Chapter II: Part 2

The spring of 187- was unusually late in making its appearance. The sun sullenly refused to pierce the shroud of fog and mist; the buds seemed reluctant to shed their outer coats, and unfold their tender greenery to the dangers of frost and blighting east wind. The grass was still discoloured and sodden in our garden, and the costermonger appeared to have forgotten his customers in our square, so tardy was he in making the welkin ring with his hoarse vindication of his wares, ‘All a-blowin’ and a-growin’.’ Though the almanac stoutly averred that we had entered upon the ‘merrie month of May,’ a fire was still an absolute essential for comfort, and I hesitated long before wheeling my writing-table to the window and taking up my fine-weather quarters. However, the move was at length made; and the first group that met my eyes, as they wandered from my work to the outer world, was the now familiar one of the ‘serious family.’ But they were no longer alone; with them walked a middle-aged lady, of precise and dignified aspect, whom it required but slight knowledge of female human nature to identify as a governess. The little ones too were changed. Gertie and Edith had grown apace. The former, prettier and even more demure than of yore, had shot up into a tall slip of a girl, giving promise of graceful figure and carriage, though as yet showing the angularity and awkwardness of too rapid growth. Edith was more roguish-looking, and a trifle less roundabout than before, and had clearly a fine fund of animal spirits, longing for a chance of making their escape. But Ethel! Alas! more plainly than ever were the sure signs of delicacy noticeable in the sweet wee face and unnaturally deep-set eyes. She had lost rather than gained ground during the long severe winter. The effort to take part even in her sisters’ quiet sports was clearly beyond her strength, and it was sad indeed to catch the patient, hopeless expression with which she urged her weariness, as a plea for resisting Edith’s thoughtless, childish allurements.

Before long, I noticed that she had given up the attempt to join the play; and Edith herself was forced to recognise her plea, and to find allies in her romps among the other small-fry in the gardens, with many of whom she had now struck up acquaintance. Presently, even the daily walk grew to be too much for the feeble little frame, and a miniature carriage was devised, in which, tended constantly and lovingly by her eldest sister, she spent her outdoor hours. Many a long silent morning did she while away under the trees, the baby on her lap, and the sweet child-voice of her devoted sister reading to her, or telling her stories, with unwearying patience. Many a time have I paused in my work to watch the sad drama of pure unselfish love. Many a Saturday afternoon have I spent at my window, unable to turn away from the simple yet solemn scene, enacted in that commonplace London square, to seek pleasure and distraction among the busy haunts of river-side or park.

Those Saturday half-holidays were no longer joyous festivals for the father and children. His coming was as regular, and as eagerly looked for, as ever; but now there was no glad rush to meet him at the gate, no merry romps, in which he was the youngest child among the group. He saw, all too clearly, and Gertrude too had long since recognised, the inevitable parting that was slowly but surely approaching, and the tender devotion of both parent and sister was touching indeed to witness. Again a little while, and the bright summer sun, falling on the garden and its merry groups of children, kissed the little pale cheek no more. I could see the sudden pause in game and romp, when the two sisters appeared as usual for their morning walk. I could see the players hasten to their side, and could imagine the eager inquiries for the little invalid, the looks and words of childish sympathy offered with heartfelt though transient earnestness, before they turned away to resume their games, claiming Edith as a playmate, and leaving poor Gertie alone with her sad thoughts. Till at length the day came when inquiry was vain. The blinds were drawn close in the house across the square; the accustomed walk in the garden was omitted; for the little sister’s pure innocent spirit had passed away into eternal peace; and ere yet the mourning-frocks worn for their mother were laid aside, baby Ethel had gone to join her in the better home, and Gertrude had another sweet memory to treasure up in her young heart, another heavy grief to add intensity to the pathos of her soft brown eyes.

