not  ready  when  the  men  and  boys  of  the  family  ought 
to  go  to  their  work;  it  is  eaten  in  a  hurry,  and  they 
start  off  to  a  hard  day's  labour  out  of  temper  and  half- 
fed,  so  that  the  first  beer-house  is  a  temptation  to  supply 
the  w^ant;  and  the  thought  of  a  comfortless  home  at 
night  leads  them  to  the  clean,  well-swept  ale-house  with 
its  bright  fire,  its  cheerful  company,  and  the  intoxicating 
drink.  Many  a  w^ife  is  answerable  for  her  husband's 
drunkenness  and  her  children's  rags.  An  hour  lost  in 
the  morning  will  keep  her  toiling  all  day  to  overtake  it, 
and  still  till  bed- time  she  is  an  hour  behind-hand. 

A  very  good  time  for  rising  is  five  o'clock  in  summer 
and  seven  in  winter. 

On  coming  doAvn  stairs,  the  first  thing  to  be  done 
is  lighting  the  fire.  Few  people  know  how  to  light  a 
fire.  First  the  cinders  should  be  well  raked  out,  and  all 
clinkers  removed  from  the  grate  at  the  bottom;  then  a 
few  cinders  must  be  laid,  as  a  foundation,  but  not  too 
close  together,  leaving  a  little  space  between  each  for 
the  air  to  get  in  through  the  grating ;  because  fire  cannot 
burn  without  air.  Over  these  lay  some  paper,  not  a 
thick  piece  of  brown  paper,  but  a  few  pieces,  loosely 


390  PROGRESSIVE  READER. 

thrown  on,  and  rather  squeezed  into  crumpled  lumps, 
oa  Avhicli  place  eight  or  ten  pieces  of  wood,  which  should 
have  been  previously  well -dried.  Over  the  wood  lay  a 
course  of  coals  about  the  size  of  a  duck's  egg  (leaving  a 
space  between  each),  and  then  build  up  a  pile  over 
them,  having  alternately  a  piece  of  coal  and  an  opening, 
taking  care  to  set  the  whole  well  back  in  the  grate, 
so  that  t]ie  smoke  will  go  up  the  chimney  and  not 
into  tlie  room.  V/hen  this  is  complete,  light  the 
fire  with  a  matcli  at  the  bottom  of  the  paper, 
and  leave  it  alone  until  the  coals  have  fairly 
caught  fire.  While  this  is  pursuing  its  own  course, 
employ  the  time  in  taking  up  all  the  ashes  and  cinders 
from  under  the  grate  and  hearth.  If  there  is  a  well  in 
the  hearth,  (as  is  sometimes  the  case)  with  a  grating 
over  it,  rake  tlie  cinders  over  the  grate  backwards  and 
forwards,  until  all  the  ashes  have  fallen  through  into 
the  well;  but,  if  not,  then  take  them  out  of  doors  and 
riddle  the  cinders, — the  ash  will  make  useful  manure, 
especially  if  the  slops  from  the  bed-cliamber  are  poured 
over  them, — and,  when  the  fire  is  well  burnt  up,  a  few 
cinders  may  be  thrown  upon  it,  and  the  rest  saved  to 
make  up  the  fire  again  after  breakfist. 

Now  that  the  fire  is  burning  well,  preparations  may 
be  made  for  breakfast.  First  rinse  the  kettle  well  out 
with  clean  water,  and  scrape  off  any  lime  or  rust  cling- 
ing to  the  inside,  and  wlien  it  is  quite  clean,  fill  it  with 
fresh  water  from  the  pump  or  Avell,  set  it  on  the  fire, 
and  proceed  to  sweep  the  room  out  towards  the  fire- 
place or  door,  and  then  black  and  brush  the  grate,  wash 
the  hearth  and  whiten  it,  and  rub  up  your  fender  and 
fire-irons.  Bv  this  time  the  dust  will  have  settled,  and 
you  can  dust  all  the  furniture  with  a  clean  duster,  and 
be  careful,  while  you  are  dusting,  to  often  shake  it  well 
out  of  doors,  and  when  you  have  finished,  fold  it  up 
and  put  it  into  a  drawer  ready  for  next  time. 

You  can  now  spread  out  your  breakfast  things,  and 
it  is  worth  while  to  have  a  white  table  cloth,  because  it 
gives  an  air  of  comfort,  and  it  kee]>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  save<l  for  the  making  of  soup,  along  with  peas  or  oat- 
meal. A  lot  of  bones  may  always  be  got  from  the 
butcher  for  2(i.,  and  they  are  never  scraped  so  clean  as 
not  to  have  some  scraps  of  meat  adhei'ing  to  them. 
Put  them  into  an  iron  pot — a  digester,  if  you  have  one 
— large  enough  to  hold  a  gallon;  and  in  winter,  when 
the  cottage  is  never  without  a  fire,  fill  the  pot  with 


398  rEOGRESSIVE  DEADER. 

water,  letting  it  boil  for  tlircc  or  four  hours,  until  it 
tastes  something  like  strong  broth,  and  is  reduced  to 
less  than  a  couple  of  quarts;  then,  having  taken  out  tho 
bones,  put  into  the  liquor  a  quantity  of  any  vegetables 
you  may  have  at  hand — cut  small,  and  not  forgetting  tho 
fried  onion — and  let  them  stew  nntil  they  are  tender; 
when  nearly  done,  throw  in  a  few  crusts  of  bread,  and 
it  will  bo  found  a  capital  dish  of  soup.  The  bones,  when 
thus  done  with,  may  either  be  sold,  or  pounded  by 
yourself  and  used  as  manure  for  your  garden. 

It  is  not,  however,  always  that  broth  can  be  had; 
but,  even  in  that  case,  it  must  not  be  supposed  that  the 
soup  cannot  be  made  without  either  broth  or  meat ;  for 
it  has  been  tried  according  to  the  following  receipt  for 
pea-soup,  both  by  the  writer  and  others,  and  has  been 
found  excellent : — To  three  quarts  of  boiling  water  add 
a  pint  of  peas,  and  let  them  boil  till  tender,  then 
mash  them  together  so  as  to  form  a  paste,  and  put 
them  back  into  the  water  along  with  a  quantity  of 
carrots,  turnips,  celery  if  you  have  any,  all  cut  into 
slices,  with  some  sliced  onions,  and  fry  the  whole  in  a 
dripping-pan,  keeping  them  well  floured  while  ftying,  to 
prevent  their  burning.  After  this,  let  the  soup  simmer 
gently  for  a  couple  of  hours;  and  if  too  thin,  thicken  it 
with  a  handful  of  oatmeal;  season  it  with  pepper  and 
salt  and  a  little  dried  mint,  and  it  will  serve  for  a  family 
of  four  during  two  days.  Split-peas  are  commonly  used, 
yet  whole  peas  are  not  only  quite  as  good,  but  cheaper. 
The  cost  will  be  at  the  most  3d.,  or,  if  oatmeal  be  used, 
a  pint  will  be  sufficient,  the  usual  price  being  only  2d., 
but  pea- soup  is  the  preferable  of  the  two.  The  peas 
should,  however,  be  always  left  to  soak  during  the  night, 
and  the  next  day  made  into  soup  with  soft  water;  for 
if  hard  water  be  used,  the  peas  will  not  become  tender 
or  mix  into  that  smooth  consistence  which  is  necessary 
to  make  it  good.  If  soft  water  cannot  be  had,  a  small 
piece  of  soda  put  into  the  water  will,  however,  have  the 
efiect. 

Vegctalle  so7fp  may  also  be  made  thus  : — Take  the 
heart  of  a  cabbage,  or  some  cabbage  sprouts,  or  spinach, 


Cookery.  300 

two  or  tlii*eo  turnips  and  carrots  cut  small,  and  a  little 
bruised  celery  seed  (if  you  cannot  get  it  in  the  root),  and 
boil  them  in  about  three  pints  or  two  quarts  of  water 
for  an  hour.  When  done  enough,  slice  three  good  sized 
onions  and  fry  them,  till  well  browned ;  put  them  into 
the  soup  with  some  crusts  of  bread,  and  let  the  whole 
boil  together  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour. 

Potatoes  will  ever  be  the  peasant's  standard  vegetable; 
for,  if  of  good  mealy  quality,  they  contain  more  nutri- 
ment than  any  other  root,  and  three  to  four  pounds  are 
equal  in  point  of  nourishment  to  a  pound  of  the  best 
wheaten  bread,  besides  having  the  great  advantage  of 
better  filling  the  stomach ;  but  if  of  a  soapy,  waxy  kind, 
they  are  not  only  deficient  in  nutriment,  but  actually 
unwholesome.     They  are  seldom  dressed  in  any  other 
way  than  plainly  boiled,  but  there  are  different  opinions 
as  to  the  best  mode — some  peeling  them  before,  and 
others  after  they  are  boiled.     In  Lancashire,  where  they 
are  in  general  admirably  dressed,  they  are  first  peeled — 
which  is  certainly  the  cleanest  as  well  as  the  least  waste- 
ful.    The  large  potatoes  are  then  cut  into  pieces  of  the 
same  size  as  the  smaller,  so  that  they  may  boil  equally, 
and  they  arc  put  into  as  much  cold  water  as  will  cover 
them  to  within  about  an  inch,  but  not  entirely.     Set 
them  upon  a  moderate  fire  until  they  begin  to  boil,  and 
then  throw  in  a  little  cold  water  to  prevent  them  from 
boiling  too  suddenly  before  they  are  done  to  the  heart. 
"When  done  soft  enough  to  admit  of  a  fork,  then  pour 
the  water  ofi";  for  if  it  be  allowed  to  remain  a  moment 
after  the  potatoes  are  done,  they  will  become  watery ; 
uncover  the  pot,  and  set  it  at  such  a  distance  from  the 
fire  as  to  prevent  it  from  burning,  yet  near  enough  to 
keep  the  potatoes  hot  and  allow  their  moisture  to  evapo- 
rate: and  eat  them  immediatelv.     If  a  handful  of  salt 
be   thrown   into  the   water,    it   will   be  found   to  add 
to    their    flavour;     and   they   should   be  ;  boiled   sepa- 
rately, or  at  least  never  mixed  into  soup  when  raw,  as 
their  juice  is  not  only  unpleasant,  but  thought  by  many 
jDersons  to  contain  some  poisonous  quality.     A  good  and 
economical  mode  of  dressing  them,  when  soup,  meat,  or 


^00  PROGRESSIVE   READEPw. 

other  vegetables  are  to  be  boiled,  is  to  have  a  large  jug 
fitted  to  the  mouth  of  a  saucepan,  and  having  a  tin  bot- 
tom of  a  convex  or  arched  form,  pierced  with  holes  so  as 
to  allow  the  steam  to  ascend  from  the  boiler ;  by  which 
simple  apparatus  the  saucepan  will  boil  the  soup,  the 
jug  will  steam  the  potatoes,  and  the  cover  of  it  having 
a  small  hole  at  the  top  will  allow  the  steam  to  escajDe, 
so  as  to  prevent  it  from  fiilling  down  upon  the  potatoes 
and  soddening  them.  Any  ironmonger  will  make  it  for 
a  trifle. 