Many months passed without my catching more than a passing glimpse of the young mourners. The garden had too many associations with the past to be any longer the scene of Edith’s romps or Gertrude’s daily walks; and it was only when I happened by accident to meet the children in the street, or to get a distant peep at them in the gardens of the Temple, now their chosen resort, that I could judge of my favourite’s recovery of her spirits, or admire the delicate beauty which grew with her growth. She was fulfilling the promise of her childhood, and ripening into a quiet pensive style of beauty, forming a more marked contrast than ever to the vivacious younger sister, whose chatter and merry laugh rippled through the cloistered precincts of the Temple, and drew many a backward glance from the blue-bag laden lads passing through these quiet courts. Then came a long break in my connection with our square. Duty called me from England for a spell of some years, and on my return to the familiar scenes, I found it impossible to take up the old threads of association, and to recognise, in the grown youths and maidens who played lawn-tennis in the well-known garden, the little ones whom I had seen playing under care of nurses and governesses on those grass plots in my student days. I was forced to form a new circle of acquaintances-by-sight, among another generation of children, and I looked in vain for any among the gay tennis-players to remind me of the sombre-clad sisters, in whose childish joys and sorrows I had learned to feel so deep an interest.

Not long after my return to England, I was present, one summer night, at a large party given by a neighbour of ours in the square. It was a sultry evening, and the gas-lighted drawing-room, stripped of its furniture, and given up to such indefatigable dancers as will not be daunted by a thermometer standing at fabulous figures in the shade, had no attraction for a lazy non-dancer like myself. I therefore strayed, shortly after midnight, into the cooler atmosphere of an anteroom, where card-tables were set out, and a few of the quieter sort were enjoying a rubber within hearing-distance of the music. One of the players rose from his seat as I entered, and moved towards the folding-doors which opened into the drawing-room. There he stood for a moment or two watching the waltz, and then beckoned to some one among the dancers. From my quiet corner I saw a young couple approach in answer to his sign, and a happy, ringing voice entreated for one more dance.

‘I have promised it to Gerald, father, and he will be so disappointed if I go before he has had it. Just this one more, and I will come.’

‘Very well, dear,’ he replied. ‘But then we must really be going. Remember, you will have a tiring day to-morrow.’

‘It is because of to-morrow that I don’t want to disappoint Gerald to-night,’ she answered, smiling to her partner. ‘He won’t care to waltz with me after to-morrow.’ Gerald did not look as if he indorsed this statement, which was made with a pretty affectation of despair; and the couple were just turning to the dancing-room again, when the gentleman she had addressed as ‘father’ asked: ‘Where is Gertrude?’

‘She was with Mrs Gaythorn a few minutes ago,’ replied the girl.—‘Oh! here she comes.’

I glanced at the approaching figure, and instantly recognised my favourite of days gone by. She had fully realised all my expectations of her. Tall, graceful, beautifully moulded in face and figure, there was all the old pensiveness and the sweet half-melancholy of expression; and as she met my gaze, standing in her white cloud-like draperies in the shadow of the doorway, I could see at once that she was utterly unconscious of her loveliness, and unspoiled by the admiration it must win. I could not, even at the risk of appearing impertinent, resist the pleasure of studying her beauty and noting the grace of every movement and gesture. Fortunately, the corner in which I had ensconced myself was shaded, and my admiration passed unnoticed and unrebuked. I watched her as she courteously but decidedly declined the invitations of two or three eager candidates for the dance; and when at last the waltz was over, and the pretty girl I had before noticed came back, leaning on her partner’s arm, and showing me in her _riante_ features a dim resemblance to the merry little Edith of my earlier recollections, I followed the party down-stairs. Then having seen them don their wraps and start two and two, Gertrude with her father, and Edith with the happy Gerald, to walk round to their own side of the square, I took my hat and strolled home, my mind full of the sad memories of the old days when I used to watch the little trio of serious faces from my study window.

The following morning broke with a cloudless sky and brilliant sunshine, even in our gloomy old-fashioned quarter of London. I was taking a half-holiday that day; but feeling disinclined for exertion, I contented myself with a volume of Thackeray and a seat under the plane-trees in the square garden, where the sparrows were twittering with a specious make-believe of being in the country. My book lay neglected at my side, and my thoughts were wandering again to the past, prompted by my _rencontre_ of the previous night. Half curiously, I turned from the contemplation of the groups of youngsters playing on the grass, to look up at the windows of the house in which my little friends had lived. A carriage and a cab stood at the door; and even as I looked, the door itself was opened, and a procession of trunks and bonnet-boxes was carried down the steps and deposited on the roof of the cab. Among the luggage was an unquestionably male portmanteau; and it needed not the white rosettes worn by the servants to suggest to me the meaning of these preparations. The despairing glance and mock-mournful suggestion that ‘Gerald will not care to waltz with me after to-morrow,’ recurred to my mind, confirming my conclusion. Five minutes more and the doorway was filled with a group of host and guests bidding farewell to the happy couple. Edith—the brightness of her eyes slightly dimmed as she clung to her father and sister in a last embrace—forced a glad smile through her tears as she turned to her young husband. Together they passed down the steps and entered the waiting carriage. A parting cheer, a shower of rice and satin shoes, a rattle of wheels upon the stony street, and in a moment the carriage turned the corner of the square and disappeared from sight. Gertrude, who with her father and one or two of their guests had remained at the foot of the steps, to see the last glimpse of her sister, now turned to re-enter the house. But before they passed out of earshot, I heard one of the elder gentlemen exclaim, in a tone of banter: ‘Well, Miss Gertrude, I suppose it won’t be long before we see some fine young fellow coming to carry you off; and then, what will your poor father do without his housekeeper?’

Gertrude turned at the words, and met her father’s eyes with an expression of true, lasting, unselfish affection, which disposed of any need for answering this question. There was no misconstruing its meaning, no room to doubt its changeless truth. Her father took the hand she had slipped into his own, and pressed it closely, without speaking a word. So they moved slowly up the steps and into the house. The door closed; and the picture of sweet unspoken confidence passed from my eyes, to be engraved indelibly on my memory, the closing scene of the simple drama of everyday life, of which I had so long been an unknown and unsuspected witness.

AN INTERESTING ISLAND.

There are few subjects of more general interest to the inhabitants of this country than agriculture, in one form or another. To those who earn their bread by tilling the soil, it is of the first importance; to those who do not, it is of importance as indirectly affecting their material prosperity. But apart from the question of pecuniary interest, there is an inborn love of agricultural pursuits, which is a national characteristic. In some few privileged persons the taste shows itself so strongly as to lead them to indulge in farming for pleasure. Others, whose time and means will not allow of this, it leads to employ much of their leisure time in gardening. Many are obliged to confine its indulgence to tending a few flowers in pots. They are very few indeed who feel no interest whatever in the subject. The trait has shown itself more or less in all the greatest races that have swayed the destiny of the world. The haughty Roman dictator who yesterday was omnipotent, is content to-day to return humbly to his farm, and exercise his authority not over a nation, but over a team of oxen.

A peculiarly interesting example of the splendid results which have been brought about by this national taste is presented by the island of Ascension, which has been transformed from a comparatively barren rock, exposed to the most terrific and damaging winds, producing scarce enough of the coarsest vegetation to afford a meagre sustenance to a few wild goats, into a pleasant and fertile island, amply supporting in comfort and luxury a very considerable population. This change it took some time and considerable trouble to effect; but before indicating how it was brought about, a short history and description of the island itself may not be out of place.

The island owes its name to having been discovered on Ascension Day in the year 1501, by the Portuguese navigator Juan de Nova Gallego. Two years later it was visited by Alfonzo d’Albuquerque; and from time to time other navigators landed, among them Captain Cook. Such was its dreary aspect, however, that no one was induced to settle on it. But ‘Jack’ has always been famous for his ingenuity, and even here it did not fail him. In the north-west part of the island, which affords the best anchorage for ships, there is a small inlet called Sandy Bay. One of the rocks near the landing-place contains a very curious crevice. This was soon christened ‘The Sailors’ Post-office;’ and it became an established custom to leave letters there, well corked up in a bottle, which were always taken to their respective destinations by the first ship bound thither which happened to call. This seems to have been the sole use made of the island till the year 1815, when it was taken possession of by the English, who erected a fort and placed a garrison on it soon after the banishment of Napoleon to St Helena.