Potatoes  may  also  be  made  into  cakes,  and  baked  in  a 
few  minutes  over  the  fire  upon  a  flat  iron  plate,  having 
short  legs  upon  which  it  is  supported,  and  commonly 
known  among  the  Irish  peasantry  as  "  a  griddle."  It 
is  simply  done  by  mashing  the  boiled  potatoes  into  flour 
with  the  rolling-pin,  and  binding  them  together  either 
with  a  small  quantity  of  milk,  or  a  little  fat,  and  flavour- 
ing them  Avitli  a  little  salt,  then  rolling  tile  pas  be  out 
into  cakes  of  a  quarter  of  an  inch  tliick,  placing  them 
upon  the  hot  griddle,  and  turning  them  when  done  on 
one  side.  Or  they  may  be  made  in  the  same  manner, 
though  more  like  bread,  by  pouring  upon  the  mashed 
potatoes  a  moderate  quantity  of  batter  made  either  of 
wheaten  flour  or  oatmeal  and  milk,  mixing  it  thoroughly, 
Avith  the  paste,  and  pricking  the  cakes  with  a  fork  to 
render  them  liofht. 

EicE  Pudding. 

Take  two  table  spoonsful  of  rice  to  one  pint  of  milk,  add 
a  little  sugar,  and  mix  it  well  with  the  rice  at  the  bottom 
of  a  pie-dish.  Pour  the  milk  over,  and  place  it  in  tho 
oven,  baking  it  at  a  gentle  heat,  and  stirring  it  several 
times,  till  done.  A  sago  pudding  done  in  the  same 
way  is  equally  good. 

Plum  Pudding. 

Take  of  currants,  plums,  suet,  and  sugar,  two  ounces 
of  each,  add  a  half  ])ound  of  flour,  mix  them  with  milk, 
and  boil  it  for  four  liours. 

Fwie^ar  should  bo  made  at  home.     This  can  be  easily 


CnUCIFEEOUS   AND   UMBELLIFEllOtJS   PLANTS.       401 

done  by  having  a  small   runlet,   or  a  large    nnglazed 

earthen  jar,  placed  in  a  warm  spot,  exposed  to  the  sun 

during  the  summer,  and  near  the  chimney-corner  in  the 

winter,  putting  into  it  either  a  pound  or  two  of  treacle 

and  a  quart  of  water  as  a  foundation,  and  leaving  out 

the  bung,  or  slightly  covering  the  mouth  of  the  jar,  so 

as  to  prevent  the  introduction  of  dust,  but  not  to  exclude 

the  air.     Then,  whenever  you  have  a  few  gooseberries 

and  currants,  or  any  fruit  of  a  juicy  kind,  put  a  few  of 

their  stalks,  rind  and  all,  into  the  vessel,  together  with 

any  remains  you  may  occasionally  have  of  beer,  and  if 

you  have  not  enough  to  cover  the  fruit,  add  a  little 

warm  water.     When  the  cask  is  full,  leave  it  there  until 

it  begins  to  ferment,  which  in  no  great  time  will  render 

the  liquor  quite  sour ;  and  after  it  has  stood  long  enough 

to  become  clear,  it  may  be  then  drawn  off  as  vinegar. 

It  may  not  be  strong  ;  but  it  will  be  quite  as  good  as 

that  usually  sold  in  the  country  shops  for  two  or  three 

shillings   a   gallon,    besides   thus    affording  plenty   for 

picklini]f  and  the  other  uses  of  the  family. 


CRUCIFEROUS  AND  UMBELLIFEROUS 

PLANTS,  &c. 

Cruciferous  plants  which  do  not  afford  the  nutritive 
principles  of  starch,  or  sugar,  or  farina,  are  still  very 
essential  articles  of  food.  We  are  ignorant  of  the  most 
wonderful  organic  powers  of  digestion  and  assimilation ; 
but  we  know  that  the  human  constitution  requires  a  cer- 
tain quantity  of  herbaceous  vegetable  food  to  keep  it  in 
jierfect  health,  and  that  the  order  of  plants  in  question 
supplies  this  in  the  most  efficient  form.  It  may  be  added 
that  the  cruciferous  plants  differ  from  most  others  in  con- 
taining more  azote,  an  essential  animal  principle,  and  in 
being  without  a  single  exception,  innocent,  if  not  whole- 
some. 

The  Cabbage,  and  its  endless  varieties  of  broccoli, 
s.  VI.  c.  2  c 


402 


PROGRESSIVE  READER. 


cauliflower,   sprouts,   &c. ;   tlio  turnip,   sea-kale,  radish,' 
cress,  mustard,  A:c.,  belong  to  this  order. 


Common  Mustard. 

The  Carrot,  the  Parsnip,  and  Celery,  are  tlio 
princij^al  and  best  known  vegetables  belonging  to  an 
order  of  plants  which  possess  the  most  opposite  qualities. 
This  apparent  contradiction  is  easily  explained;  the 
umhelliferous  plants  are  always  injurious,  and  often 
most  fatally  poisonous,  but  the  peculiar  Tegetable 
principles,  to  which  they  owe  these  formidable  qualities, 
are  only  elaborated  in  the  leaves  in  consequence  of  the 
chemical  changes  which  are  eticcted  in  the  sap  by  the 
agency  of  air  and  light.  The  j)roper  juices  of  this 
modified  sap  are  transmitted  to  the  bark  and  stem ;  it 
is  in  the  leaves  or  stem,  therefore,  that  the  noxious 
principles  abound,  while  the  fruit  or  seed  is  comparatively 
free  from  them. 

The  vegetable  principles  are,  generally,  extremely 
volatile,  easily  dissipated  by  heat;  hence,  cooking  by  fire 
renders  many  plants  innocent,  if  not  beneficial,  by  dis- 
persing the  dangerous  juices  or  oils,  while  the  nutritive 
matter  they  may  contain  remains  unafiected  by  the 
process.  The  roots  of  the  carrot  and  parsnip  abound 
"with  sugar,  and  contain  but  little,  if  any,  of  the  poison- 


CRUCIFEROUS  AND  UMBELLIFEROUS  PLANTS.      ,403 

ous  principles  wliicli  reside  in  tlie  stem  and  leaves,  and 
"wliat  there  is,  is  probably  removed  by  tlie  lieat  in  boil- 
ing. These  roots  are  consequently  two  of  the  most 
nutritious  vegetables  we  possess.         ^ 

Celery  in  its  wild  state  is  poisonous,  but  as  it  is 
cultivated  in  this  country,  the  stem  and  leaves  are  kept 
from  the -air  I  and  light,  consequently  the  poisonous 
principles'are  not' fully  (.elaborated,  and  the  plant  is 
rendered  as  ^  innocent,  as ;  it  is  grateful,  by  its  coolness 
and  juiciness.'.  "  All !  raw  f  vegetable  matter,  how^ever,  is 
comparatively! indigestible,  and  celery  is  not  exempt 
from  this  property,  so  that  it  is  only  when  boiled  in 
soups,  &c,  that  it  is  rendered  completely  innocuous. 

Spinach  is  the  principal  vegetable  cultivated  of  an 
order  which  would  supply  an  abundant  variety  of  whole- 
some herbaceous  matter;  and  in  some  counties  of  our 
island,  as  well  as  in  many  places  abroad,  where  peoj)le 
are  less  fastidious,  or  are  compelled  to  avail  themselves 
of  every  resource  for  food,  several  species  of  the  same 
class  are  so  employed.  The  wild  goose-foot,  good  king 
Harry,  orach,  ttc,  may.^be  cited  as  examples.  The  beet- 
root belonging  to  this  order  is  remarkable  for  the 
quantity  of  sugar  which  it  contains,  and  to  which  it 
owes  its  nutritive  qualities.  It  was  extensively  culti- 
vated in  France  during  the  commencement  of  the  pre- 
sent century,  for  the  23urpose  of  obtaining  sugar  from 
it,  at  the  time  when  the  war,  existing  between  this 
country  and  our  own,  deprived  the  French  and  their 
allies  of  the  supply  of  sugar  from  the  West  India 
Islands,  all  of  which  were  in  our  possession  either  as 
colonies  or  conquests.  On  the  restoration  of  peace, 
when  a  more  humane  and  enlightened  policy  restored  a 
free  interchange  of  the  na^tural  productions  of  remote 
countries,  France,  like  all  the  rest  of  Europe,  could  be 
more  cheaply  supplied  with  foreign  sugar,  and  the  culti- 
vation of  beet  for  that  purpose  has  gradually  declined, 
though  it  is  far  from  being  given  up. 

In  Britain,  Beet  is  but  little  used,  and  that  little  only 
in  salads,  as  a  preserve,  or  for  making  wine.  The  cause 
of  this  neglect  of  so  delicate  and  wholesome  a  root  is  un- 


404  ^HOGRESSIVE  HE.yDER. 

accountable;  since,  being  an  indigenous  plant,  it  i^ 
perfectly  luu'dy,  and  of  the  easiest  culture.  The 
Mangel  Wurzel  is  a  variety  of  beet  cultivated  in 
Britain  as  food  for  cattle,    v 

Of  all  vegetable  products,  there  is  none  the  taste  for 
which  is  more  general  than  for  the  order  containing  the 
onion,  garlic,  shalot,  leek,  &c.  ^  These  plants  are  bulbous, 
and  it  is  the  bulb  that  is  eaten.  They  owe  their 
jxiculiar  pungent  and  stimulating  flavour  to  a  white 
volatile  oil,  and  they  contain  a  good  deal  of  phosphoric 
acid.  Of  the  onion  there  are  innumerable  •  varieties, 
which  have  been  produced  in  consequence  of  the  early 
cultivation  of  the  plant,  and  of  the  ditference  of  soil 
and  climate  in  which  it  has  been  raised; — those  producing 
the  largest  bulb  are  the  mildest  in  flavour.  ■'  That  of  the 
garlic  is  so  powerful  as  to  admit  of  its  being  employed 
only  as  a  condiment  and  in  small  quantities;  and, 
indeed,  tlio  strong  and  disgusting  odour,  which  they  im- 
part to  the  breath,  have  caused  them  to  be  almost 
banished  from  the  tables  of  the  upper  classes,  although 
they  are  eminently  wholesome. 

Salad  Herbs  and  Vegetables  are  used  in  their  raw 
state  or  at  least  uncooked  by  heat. 