Ascension is situated far out in the Atlantic Ocean, off the coast of Africa, and eight hundred miles north-west of St Helena. It is of a triangular shape, eight miles long, and six broad at its widest part, with an area of thirty-four square miles. It is one of the peaks of the submarine ridge which separates the northern and southern basins of the Atlantic. Its volcanic origin is clearly shown by the numerous crevices and ravines into which its surface is broken, and which are filled with scoria, pumice-stone, and other igneous products. The highest peak, called the Green Mountain, rises to a height of two thousand eight hundred and seventy feet. From this the land, on the north, sinks gradually towards the shore; but on the south it terminates in bold lofty precipices. Communication with the shore is frequently rendered dangerous by the setting in of heavy seas or rollers, which rise suddenly in the most perfect calm, and break with tremendous force on the beach. The cause of this phenomenon is unknown. Only such plants as required very little water were to be found. Of these, the tomato, castor-oil plant, pepper, and Cape gooseberry were the chief. It was always famed for its turtles, which abound to such an extent that as many as two thousand five hundred have been captured in one year. They are now usually collected into two ponds or crawls, the water of which is occasionally changed. They can be obtained only by purchase, any one taking them on the beach or near the island being liable to a heavy penalty. Fish abound, of which the conger-eel is the most prized. Another indigenous delicacy is the egg of the tropical swallow, or ‘wide-awake’ as it is called on the island. They are largely used as an article of food, ten thousand dozen being frequently gathered in a week. In addition to the goats referred to above, the only other useful product was the wild guinea-fowl, which were found in considerable numbers.

Napoleon’s presence, even as a prisoner, in the island of St Helena determined the English government to place a garrison on Ascension. This was in 1815; and for years that garrison was entirely supported on food and water brought there at great expense by ships. The death of the illustrious prisoner in 1821 did away with the immediate necessity for keeping a garrison there; but the Admiralty were anxious if possible to turn the island into a victualling station for the African squadron. To ascertain the practicability of this plan, they appointed Captain Brandreth, in 1829, to make a thorough survey, and use every effort to discover water. We can imagine him diligently examining every portion of the barren and uninviting rock, long discouraged by want of success. With indefatigable zeal, he and his willing workers sank shaft after shaft in the hope of discovering a spring, however far down. His strong belief that one did exist was at length justified. In the Green Mountain, at a great level from the sea, he found one at a depth of twenty-five feet which proved to be capable of supplying all the wants of the island. Large tanks were at once made and piping laid to the garrison.

Having now an abundance of water, the most vigorous efforts were put forth to bring some of the land under cultivation. The most promising parts of the Green Mountain were first planted; and sheltered spots in other parts of the island were chosen, and the ground broken up and irrigated. Recourse was even had to excavating in the side of the mountain, in order to gain the desired shelter. The government did all in their power to insure the success of these attempts. They sent out a trained head-gardener from the Kew Gardens, who took the utmost interest in his work. Great progress was made with the planting of young trees, shrubs, furze, grasses, and hardy plants. The Australian wattle was perhaps the most successful. Holes four feet wide and three deep were prepared, in which it was planted in layers. The hardiness and rapid growth of these may be seen from the fact, that in twelve months they reached an average of between six and seven feet in height. Among the grasses early tried was one kind known by the name of ‘Para,’ a case of which was sent out by Sir William Hooker, of the Royal Gardens, Kew, who always took great interest in the cultivation of Ascension. This grass succeeded admirably, increasing in the most astounding manner, and growing down all weeds and inferior grasses. In 1861, Captain Bernard was appointed governor of the island, and by that time the most thankless part of the task of bringing Ascension into cultivation had been accomplished. He displayed, however, the full zeal of his predecessors; and with the able assistance of Mr Bell, the head-gardener, accomplished wonders in the next few years. A scarcity of manure was one great drawback. This was supplied by using the guano which was found in large quantities on Boatswain Bird Island, a small rock that lies off the west coast of Ascension. This is now largely supplemented by the manure supplied by the cattle, the island being able to support a large number without any imported food. The rapidity with which sheep fatten on the grass is very satisfactory, nearly doubling their weight in three months after importation.