In  this  country  the  principal  salad  vegetables  are  tho 
lettuce  and  endive,  the  former  being  properly  a  spring 
or  summer,  and  the  other  an  autumnal  or  winter  plant. 
Both  belong  to  an  extensive  order,  called  composite,  of 
which  the  common  dandelion,  thistle,  and  daisy  may  bo 
taken  as  types  of  tho  three  natural  sections  into  which 
the  order  is  divided.  There  are  several  varieties  of  tho 
lettuce;  of  the  two  principal,  one  is  probably  an  in- 
digenous plant  improved  by  cultivation;  the  other 
derives  its  name  from  having  been  brought  originally 
from  the  island  of  Cos,  and  is  the  one^most  preferred  for 
salads.  These  plants  (the  last  named  especially)  contain 
a  good  deal  of  the  narcotic  princi])lo,  which  gives  to 
opium  its  peculiar  properties ;  accordingly  lettuce  acts 
as  a  soporific,  but  does  not  ai>i)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,  <tc. 

It  is  anything  but  easy  work  for  a  chick  to  get  out  of 
its  prison.  Sometimes  the  tough  lining  of  the  shells 
does  not  give  way  so  soon  as  the  chick  expects,  but  still 
it  is  better  to  let  tliem  alone,  and  not  interfere  with  their 
efforts,  either  by  breaking  the  shell,  or  handling  them; 
even  should  a  bit  of  shell  remain  on  the  feathers  it  is 
better  let  alone  to  drop  off.  Some  people  dip  the  eggs 
into  warm  water  the  day  before  they  think  the  chick 
Avill  peck  them,  but  this  is  not  only  likely  to  injure  tlie 
chick,  but  to  prevent  its  getting  out  altogether ;  for  the 
white  of  the  egg  round  the  chick  is  turned  by  the  heat 
into  a  kind  of  glue,  and  fastens  the  bird  to  the  shell. 
After  eight  hours  have  passed,  and  the  chicken  does  not 
come  out,  it  may  bo  perhaps  as  well  to  enlarge  the  crack 
with  the  point  of  a  pair  of  scissors,  and  then  by  a  care- 
ful use  of  your  fingers,  you  may  got  out  the  chick,  but 
you  more  frequently  kill  than  cure. 

The  yolk  of  the  egg  forms  the  food  of  the  chick  before 
it  comes  out,  and  serves  for  twenty-four. hours  after- 
wards.    Susan  did  not  cram  lier  chickens '  with  hard 


KEEPING  POULTRY  NO  LOSS.  431 

eggs  and  crumbs  of  bread,  slie  left  them  to  nature  for 
the  above  time  and  tlien  gave  them  some  cold  well- 
boiled  oatmeal  porridge.  As  at  first,  chickens  are  more 
thirsty  than  hungry,  she  put  a  plate  of  clear  spring 
water  within  reach,  and  the  hen,  weary  after  her  long 
task,  led  the  way  to  it.  After  a  day  or  two,  Susan  gavo 
some  cho])ped  bits  of  fresh  meat,  and  soon  they  would 
eat  anything  that  came  in  their  way.  It  being  the 
month  of  November,  and  very  cold,  the  chickens  were 
carefully  shut  in  the  hen-house  in  their  coop.  Two  of 
them  being  very  weakly,  Susan  took  them  under  her 
care  in  the  kitchen,  cramming  them  with  good  white 
bread  soaked  in  milk.  When  a  little  girl,  Susan  had 
killed  a  little  chick  by  giving  it  too  much,  and  she  never 
forgot  what  her  father  then  told  her,  that  the  crops  of 
chickens  were  not  large  enough  to  hold  more  than  the 
size  of  a  pea,  and  great  care  must  be  taken  not  to  over- 
feed them.  If  the  hen  had  been  much  exhausted  bv  her 
hatching,  Susan  had  ready  a  little  ginger  cordial,  in 
which  she  would  have  soaked  some  bread,  and  crammed 
the  mother  also. 

I]i  the  spring  of  the  next  year,  Susan's  brood  of 
chickens  brought  her  four  shillings  a  couple,  and  though 
this  was  but  two-thirds  of  the  price  for  wliicli  they 
would  be  sold  by  the  dealer,  still  she  was  amply  repaid 
for  her  trouble.  The  eggs  of  the  fowls,  from  being  of 
such  a  fine  breed,  always  fetched  more  money  than  those 
of  the  common  sort,  and  being  well  fed  and  cared  for, 
the  present  received  from  her  mother  became  eventually 
a  little  fortune  to  Susan. 

Jonas  turned  half  his  garden  into  a  hen-yard,  and 
enlarged  his  fowl-house ;  he  frequently  and  thoroughly 
cleaned  out  the  latter;  whitewashing,  and  now  and  then 
fumigating  it  with  a  little  sulphur.  Fowls  breed  vermin 
it  is  well  known,  and  as  we  have  remarked,  hay  is  very 
objectionable  in  a  fowl-house;  little  flat  wicker  baskets 
make  good  nests,  and  in  these  should  be  put  straw  in- 
stead of  hay,  as  the  latter  breeds  vermin  in  the  sitting 
hen,  which  frequently  drives  her  from  the  nest.  Caro 
should  be  taken  to  put  fresh  straw  frequently,  taking 


432  PROGRESSIVE  READE^c. 

out  the  old,  and  washing  the  basket.  The  moment  a 
fowl  seems  to  be  sickening,  it  should  be  removed  from 
the  rest,  as  they  will  otherwise  hasten  its  death  by- 
pecking  at  and  tormenting  it.  People  v/ho  keep  largo 
poultry-yards,  have  a  separate  place  or  crib  to  put  anv 
diseased  fowl  in.  In  hot  weather  the  young  fowls  are 
liable  to  a  disease  called  the  pip,  which  is  shewn  by  the 
poor  birds  gasping  for  breath.  This  happens  from  tho 
tongue  getting  sore  and  swollen.  The  plumage  is  ruffled 
and  neglected,  and  the  sick  fowl  shews  its  distress  by 
moping,  pining,  and  seeking  dark  corners.  This  com- 
pkaint  is  said  to  come  from  want  of  fresh  water,  and 
feeding  on  hot  food ;  the  general  plan  followed  is  to  re- 
move the  ti})  of  the  tongue.  There  is  no  occasion  for  this; 
anoint  it  with  fi'csh  butter  or  cream,  and  give  the  bird 
every  morning  a  pill,  about  the  size  of  a  small  marble,  of 
scraped  horse-radish  and  garlic,  with  a  very  little  cayenno 
pepper  mixed  with  fresh  butter.  Keep  the  bird  warm 
and  alone,  well  supplied  with  fresh  water,  and  if  the 
disease  be  taken  in  time,  it  will  generally  be  cured. 
- — Tracts  for  Farochial  Use,  hj  ^[iQlfxiQ  Bishop  Armstrong. 


CLOTHING. 


Propep.  clothing  depends  upon  the  climate  in  which  we 
live.  In  warm  countries  they  require  such  as  will  keep 
the  body  cool,  and  in  cold  countries  such  as  will  keep  it 
warm.  Now,  what  causes  the  heat  of  the  bodvl  We 
might  think  it  was  the  sun  or  a  fire;  but  no  amount  of 
heat  from  either  one  or  tho  other  would  make  a  dead 
body  perspire  or  its  blood  liquid.  As  we  have  seen 
before,  heat  is  produced  ^?^  ozir  oioii  bodies  by  the  burn- 
ing of  fat ;  *  it  is  a  chemical  process  caused  by  the  oxygen 
gas  that  we  draw  in  with  our  breath. 

We  have  also  learnt  that  this  heat  in  our  bodies  is 
regulated  by  the  state  of  the  atmosphere  outside  us, 
cold  air  running  away  with  nioro  heat  from  our  bgdies, 

9  Smdml  Fr,  j5^\  '^.'[0  mA  Uls 


CLOTHING.  433 

and  hot  air  with  less  heat,  so  that,  when  it  is  cold,  we 
want  such  clothes  on  as  will  not  let  the  heat  of  our 
bodies  run  away  from  us  (or,  as  we  say,  evaporate)  too 
fast ;  but  when  it  is  hot,  we  require  such  clothing  as 
"  will  allow  the  evaporation  to  get  away  more  rapidly. 
Clothes  that  keep  in  the  heat  are  called  had  conductors 
of  heat,  and  those  light  clothes  which  let  out  the  heat 
easily  are  called  good  conductors. 

In  a  climate  like  ours,  which  is  variahle,  and  for  the 
greater  part  of  the  year  rather  cold  and  damp,  we  want 
clothes  that  will  not  let  the  heat  of  our  bodies  out  much, 
nor  let  the  damp  get  in  to  chill  our  blood  when  the 
pores  of  the  skin  are  open.  Though  we  wear  lighter 
clothes  in  summer  than  we  do  in  winter,  they  ought  to 
be  rather  made  of  woollen  than  of  cotton,  because  the 
former  sucks  in  the  moisture  both  from  the  atmosphere, 
and  from  our  own  bodies,  and  yet  still  remains  soft, 
while  linen  or  cotton  do  not  suck  it  up  so  well,  and 
they  get  Avet,  and,  when  dry,  are  hard  and  uncomfort- 
able, so  it  is  better  to  wear  worsted  stockings  than 
cotton  ones  even  all  through  the  summer,  because  they 
absorb  the  moisture  from  the  perspiration  of  the  feet, 
and  do  not  get  so  hard  as  cotton  stockings  when  they 
are  dry,  and  therefore  do  not  rub  the  feet  and  make 
tliem  sore. 

India-ruhher  or  MacJciyitosh  is  the  worst  conductor  of 
all.  It  will  entirely  keep  out  all  the  wet,  and  keep  in 
all  the  heat  of  our  bodies ;  but  it  is  not  porous,  so  that 
it  does  not  let  the  perspiration  of  the  body  evaporate. 
If  you  were  to  walk  on  a  hot  wet  day  through  the  pour- 
ing rain,  none  of  it  would  go  through  your  Mackintosh 
cloak;  but  you  would  find  your  clothes  underneath 
it  completely  wet  through  with  yoiir  own  perspiration, 
and  all  the  poisonous  matter  from  your  blood  clogging 
up  the  pores  of  the  skin.  You  would  be  far  more  tired, 
and  in  more  danger  of  illness  than  if  you  had  taken 
your  waterproof  cloak  off  and  got  wet  through  with  the 
rain.  Therefore  India-rubber  or  Mackintosh  is  almost 
the  worst  coverinsc  vou  can  have.  * 

Leather'  is  also  a  very  bad  conductor,  and  keeps  the 
s.  IT.  c.  2  E 


434  PROGRESSIVE  READER. 

lieat  in  and  tlie  wet  out;  but  tliougli  it  is  made  of  the 
skin  of  animals,  all  the  pores  have  been  filled  up  in  the 
process  of  tanning,  so  that  it  does  not  allow  of  any 
evaporation,  and  being  stiff  when  wetted,  it  is  not  so 
pliable  as  India-rubber,  and  is  therefore  worse  for 
clothing. 

"We  see  from  this  that  we  want  clothing  which  is  a 
bad  conductor,  that  will  absorb  moisture,  and  at  the 
same  time  be  pliable. 

Silh  is  a  bad  conductor,  is  very  pliable  and  soft;  but 
it  is  very  expensive,  and  is  not  so  absorbent  as  wo  want, 
and  when  woven,  it  does  not  admit  of  sufficient  evapor- 
ation. It  is  useful  for  dresses,  which  arc  loose,  and 
allow  the  perspiration  to  escape  in  the  folds,  but  not  for 
any  tight  clothing. 

Linen  comes  next.  It  is  soft,  pliable,  a  fairly  bad- 
conductor,  and  allows  of  evaporation;  but  it  is  expen- 
sive, and  Avlien  wetted,  as  I  have  said,  it  becomes  hard, 
and  does  not  absorb  much  moisture.  Still  it  easily 
shews  dirt,  which  is  an  advantage,  as  it  tells  us  when 
we  require  a  change,  and  is  therefore  very  good  for 
underclothing. 

Cotton  is  a  better  conductor  than  linen,  and  is  much 
cheaper,    so   that  it  is  better  for  underclothing   than 
linen,  in  these  respects,  and  more  suitable  for  hot  climates, 
■  but  it  possesses  all  the  other  qualities  of  linen. 

Woollen  cloth  is  the  best  material  for  clothes  in  our 
climate,  as  it  possesses  all  the  requisite  qualities.  It  is 
a  bad  conductor,  and  therefore  keeps  in  the  heat  of  the 
body;  it  is  porous,  and  so  allows  proper  evaporation; 
it  absorbs  the  moisture  both  of  the  body  and  of  the 
atmosphere,  and  it  is  light  and  pliable.  It  possesses 
also  one  further  recommendation,  that  it  can  be  made 
both  light  and  heavy  (so  as  to  suit  the  changes  of  season), 
and  it  is  very  diirahley  and  therefore  in  the  end  it  is 
really  cheap. 

But  various  parts  of  the  body  require  different  cove]'- 

,ings.     There  is  an  old  saying,  ''  keep  the  feet  Avarm  and 

the  head  cool."    Our  heads,  then,  require  a  light  covering, 

which  is  fi  rjood  conductor;  and  of  the  materials  for  hats 


BEST  TIME  FOR  TAKING  EXERCISE.  435 

or  bonnets,  straw  is  by  far  the  best,  resisting  the  wet 
and  allowing  quick  escape  of  heat.  Our  feet  must  be, 
kept  dry  and  warm;  and  as  their  covering  has  more 
-wear  than  that  of  any  other  part,  it  must  be  durable; 
no  better  material  for  these  purposes  has  been  found 
than  leather,  though  shoes  or  boots  with  cloth  sides  are 
better  than  leather  boots,  as  the  latter  keep  in  too  much 
of  the  perspiration,  and  do  not  allow  of  any  evaporation. 
It  is  on  this  account  that  it  is  so  desirable  to  wear 
woollen  stockings  at  all  seasons. 

Flannel  is  an  excellent  article  of  clothing  next  the 
skin  by  day,  because  it  is  a  bad  conductor,  and  it  ab- 
sorbs the  moisture ;  but  it  is  very  unhealthy  to  sleep 
in  a  flannel  shirt,  as  it  irritates  the  skin,  causes  the 
pores  of  the  skin  to  open,  and  increases  perspiration; 
but  we  lose  quite  enough  of  moisture  during  the  night 
from  the  confinement  of  the  body  in  the  bed-clothes, 
and  the  unnatural  increase  of  perspiration  caused  by  a 
flannel  shirt  produces  weakness  and  exhaustion.  Any 
one  who  will  try  it  will  soon  find  for  himself  how  fever- 
ish and  languid  he  feels  in  the  morning,  after  sleeping 
in  flannel,  from  what  lie  feels  when  he  has  slept  in  a 
cotton  night-shirt. 

For  Washing  Stuff  or  Woollen  Curtains,  Table- 
Clotiis,  Carpets,  Linens,  or  Woollen  Dresses. 

Put  half  a  gallon  of  bran  into  two  gallons  of  water, 
and  let  it  simmer  for  three  or  four  hours.  Then  strain 
it,  when  (if  properly  done),  it  will  froth  like  soap  suds 
when  stirred  with  the  hand.  Wash  any  woollen  mate- 
rial in  it,  and  it  will  remove  all  dirt  or  grease,  and 
restore  the  freshness  of  the  original  colour.  All  dirty 
marks  of  grease  spots  in  carpets  can  be  entirely  removed 
by  scrubbing  thorn  with  this  bran-water. 


BEST  TIME  FOR  TAKING  EXERCISE. 

Man  being  intended  for  a  life  of  activity,  all  his  functions" 
are  constituted  by  nature  to  fit  him  for  this  object,  and 


43 G  PROGRESSIVE  READER. 

tliey  nevei*  go  on  so  successfully  as  wlien  his  external 
situation  is  such  as  to  demand  the  regular  exercise  of 
all  his  organs.  It  is  accordingly  curious  to  observe  the 
admirable  manner  in  which  each  is  linked,  in  its  action 
and  sympathies,  with  the  rest.  When  the  muscular 
system,  for  example,  is  duly  exercised,  increased  action 
in  its  vessels  and  nerves  takes  place ;  but  the  evils 
arising  from  deficiency  of  exercise  to  all  the  functions 
of  the  mind  and  body  are  the  converse  of  the  advan- 
tages to  be  derived  from  adequate  exercise.  The  circu- 
lation becomes  languid;  the  feebleness  of  action  occasions 
little  waste  of  material,  and  little  demand  for  a  new 
supply;  the  appetite  and  digestion  consequently  become 
weak;  respiration  heavy  and  imperfect;  and  the  blood 
so  ill-conditioned,  that,  when  distributed  through  the 
body,  it  proves  inadequate  to  communicate  the  stimulus 
requisite  for  healthy  and  vigorous  action. 

The  time  at  which  exercise  ought  to  be  taken,  how- 
ever, is  of  some  consequence  in  obtaining  from  it  bene- 
ficial results.  Those  who  are  in  perfect  health  may 
engage  in  it  at  almost  any  hour,  except  immediately 
after  a  full  meal ;  but  those  who  are  not  robust  ought 
to  confine  their  hours  of  exercise  within  narrower  limits. 
To  a  person  in  full  vigour,  a  good  walk  in  the  country 
before  breakfast  may  be  highly  beneficial  and  exhili- 
rating;  while  to  an  invalid  and  delicate  person,  it  will 
prove  more  detrimental  than  useful,  and  will  induce  a 
sense  of  weariness,  which  will  spoil  the  pleasure  of  the 
whole  day.  Many  are  deceived  by  the  current  poetical 
praises  of  the  freshness  of  morning,  and  hurt  themselves 
in  summer  by  seeking  health  in  untimely  walks. 

In  order  to  be  beneficial,  exercise  must  be  resorted  to 
only  when  the  system  is  sufficiently  vigorous  to  be  able 
to  meet  it.  This  is  the  case  after  a  lapse  of  from  two 
to  four  or  five  hours  after  a  moderate  meal,  and  conse- 
quently the  forenoon  is  the  best  time. 

If  exercise  be  delayed  till  some  degree  of  exhaustion 
from  want  of  food  has  occurred,  it  speedily  dissipates, 
instead  of  increases,  the  strength  which  remains,  and 
impairs  instead  of  promotes  digestion- 


BEST  TIME  FOR  TAKING  EXERCISE.  437 

The  result  is  quite  natural ;  for  exercise  of  eveiy  kind 
causes  increased  action  and  Avaste  in  the  organ,  and  if 
there  be  not  materials  and  yi,;our  enough  iu  the  general 
system  to  keep  up  that  action  and  sup|)ly  the  waste, 
nothing  but  increased  weakness  can  reasonably  be  ex- 
pected. 

For  the  same  reason,  exercise  immediately  before 
meals,  unless  of  a  very  gentle  description,  is  injurious, 
and  an  interval  of  rest  ought  ahvays  to  intervene. 
Muscular  action  causes  a  flow  of  blood  and  nervous 
energy  to  the  surface  and  extremities,  and  if  food  be 
swallowed  whenever  the  activity  ceases,  and  before 
time  has  been  allowed  for  a  different  distribution  of 
the  vital  powers  to  take  place,  the  stomach  is  taken  at 
a  disadvantage,  and  from  want  of  the  necessary  action 
in  the  vessels  and  nerves,  is  unable  to  carry  on  digestion 
with  success. 

Exercise  ought  to  be  equally  avoided  after  a  heavy 
meal.  In  such  circumstances,  the  functions  of  the 
digestive  organs  are  in  their  highest  state  of  activity, 
and  if  the  muscular  system  be  called  then  into  consider- 
able action,  the  withdrawal  of  the  vital  energy  of  the 
blood  and  nervous  influence  from  the  stomach  to  the 
extremities  is  suflicient  almost  to  stop  the  digestive 
process.  This  is  no  supposition,  but  positive  fact,  and, 
accordingly,  there  is  a  natural  and  strong  dislike  to 
active  pursuits  after  a  full  meal. 

A  mere  stroll,  which  requires  no  exertion  and  does 
not  fatigue,  will  not  be  injurious  either  before  or  after 
eating,  but  exercise  beyond  tliis  limit  is  hurtful  at  sucli 
times.  All,  therefore,  whose  object  is  to  improve  or 
preserve  health,  and  whose  occupations  are  in  their  own 
power,  ought  to  arrange  these  so  as  to  observe  faithfully 
this  important  law;  for  they  will  otherwise  deprive 
themselves  of  most  of  the  benefits  arising  from,  exercise. 

When  we  know  that  we  shall  be  forced  to  exertion 
soon  after  eating,  Ave  ought  to  make  a  very  moderate 
meal,  tc  avoid  settinsf  the  stomach  and  muscles  n/; 
variance  with  each  other,  and  exciting  feverish  dis- 
turbance.    In  travelling  for  a  great  distance,  where  no 


438  PROGRESSIVE  READER. 

repose  is  allowed,  this  2"»reCcaution  is  invaluable.  If  we 
cat  heartily,  as  appetite  suggests,  and  then  enter  a 
spring-cart  or  a  third-class  railway  carriage,  restlessness, 
flushing,  and  fatigue  are  inevitable;  whereas,  by  eating 
sparingly,  the  journey  may  bo  continued  for  two  or 
three  days  and  nights,  with  less  weariness  than  is  felt 
during  one-fourth  of  the  time  under  full  feeding. 

It  is  frequently  the  custom,  apparently  for  the  purpose 
of  saving  time,  to  take  young  people  out  for  a  walk  about 
the  close  of  the  day,  because  there  is  not  light  enough 
to  do  anything  in  the  house.  Nothing  can  be  more 
injudicious  than  this  plan;  for,  in  the  lirst  place,  exer- 
cise once  a-day  is  very  insufficient  for  the  young ;  and, 
even  supposing  that  it  were  enough,  the  air  is  then 
more  loaded  with  moisture,  colder,  and  proportionally 
more  unhealthy  than  at  any  other  time;  and  the  absence 
of  the  beneficial  stimulus  of  the  sun-light  diminishes 
not  a  little  its  invigorating  influence.  For  those,  con- 
sequently, w^ho  are  so  little  out  of  doors, — as  the  inmates 
of  boarding  schools,  and  children  living  in  towns,  and 
who  are  all  at  the  period  of  growth, — the  very  best  time 
of  the  day  ought  to  be  chosen  for  exercise,  particularly 
CIS  in-door  occupations  are,  after  nightfall,  more  in 
accordance  with  the  order  of  nature. 

By  devoting  part  of  the  forenoon,  also,  to  exercise, 
another  obvious  advantilge  is  gained.  If  the  weather 
prove  unfavourable  at  an  early  hour,  it  may  clear  up  in 
time  to  admit  of  going  out  later  in  the  day;  whereas,  if 
the  afternoon  alone  be  allotted  to  exercise,  and  the 
weather  then  proves  bad,  the  day  is  altogether  lost. 
When  the  muscular  system  is  duly  exercised  in  the 
open  air,  early  in  the  day,  the  power  of  mental  applica- 
tion is  considerably  increased;  while,  by  delaying  till 
late,  the  efficiency  of  the  whole  previous  mental  labour 
is  diminished  by  the  restless  craving  for  motion,  which 
is  evinced  by  the  young  of  all  animals,  and  which,  when 
unsatisfied,  distracts  attention,  and  leads  to  idleness  in 
schools. 

To  render  exercise  as  beneficial  as  possible,  particu- 
larly in  educating  the  young,  it  gught  always  to  bo 


BEST  TIME  FOR  TAKING  EXERCISE.  439 

taken  in  the  open  air,  and  to  be  of  a  nature  to  occupy 
the  mind  as  well  as  the  body.  Gardening,  hoeing, 
social  play,  and  active  sports  of  every  ;kind,  cricket, 
bowls,  shuttlecock,  the  ball,  archery,  quoits,  hide  and 
.seek,  and  similar  occupations  and  recreations  well 
known  to  the  young,  are  infinitely  pi'eferable  to  regular 
and  unmeaning  walks,  and  tend,  in  a  much  higher 
degree,  to  develop  and  strengthen  the  bodily  frame,  and 
to  secure  a  straight  spine,  and  an  erect  and  firm,  but 
easy  and  graceful  carriage.  A  formal  walk  is  odious 
and  useless  to  many  girls,  who  would  be  delighted  and 
benefited  by  spending  three  or  four  hours  a-day  in 
spirited  exercise  and  useful  employment. 

It  is  notorious  that  many  girls,  from  injudicious  man- 
agement and  insufiicient  exercise,  become  deformed; — an 
occurrence  which  is  rare  in  boys,  who  are  left,  in  con- 
formity with  the  designs  of  natuac,  to  acquire  strength 
and  symmetry  from  free  and  unrestrained  muscular 
action.  Yet  such  is  the  dominion  of  prejudice  and 
habit,  that  with  these  results  meeting  our  observation 
in  every  quarter,  we  continue  to  make  as  great  a  dis- 
tinction in  the  physical  education  of  the  two  sexes  in 
early  life,  as  if  they  belonged  to  difierent  orders  of 
beings,  and  were  constructed  on  such  opposite  principles, 
that  what  was  to  benefit  the  one  must  necessarily  hurt 
the  other. 

Another  cause  of  fatal  disease,  especially  consump- 
tion, is  the  absurd  practice  of  tight-lacing,  to  give  the 
figure  a  slender  shape.  The  lungs  require  full  space 
for  their  development  and  exercise.  By  limiting  the 
space  in  which  they  work,  as  foolish  girls  do  when  they 
brace  their  ribs  too  closely  together,  the  lungs  are  unable 
to  enlarge  with  the  growth  of  the  body,  and  so  the 
amount  of  air  drawn  in  is  insufficient  for  the  purifica- 
tion of  the  blood,  which  becomes  poisoned,  and  the 
lungs  themselves,  from  want  of  proper  exercise,  are  soon 
diseased,  and  the  girl  sinks  into  consumption — a  victim 
to  her  own  silly  vanity. 


4:40  PKOGRESSIVE  KEADEK. 


GOB'S  GIFTS. 

God  gave  n,  gift  to  Eartli : — a  child, 
Weak,  innocent,  and  undeliled, 
Oldened  its  ignorant  eyes  and  smiled. 

It  lay  so  helpless,  so  forlorn, 
Earth  took  it  coldly  and  in  scorn. 
Cursing  the  day  when  it  was  Lorn. 

She  gave  it  first,  a  tarnished  name — 
For  heritage,  a  tainted  fame — 
Then  cradled  it  in  want  and  shame. 

All  influence  of  Good  or  Ptight, 
All  ray  of  God's  most  holy  light, 
She  curtain' d  closely  from  its  sight. 

Then  turned  her  heart,  her  eyes  away, 
Keady  to  look  again,  the  day 
Its  little  feet  began  to  stray. 

In  dens  of  guilt  the  bahy  played, 
Where  sin,  and  sin  alone  was  made — 
The  law  that  all  around  obeyed. 

AVith  ready  and  obedient  care, 

He  learnt  the  tasks  they  taught  him  there, 

IBlack  sin  for  lesson,  oaths  for  prayer. 

Then  Earth  arose,  and,  in  her  might. 
To  vindicate  her  injured  right 
Thrust  him  in  deeper  depths  of  night- 
Branding  him  with  a  deeper  brand 
Of  shame,  he  could  not  understand — 
The  felon  outcast  of  the  land. 


V  > 


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<x 

The  early  shepherd's  way. 
Ye  gentle  elves,  by  Fancy  seen 

Stealing  away  with  night. 
To  slumber  in  your  leafy  screen. 

Tread  more  than  airy  light. 

And  see  what  joyous  greeting 

The  sun  through  heaven  has  shed, 
Though  fast  yon  shower  be  fleeting, 
His  beams  have  faster  sped, 
s.  VI.  c.  2  ? 


450  PROGRESSIVE   READER. 

For,  lo  !  above  tlie  Avestern  liazo 
High  towers  the  rainbow  arcli, 

In  solid  span  of  purest  rays, 
How  stately  is  its  marcli ! 

Pride  of  tlic  dewy  morning  ! 

The  swain's  experienc'd  eye 
From  tlieo  takes  timely  warning, 

Nor  trusts  the  gorgeous  sky. 
For  well  he  knows,  such  dawnings  gay 

Bring  noons  of  storm  and  shower, 
And  travellers  linger  on  the  way 

Beside  the  sheltering  bower. 

.  Even  so,  in  hope  and  trembling, 

Should  watchful  shepherd  view 
His  little  lambs  assembling, 

"With  glance  both  kind  and  true. 
'Tis  not  the  eye  of  keenest  blaze, 

Nor  the  quick-swelling  breast. 
That  soonest  thrills  at  touch  of  praise  — 

These  do  not  please  him  best. 

But  voices  low  and  gentle, 

And  timid  glances  shy, 
That  seem  for  aid  parental 

To  sue  all  wistfully. 
Still  pressing,  longing  to  be  right. 

Yet  fearing  to  be  wrong—  _ 
In  these  the  Pastor  dares  delight, 

A  lamb-like,  Christ -like  throng. 

These  in  Life's  distant  even 

Shall  shine  serenely  bright. 
As  in  th'  autumnal  heaven 

Mild  rainbow  tints  at  night, 
When  the  last  shower  is  stealing  down, 

And  ere  they  sink  to  rest, 
The  sun-beams  Aveavo  a  parting  crown 

For  some  sweet  woodland  nest. 


THE   NIGHT   NURSE.  451 

Tlie  promise  of  the  morrow 

Is  glorious  on  that  eve, 
Dear  as  the  holy  sorrow, 

When  good  men  cease  to  live. 
When  bright' ning  ere  it  die  away 

Mounts  up  their  altar  flame, 
Still  tending  with  intenser  ray 

To  Heaven  whence  first  it  came. 

Say  not  it  dies,  that  glory, 

'Tis  caught  unquench'd  on  high, 
Those  saint-like  brows  so  hoary 

Shall  wear  it  in  the  sky. 
No  smile  is  like  the  smile  of  death. 

When  all  good  musings  past 
Kise  wafted  with  the  parting  breath, 

The  sweetest  thought  the  last. — Kehle. 


THE  NIGHT  NUESE.— Part  II. 

Now  that  I  have  given  a  sketcli  of  my  daily  life,  I 
will  mention  some  of  its  peculiar  temptations  which  are 
scarcely  known,  or  even  suspected,  by  those  who  have 
never  tried  our  strange  unnatural  mode  of  existence. 

The  first  of  my  trials  was  the  weight  upon  my  spirits, 
which  I  felt  the  more  from  being  still  far  from  strong, 
and  depressed  by  my  late  afflictions. 

Day  nursing  in  a  hospital  is  far  less  depressing  in 
general  than  private  nursing.  There  is  a  certain 
routine  of  medical  and  household  duties,  and  a  per- 
petual call  for  activity,  which  serve  to  relieve  the 
mind,  and  which  differ  widely  from  the  oppressive 
stillness  of  a  solitary  sick-room.  The  night-nurse  has 
no  such  resource ;  no  intercourse  with  people  in  health, 
no  break  to  her  long,  long  vigil.  Should  a  patient  re- 
quire especial  attention,  her  duties,  however  painful, 
atlord  some  occupation;  otherwise  she  sits  by  the  fire, 
hour  after  hour,  night  after  night,  and  her  thoughts 


452  PROGRESsmi:  ri;adefv. 

wander  back  to  the  days  which  are  past,  and  end  too  often . 
in  vain  regrets. 

The  most  religious  mind,  in  a  life  of  this  sort,  is  apt 
to  become  desponding;  and  no  one  without  strong 
nerves,  good  health,  and  naturally  even  spii'its,  ought 
ever  to  undertake  the  duties  of  a  night  nurse,  or  brave 
her  many  temptations. 

In  medical  wards,  the  actual  nursing  falls  far  more 
upon  us  than  upon  day-nurses,  who  have  the  meals  to 
prepare  and  give  out,  and  the  housekeeping  of  the 
Avards  to  attend  to,  and  who  leave  their  patients 
just  at  the  hour  when  they  begin  to  be  restless  and 
feverish. 

But  nursing  is  our  sole  business  as  long  as  the  niglit 
lasts;  to  ease  the  suffering,  indulge  the  restless,  bear 
with  the  peevish,  coax  the  delirious,  no  alternative 
but  darkness  and  silence,  and  the  fear  of  disturbing 
sleep. 

Now  I  will  tell  you  how  it  was  that,  after  a  little 
while,  I  gradually  became  cheerful  and  happy. 

In  the  first  place,  I  had  accustomed  myself  to  direct 
my  thoughts  almost  entirely  to  my  past  life,  and  that, 
compared  Avitli  the  present,  of  course  made  me  feel  dis- 
posed to  repine. 

I  thought  how  3"0ung,  and  strong,  and  happy  I  had 
been  a  year  ago;  and  now,  scarcely  a  prop  left,  scarcely 
a  sunbeam  to  cheer  my  path.  One  night,  when  I  had 
been  moping  more  than  usual  in  this  way,  a  young 
woman  who  had  lately  come  in  with  a  fever,  began 
muttering  in  her  sleep;  I  went  up  and  bent  over  her 
to  listen  to  what  she  was  saying.  She  was  repeating 
texts  of  Scripture,  and  verses  from  different  hymns. 
She  repeated  over  and  over,  "  I  will  never  leave  Thee 
nor  forsake  Thee,"  and  every  now  and  then  she  broke 
off  in  what  she  was  saying,  and  returned  to  those  Avords, 
as2:ain — 

"  I  Avill  never  leave  Thee!"  and  I  felt  that  I  was  not 
left  alone,  and  I  repined  no  longer. 

Another  great  help  to  cheerfulness  was  the  interest 
■which  I  soon  began  to  take  in  the  different  cases  under 


THE  NIGHT  KURSE*  453 

my  care.  This  became,  in  some  measure,  a  professional 
interest,  distinct  from  the  tenderness  Avhich  I  felt  for 
them  as  individuals.  I  had  not  the  same  opportunities 
of  acquiring  knowledge  as  the  day-nurses;  as  almost 
everything  done  immediately  by  the  doctors  took  place 
Avhilst  they  were  on  duty.  Still  I  picked  up  a  few  odds 
and  ends  of  experience  in  an  emergency  now  and  then, 
and  soon  became  practised  in  the  different  systems  of 
nursing  required  in  different  diseases;  vigilance  in 
fevers,  firmness  in  nervous  affections,  skilful  handling 
in  rheumatism,  etc.,  &c.  Then  I  learned  the  different 
methods  of  alleviating  pain,  which  are  so  entirely  a 
nurse's  province;  and  the  more  my  mind  became  in- 
terested in  my  j^rofession,  the  lighter  became  my  heart. 

Some  weeks  after  I  came  to  the  hospital,  the  matron 
was  attacked  with  a  slight  illness,  and  I  went  to  her 
from  time  to  time  during  the  night  to  pay  her  the 
necessary  attentions.  When  she  recovered,  she  inquired 
if  there  were  anything  she  could  do  for  me;  and  I  asked 
leave  to  burn  a  small  lamp  with  a  shade,  tliat  I  might 
occupy  myself  whilst  the  patients  were  asleep.  This 
she  willingly  granted,  and  extended  the  privilege  soon 
after  to  all  the  other  night-nurses,  and  from  that  time 
I  seldom  or  never  had  a  return  of  mv  old  attacks  of 
despondency. 

My  drowsiness  was  not  so  easily  cured,  nor  did  I  ever 
altogether  overcome  it. 

I  discovered  many  little  simple  methods  of  keeping 
myself  awake;  such  as  always  contriving  to  face  the 
light,  and  keeping  the  ward  ventilated  and  cool. 

I  seldom  or  never  attempted  to  read,  and  always 
preferred  needlework  as  an  occupation;  both  as  less 
likely  to  send  me  to  sleep,  and  requiring  less  effort  to  lay 
aside. 

One  little  error  I  fell  into  at  first  was  carelessness  in 
personal  appearance.  "When  all  who  worked  by  day 
were  gone  to  their  quiet  rest,  and  there  was  not  a 
creature  to  be  seen — except  some  half-asleep  doctor, 
called  up  from  his  bed,  or  the  friends  of  a  patient 
brouf.dit  in  bv  nio:ht — it  seemed  follv  to  wenr  out  crood 


454  PROGRESSIVE  READER. 

clotlics,  or  to   be  scrupulous   about   the  whiteness   of 
a  caj). 

And  then,  little  by  little,  I  ceased  to  be  particular  about 
my  hair,  and  wore  easy,  slip-shod  shoes,  and  grew  less  and 
less  careful  to  darn  every  hole  that  shewed  white  through 
my  widow's  dress.  My  appearance  at  length  became  so 
miserably  forlorn,  that  when  Alice  appeared,  all  bright 
and  trim  with  the  morning  sun  upon  her,  I  felt  really 
ashamed  to  be  seen  by  her  side,  and  Avas  glad  to  Avi-ap 
myself  up  in  my  largo  black  shawl,  and  slip  out  of  the 
hospital  like  a  tliief. 

^'  My  dear  Victoria,"  she  said  one  day,  "  do  let  mo 
make  you  up  a  cap;  I  often  have  half-an-hour  to  spare 
after  tea,  and  you  have  not  one  fit  to  be  seen." 

"  Oh  never  mind  me,"  I  replied.  "  It  cannot  possibly 
signify  how  I  look;  an  old  woman  who  lives  by  night." 

"  But  indeed,  dear,  you  are  scarcely  respectable,  and 
instead  of  looking  five  years  older  than  me,  you  might 
almost  be  my  mother.  I  would  not  have  Mrs.  Foster 
(the  matron)  see  you  so  for  the  world.  If  you  had  come 
to  her  at  first  such  a  tatterdemalion,  she  never  would 
have  engaged  you." 

Nurse  Alice  could  never  do  wrong  in  my  eyes,  so  I 
took  her  reproof  in  good  part;  and  truly  when  I  looked 
in  the  glass  on  my  return,  I  appeared  more  like  a 
slovenly  old  village  crone,  than  the  tidy,  fresh-looking 
young  woman  I  remembered  myself  a  year  ago. 

So  that  evening  after  tea  I  washed  out  an  apron,  and 
put  on  a  nice  clean  collar,  and  my  mother-in-law  mended 
my  old  black  dress,  and  brushed  it  nicely  all  over.  The 
cap  that  Alice  promised  was  lying  ready  on  her  bed, 
and  she  made  me  sit  down,  and  parted  my  hair  in  her 
neat-fingered  rapid  way.  In  short,  when  I  made  my 
aj^pearance  in  the  ward,  I  felt  my  old  self  once  more, 
and  I  could  see  that  even  the  patients  and  the  house 
physician  observed  the  alteration.  It  happened  that 
another  of  the  nurses  was  sent  to  me  with  an  errand 
that  night,  and  told  me  that  Mrs.  Foster  wished  to 
speak  with  me  before  I  left  in  the  morning.  I  felt 
thankful  indeed  to  Nurse  Alice  that  she  had  turned  me 


WORDS.  455 

out  fit  to  Ijg  seen,  and  still  more  so  wlien  I  found  that 
Mrs.  Foster  had  thoughts  of  making  me  day-nurse;  a 
design  she  would  never  have  carried  out,  had  I  appeared 
in  my  usual  night  trim. 


AVOEDS. 


Words  are  lighter  than  the  cloud-foam 

Of  the  restless  ocean-spray ; 
"Vainer  than  the  tremblinic  shadow 

That  the  next  hour  steals  away. 
By  the  fall  of  summer  rain-drops 

Is  the  air  as  deeply  stirred ; 
And  the  rose-leaf  that  Ave  tread  on 

Will  outlive  a  word. 

Yet,  on  the  dull  silence  breaking 

With  a  lightning  flash,  a  AVord, 
Bearing  endless  desolation 

On  its  blio-htinc;  Avino;s,  I  heard  : 
Earth  can  forge  no  keener  weapon, 

Dealing  surer  death  and  pain, 
And  the  cruel  echo  answered 

Through  long  years  again. 

I  have  known  one  Word  hang  starlike 
O'er  a  dreary  waste  of  years, 

And  it  only  shone  the  brighter 

Looked  at  through  a  mist  of  tears; 

While  a  weary  wanderer  gathered 
Hope  and  heart  on  Life's  dark  way, 

By  its  faithful  promise,  shining 
Clearer  day  by  day. 

I  have  known  a  spirit,  calmer 
Than  the  calmest  lake,  and  clear 

As  the  heavens  that  gazed  upon  it, 
With  no  wave  of  hope  or  fear; 


456  PROGRESSIVE  READER. 

But  a  storm  had  SAvept  across  it, 

And  its  deepest  d-ej^tlis  Avere  stirred, 

(Never,  never  more  to  slumber,) 
Only  by  a  Word. 

I  have  known  a  Word  more  gentle 

Than  the  breath  of  summer  air; 
In  a  listening  heart  it  nestled, 

And  it  lived  forever  there. 
Not  the  beating  of  its  prison 

Stirred  it  ever,  night  or  day; 
Only  with  the  heart's  last  throbbing 

Could  it  fade  away. 

Words  are  mighty.  Words  are  living: 

Serpents  with  their  venomous  stings, 
Or  bright  angels,  crowding  round  us. 

With  heaven's  light  upon  their  wings 
Every  Word  has  its  own  spirit. 

True  or  false,  that  never  dies; 
Every  Word  man's  lips  have  uttered 

Echoes  in  God's  skies. — A.  A.  Procter. 


THE  NTGHT  NURSE.— Paf.t  III. 

Some  weeks  after  this  I  was  appointed  day-nurse  m 
a  ward  adjoining  my  old  one. 

Two  more  temptations  I  will  mention  before  I  con- 
clude; and  relate,  by  way  of  illustration,  anecdotes  of 
what  came  under  my  notice. 

The  ward,  Adiere  I  Avas  afterAvards  day-nurse,  Avas 
called  the  Adelaide  Avard,  and  the  night-nurse  Avas  in 
the  habit  of  calling  me  in,  AvhencA^er  she  Avanted  help; 
as  I  did  also  by  her,  avo  being  next-door  neighbours. 

Nurse  Adelaide  Avas  not  a  bad-hearted  Avoman,  but 
she  had  an  irritable,  impatient  temper;  and  being 
Avholly  unchecked  by  the  presence  of  others,  she  gaA^o 
Avay  to  it  sadly  Avitli  the  ])atients. 

There  are  also  peculiar   trials   of  temper  in  night- 


THE  NIGHT  NURSE.  457 

nursing  among  tlie  sick;  they  are  never  so  fretful, 
never  so  exacting,  and  never  so  discontented  as  by 
night. 

One  night,  Adelaide  came  to  borrow  some  arrowroot ; 
and  as  I  happened  to  be  cooking  some  at  the  time,  I 
took  her  a  little  ready  boiled. 

Whilst  I  helped  her  to  raise  the  woman  she  was  feed- 
ino:,  I  heard  a  sound  of  wailinc:  from  a  distant  bed. 
*'  The  more  you  cry,  the  more  I  won't  do  it,"  said  Ade- 
laide, impatiently;  "you  ought  to  be  ashamed  to  dis- 
turb the  others  in  this  way;  if  I  have  turned  you 
once,  I  have  turned  you  ten  times ;  you  must  wait  till 
Mrs.  Mayor  has  had  her  arrowroot."  At  this  there 
came  a  passionate  cry  and  outbreak  of  sobs  and  tears. 
"Oh!  dear!"  said  poor  Adelaide,  "I  shall  have  the 
whole  ward  woke  up,  it  is  only  her  own  bad  temper ;  for 
pity's  sake  go  to  her,  Victoria,  and  turn  lier  over  and 
3top  her  mouth."  I  went  to  the  girl,  whom  I  had  seen 
before,  and  who,  together  with  a  chest  complaint,  and 
constant  haemorrhage,  was  suffering  from  confirmed 
hysteria.  "  If  you  will  try  to  stop  crying,  Maria,"  said 
I,  "  I  will  turn  you  and  make  you  comfoi'table."  Maria 
could  not,  and  would  not,  stop  her  sobs  all  at  once,  but 
she  made  an  attempt  to  subdue  them,  whilst  I  altered 
her  position,  and  shook  lier  pillow,  and  tucked  her  sheet 
in  snugly. 

I  whispered  to  Adelaide  to  be  careful,  as  I  went  out, 
for  there  was  a  streak  of  blood  on  Maria's  lips ;  and 
then  I  hurried  back  to  my  ward  agftin,  which  I  had  left 
too  long  already. 

It  was  nearly  two  hours  after  this,  and  day  was  be- 
ginning to  dawn,  when,  as  I  was  raking  out  the  ashes 
from  the  grate,  I  heard  a  voice  call  softly,  "  Victoria  !" 
It  was  Adelaide,  as  pale  as  ashes,  and  trembling  in 
every  limb.  "  Here 's  Maria  throMdng  up  blood,  I  think 
she's  dying,"  she  said  ;  "  do  you  think  I  ought  to  call  Mr. 
Wilson  1  I  didn't  mean  to  be  angry."  I  ran  to  fetch  a 
little  ice,  Avhich  I  happened  to  have  in  store,  and  almost 
commanding  Adelaide  to  fetch  Mr.  Wilson,  I  liurried 
to  Maria's  bed.     I  tried  to  get  some  ice  into  her  mouth; 


458  rROGRESSIVE   READER. 

but  her  jaws  were  rigidly  set,  and  tlic  blood  oozed  out 
from  between  lier  teeth  in  a  thick,  continuous  stream. 
The  T)atients  were  awake,  sitting  up  in  bed,  and  open 
mouthed  Avith  indignation.  "  It  is  all  the  fault  of  night- 
nurse.  Nurse  Victoria,"  they  exclaimed,  "  she  went  into 
a  rage,  and  tossed  her  over  roughly,  and  Maria  burst 
out  crying."  I  told  them  gently  to  be  quiet,  but  I 
could  not  quell  the  storm,  in  the  midst  of  Avhicli  Mr. 
AVilson  appeared,  he  being,  as  it  happened,  already 
dressed  with  a  patient  in  another  Avard.  He  commanded 
silence,  and,  thanking  me,  dismissed  me  to  my  ward; 
from  which,  some  time  after,  I  was  summoned  once 
more  to  Mrs.  Foster's  room.  There,  in  the  presence 
of  Mr.  "Wilson,  I  w^as  closely  examined  as  to  Adelaide's 
temper;  and  though  anxious  to  screen  her  as  much  as 
possible,  I  was  forced  to  own  the  truth.  Maria  rallied 
for  a  while,  but  never  thoroughly  recovered  from  that 
attack  ;  and  Adelaide  Avas  dismissed  in  consequence,  and 
remained  some  time  out  of  place. 

The  nurse  who  succeeded  her  in  the  Adelaide  Av^ard, 
Avas  a  young  Avoman  of  the  age  of  Alice ;  respectable  in 
appearance,  pleasing  in  manner,  and  irreproachable  in 
her  temper  and  habits.  Slie,  like  myself,  Avas  a  AvidoAv, 
Avho  had  formerly  lived  in  service,  and  brought  the  best 
of  characters  from  the  lady  Avho  had  been  her  mis- 
tress. 

I  began  to  Avarn  her  when  first  she  came,  of  the 
dangers  I  feared  for  myself;  but  she  seemed  hurt  and 
displeased  to  think  I  could  suspect  her  of  ever  being  led 
astray. 

But  before  many  nights  of  nursing  were  over,  I  began 
to  observe  a  change ;  there  Avas  the  clouded  brow  and 
heavy  eye,  that  spoke  of  spirits  depressed. 

Among  Adelaide's  patients  about  that  time  there  Avas  a 
woman  in  a  Ioav  fever,  Avho  required  port  Avine  at  inter- 
vals, during  the  AAdiole  of  the  tAventy-four  hours.  Like 
many  sick  people  Avho  are  forced  to  take  it,  it  became 
obnoxious  to  her,  and  it  required  the  extreme  of  per- 
severance and  temper  to  coax  doAvn  the  full  amount. 

"  I  can't  think,"  said  Adelaide  impatiently  one  night, 


THE  KlCillT  NUFtSE.  450 

"  that  when  wine  goes  so  against  sick  people,  it  can  do 
them  any  good." 

''Oh  !  be  careful,  my  dear,  be  careful,"  I  replied;  "it 
is  a  case  of  life  and  death ;  and  if  you  cannot  get  her  to 
swallow  the  whole,  be  careful  to  measure  Avhat  is  left, 
and  tell  Alice  or  Mr.  Wilson." 

"  Well !  well,"  she  replied,  colouring  up,  and  taking 
the  measure  glass ;  "  wake  up,  if  you  please,  Mrs.  Mac- 
Carthy,  it  is  time  for  your  wine  again." 

"  Drink  it  yourself,  nurse  dear,"  replied  the  woman  ; 
"  It  will  serve  to  cheer  you  a  bit.  It  makes  my  heart 
ache  to  see  you  mope  there  Avithout  a  drop  of  comfort." 

"Nonsense!"  replied  Adelaide,  with  a  frightened 
look ;  "  you  know  I  cannot  bear  to  touch  it." 

There  was  something  in  her  manner  as  the  woman 
took  the  wine,  that  induced  me,  when  she  set  down  the 
glass,  to  put  my  lips  to  what  Avas  left.  My  suspicions 
Avere  too  avcII  grounded,  the  Avine  had  been  mixed  Avitli 
Avater. 

The  following  morning,  Avhen  my  Avork  Avas  done,  I 
spoke  long  and  gravely  Avitli  Adelaide,  and  begged  her 
to  gi\^e  up  night-nursing  at  once,  or  else  to  seek  Avith  a 
trembling  heart,  a  strength  beyond  her  oAvn.  She  cried, 
and  promised  all  I  Avished,  and  confessed  hoAV  little  she 
could  have  once  believed  that  the  Avine-cup  could  liaA^e 
been  a  snare. 

"Oh!  do  not  trust  in  yourself,"  I  replied,  "do  not 
lean  on  that  broken  reed.  Kemember  all  that  is  at 
stake,  and  let  your  fate  in  this  Avorld  be  a  motive,  if 
not  your  eternal  Avelfare."  Alas  !  the  destiny  of  this 
poor  Adelaide  was  one  that  makes  me  sad  to  think  of. 
Altered  in  appearance,  ruined  in  health,  and  her  once 
good  character  blighted,  I  saw  her  leave  us  in  disgrace 
the  year  after  she  Avas  first  engaged. 

Her  friends,  in  disgust  and  anger,  would  scarcely 
take  her  in ;  all  hojDe  of  service  Avas  closed  against  her, 
and  she  dragged  on  a  miserable,  laborious  life,  scarcely 
preserved  from  destitution. — /S.  P.  C.  K. 


4G0  TROGRESSIVE  READER. 


BLIND   OLD   MILTON. 

Yes,  I  am  weak — oli !  how  entirely  -weak. 

For  one  who  may  not  love  nor  sufler  more  I 
Sometimes  nnbidden  tears  will  wet  my  cheek, 

And  my  heart  bound  as  keenly  as  of  yore, 
Responsive  to  a  voice,  now  hushed  to  rest, 

Which  made  the  beautiful  Italian  shore, 
In  all  its  pomp  of  summer  vineyards  drest, 

An  Eden  and  a  Paradise  to  me. 
Art  thou  the  same  as  when  in  manhood's  pride 

I  walk'd  in  joy  thy  grassy  meads  among, 
With  that  fair  youthful  vision  by  my  side, 

In  whose  bright  eyes  I  look'd — and  not  in  vain? 
O  my  adored  angel  1     O  my  bride  ! 

Dos])ite  of  years,  and  woe,  and  Av^ant,  and  pain, 
My  soul  yearns  back  towards  thee,  and  I  seem 

To  wander  with  thee,  hand  in  hand,  again, 
By  the  bright  margin  of  that  flowing  stream. 

I  hear  again  thy  voice,  more  silver-sweet 
Than  fancied  music,  floating  in  a  dream. 

Possess  my  being;    from  afar  I  greet 
The  waving  of  thy  garments  in  the  glade. 

And  the  light-rustling  of  thy  fairy  feet — 
What  time  as  one  half  eager,  half  afraid, 

Love's  burning  secret  faltered  on  my  tongue, 
And  tremulous  looks  and  broken  words  betrayed 

The  secret  of  the  heart  from  whence  they  sprung. 
Ah  me !  the  earth  that  render'd  thee  to  heaven 

Gave  up  an  angel,  beautiful  and  young. 
Spotless  and  pure  as  snow  Avhen  freshly  driven; 

A  bright  Aurora  for  the  starry  sphere 
Where  all  is  love,  and  even  life  forgiven. 

Bride  of  immortal  beauty — ever  dear  ! 
Dost  thou  await  mo  in  thy  blest  abode  ! 

AVhile  I,  Tith onus-like,  must  linger  here, 
And  count  each  step  along  the  rugged  road ; 

A  phantom,  tottering  to  a  long-made  grave. 
And  eager  toTay  down  my  weary  load  ! 


FRACTURES.  4G1 

Yet  I,  wlio  ever  felt  anotlier's  woo 

More  keenly  tlian  my  own  untold  distress ; 
I,  who  have  battled  with  the  common  foe, 

And  broke  for  years  the  bread  of  bitterness ; 
WliO  never  yet  abandoned  or  betrayed 

The  trust  vouchsafed  me,  nor  have  ceased  to  bless, 
Am  left  alone  to  wither  in  the  shade, 

A  weak  old  man,  deserted  bv  his  kind — 
whom  none  will  comfort  in  his  age,  nor  aid  ! 

Oh  !  let  me  not  repine  !     A  quiet  mind, 

Conscious  and  upright,  needs  no  other  stay ; 

Nor  can  I  grieve  for  what  I  leave  behind. 
In  the  rich  promise  of  eternal  day. 

Henceforth  to  me  the  world  is  dead  and  gone, 

I*ts  thorns  unfelt,  its  roses  cast  away  : 
And  the  old  pilgrim,  w^eary  and  alone, 

Botv^ed  down  with  travel,  at  his  Master's  gate 
Now  sits,  his  task  of  life-long  labour  done, 

Thankful  for  rest,  although  it  comes  so  late, 
After  sore  journey  through  this  world  of  sin. 

In  hope,  and  prayer,  and  wistfulness  to  wait, 
Until  the  door  shall  ope,  and  let  him  in. 

— Aytoun. 


EEACTURES. 


Fractures,  or  broken  limbs,  are  generally  caused  by 
either  a  fall  or  a  severe  blow;  and  very  often  more 
harm  than  good  is  done  by  the  mistaken  kindness  of 
the  .bystanders.  Not  long  ago  a  physician  was  thrown 
from  his  horse  on  the  hard  road.  The  people  who  saw 
the  accident  rushed  to  raise  him  up,  when  he  laid  his 
whip  about  him  in  so  violent  a  manner,  that  they 
thought  he  was  mad;  but,  when  he  had  driven  t'hem  off, 
he  explained  to  them,  that  his  leg  was  broken,  and  that, 
if  they  had  lifted  him  up  they  would  have  increased  his 
pain,  and  rendered  his  recover}^  more  difficult.  He 
directed  them  to  gently  Jift  the  brokeii  limb  ^nd  crosy 


4G2  PROGRESSIVE   READER. 

it  over  tlie  other  leg;  tlieii  to  get  a  board  or  stretcher, 
and  place  him  very  quietly  upon  it. 

This  should  be  borne  in  mind;  because  a  broken 
limb  should  be  as  little  disturbed  as  possible,  until  a 
doctor  can  set  it.  If  a  leg  be  fractured,  on  no  account 
attempt  to  raise  the  person,  but  keep  him  laid  down;  if 
a  piece  of  wood  can  be  got,  and  bound  down  the  side  of 
the  leg  with  handkerchiefs  to  keep  it  stiff,  so  much  the 
better;  and  if  the  arm  or  collar-bone  be  broken,  it  is 
much  better  to  keep  the  person  laid  down,  and  lay  the 
arm  gently  over  the  chest  and  bind  it  there  with  a 
handkerchief,  until  he  is  carried  home,  or  the  doctor 
attends  him. 


SPRAINS. 


Another  result  of  violence  is  a  sprain.  This  happens 
chiefly  to  the  ankle  or  wrist,  and  may,  ©r  may  not,  be  a 
serious  accident  according  to  the  part  injured,  and  to 
the  careful  adaptation  of  the  treatment  .to  the  form  of 
accident.  All  sprains  are  by  no  means  alike;  there  are 
different  parts  in  and  around  the  joint,  any  one  of  which 
may  be  hurt.  Indeed,  the  distinctions  between  various 
sorts  of  sprains  are  not  yet  sufficiently  recognized,  and  I 
shall  not  be  able,  nor  do  I  Avish  to  explain  here  the 
symptoms  of  the  different  injuries.  I  may  however 
observe,  that  if  very  soon  after  such  an  accident,  the 
part  swells  into  a  soft,  pulpy  state,  the  tendons  or 
leaders  are  hurt,  and  that  the  best  immediate  treatment 
Avill  be  to  put  the  limb  into  water,  so  hot  as  to  produce 
a  sensation  only  just  short  of  pain.  Herein  the  limb 
must  remain  for  an  hour,  while  the  temperature  of  the 
1  )ath  is  kept  as  high  as  bearable,  by  the  constant  addition 
of  more  boiling  water.  When  the  limb  is  taken  out  of 
the  water,  the  heat  must  be  preserved  by  wrapping  it 
in  a  poultice,  in  spongo-pileine  wrung  out  of  hot  water, 
or  flannel,  or  cotton-wool.  This  plan  of  treatment  is 
called  the  opera-dancer's  cure;  a  woman  of  this  pro- 
fession is,  of  course,  much  subject  to  sprains,  while  even 
a  temporary  lameness  would  be  a  great  injury  to  her;  but 


FAINTING.  4G3 

hy  tliis  metlioci  siicli  a  person  may  be  so  quickly  cured 
as  to  enable  her  to  dance  on  the  following  night.  For 
many  sprains  cold  water  bandages,  constantly  wetted, 
and  well  covered  over  with  a  flannel,  will  be  found  most 
beneficial.  When  all  swelling  has  disappeared,  it  will 
be  found  an  excellent  strengthener  to  hold  the  part  under 
tap,  and  let  cold  water  run  upon  it,  two  or  three  times 
a  day. 

FAINTING. 

If  from  any  cause,  wdiether  a  sudden  shock  of  grief  or 
fright,  or  from  loss  of  blood,  a  person  faint,  lay  her  flat 
on  her  back,  and  do  not  raise  her  head.  Fainting  comes 
from  the  blood  not  passing  to  the  brain,  and  is  of  course 
more  likely  to  continue  while  she  is  in  the  upright  posi- 
tion, and  while  the  head  is  high.  I  say  she,  because  faint- 
ing occurs  more  readily  in  women  than  it  does  in  men, 
and  because  I  am  reminded  of  a  severe  case  of  this  sort 
in  a  girl.  Facts  impress  themselves  more  strongly  on  the 
mind  than  directions,  and  therefore  I  cannot  do  better 
than  relate  the  circumstances  of  the  case.  Some  tircte 
ago  I  was  staying  with  a  medical  gentleman  in  the 
country,  when  he  was  sent  for  very  hurriedly  to  see  a 
young  lady  who  was  said  to  be  dying.  As  my  friend 
was  absent,  I  went  in  his  stead,  but  it  seemed  too  late. 
The  fice  was  deadly  pale,  the  eyes  turned  up  under  the 
lid,  there  was  no  pulse  at  the  wrist,  nor  do  I  think  the 
heart  could  be  felt  to  beat;  it  was  not  desirable  to  waste 
time  in  ascertaining  whether  it  did  beat  or  not,  for 
minutes  even  were  of  value.  I  had  her  -taken  from 
the  chair,  laid  down  flat  on  the  floor,  and  in  a  very 
little  time  the  pulse  began  to  revive.  She  had  been 
deluged  with  cold  water  to  no  avail;  but  now  hot 
Ihmnel  to  her  bosom,  over  tlio  heart,  in  the  armpits, 
and  heat  to  the  feet,  brought  her  partially  round,  and  I 
was  able  to  leave  for  a  short  time,  assuring  her  friends 
that  if  she  were  not  disturbed,  till  visited  again,  she  was 
safe.  She  got  so  much  better,  that  in  my  absence  they 
tried  to  remove  her  upstairs ;  on  raising  her  head  she 


464  PROGRESSIVE  READER. 

I 

again  fainted,  v  In  the  end,  a  Led  had  to  be  brought  into 
the  room,  and  she  remained  for  some  days  in  a  horizontal 
position,  before  it  was  considered  safe  to  move  her.  Of 
course  such  extreme  cases  of  fainting  are  rare,  but  the 
instance  ■will  serve  to  impress  upon  the  memory  the  very 
important  point  of  keeping  the  head  low  in  all  severe  cases 
of  fainting.  Such  attacks  must  not  be  confounded  with 
apoplexy.  In  these  the  face  is  red  or  purj^le,  and  they 
arise  from  too  large  a  quantity  of  blood  in  the  brain; 
therefore,  when  a  person  becomes  insensible,  with  the 
face  pale,  keep  the  head  low;  Avhen  with  the  face  red, 
keep  the  head  high.  There  is  another  point  with 
regard  to  fainting,  which  should  be  observed.  When- 
ever a  woman  falls  into  this  state,  it  is  the  common 
practice  to  sprinkle  her  with  cold  water,  and  it  is  a  very 
good  plan  if  it  be  not  carried  too  far.  If,  however,  the 
face,  bosom,  and  hands,  become  cold,  that  very  condition 
will  prevent  her  from  recovering ;  therefore,  when  this 
occurs,  the  cold  should  be  changed  for  hot  applications, 
such  as  heated  flannels,  (fee,  for  sudden  changes  of  tem- 
perature will  have  the  proper  effect  much  better  than 
the  continued  application  of  either  one  or  the  other. 


BANDAGES.^- 


The  best  material  is  hleached  calico,  well  washed,  dried, 
and  rolled  carefully  into  a  roller.  For  the  foot  and 
lower  leg,  they  should  be  about  three  inches  wide,  and 
six  or  eight  yards  long;  for  the  hand  and  arm,  about 
two  inches  wide,  and  about  five  or  six  yards  long. 
There  should  be  no  joining  in.  a  bandage. 

How  to  begin  a  Bandage. — If  it  is  begun  too  slack  at 
the  bottom,  it  is  of  little  use.  The  catch  at  the  end  of  the 
bandages,  as  seen  in  figs.  1,  2,  3,  is  all  that  is  required. 
It  is  best  to  begin  at  the  farther  end  of  the  limb,  after 
the  bandage  is  fastened,  and  continue  to  fold  it  ui)wards, 
as  far  as  is  necessary  (fig.  3).  After  the  bandage  is  fas- 
tened, no  more  should  be  unrolled  at  a  time  than  from 

_  *  Extracted  by  permission  from  The  Science  and  Art  of  Kur.ting 
the  Sick,  by  /Eneas  Munro,  M.D.     Glasgow:  James  Maclebose. 


BANDAGES. 


465 


three  to  four  inclies.     As  long  as  the  bandage  lies  evenly 


Muiiiu 


rig.  1. 


.1.    ■!>-,•      *-• 


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."