The island is by no means free from vermin. The horses and cattle suffer greatly from a fly, in appearance like the house-fly, but which bites venomously, and causes intense irritation. The ‘black grub,’ as it is called there, effects great devastation at times among the plants, and as yet no practical remedy has been found for its ravages. The next destructive enemy is the field-rat, which attacks the root-crops, and feeds principally on the sweet-potato. Land-crabs, too, exist in very large numbers, and add to the destruction. Another animal, the wild-cat, proves itself an enemy, as it lives on the rabbits, and is useless as a vermin destroyer. A determined war is being waged against all these tormentors, a regular system of trapping having been set on foot. In one year, fifty-three cats, seven thousand four hundred rats, and eighty-five thousand one hundred and fifty land-crabs, were destroyed. The thorough cultivation of the ground is also being furthered by the introduction of rooks, minhas, and other birds that help the farmer. With all these drawbacks, the island has been brought step by step from its original barrenness to such a pleasing condition, that we now have over thirty-one acres under actual cultivation, producing among other things, sweet and English potatoes, cabbage, carrots, pumpkins, and turnips; pine-apples, bananas, endive, French beans, leeks, herbs, seedling date-palm, and coffee; sugar-cane, guavas, oranges, shaddocks, fig bushes, mulberries, and cuttings of shrubs. There is good pasturage one thousand acres in extent for cattle, and five thousand acres for sheep, supporting easily over forty head of cattle and between seven and eight hundred sheep. Parts of the island are now well wooded, and about forty acres are laid out in fruit-trees and shrubbery. Few brighter monuments could be pointed out of the success sure to attend the enterprise and unyielding zeal of a nation when well and wisely directed.

THE MONTH:

SCIENCE AND ARTS.

Mr Petrie’s excavations in Upper Egypt, to which we briefly alluded last month, have already made considerable progress, and no fewer than one hundred and forty labourers are busily at work upon them. To some extent, the discoveries made possess that peculiar interest which attaches to the excavations at Pompeii, for they bear witness to the home-life of a people that lived many centuries ago. Thus, the walls of the now exhumed temple have had built upon them at a remote period various private dwellings. In one of these, apparently lived an artist, who possibly was engaged upon the decoration of the temple itself; his sketch-book and eraser—represented by a slab of fine limestone and a piece of black emery—have been found. The limestone is ruled in squares, just in the same way that a modern artist will rule his paper preparatory to making a drawing ‘to scale.’ Other houses seem to have been used as workshops for a Company of jewellers, for chips of carnelian, lapis-lazuli, and other valued stones have been found there, together with waste metal from copper working. A box filled with rolls of burned papyri, upon which, however, the writing is still legible, is considered one of the most important finds. Mr Petrie is careful to examine every block of stone and every brick in search of inscriptions. Every inscription so found is carefully copied, and every other object of interest is photographed. The work is evidently being carried on with both energy and skill.

Another important archæological discovery has been made also in Upper Egypt by Professor Maspero, who has found between Assiout and Thebes the hitherto unsuspected site of a vast necropolis. Five catacombs have been already opened, and have yielded one hundred and twenty mummies; and Professor Maspero in a cursory manner has fixed the positions of more than one hundred of such sepulchres. We may therefore conclude that some thousands of embalmed bodies lie in this old cemetery, many of them probably of historical interest. In addition to the mummies, there will also be many treasures, in the shape of papyri, &c., which experience has taught us to look for. It seems to be something more than a fortunate accident that so many ancient peoples were moved to bury with their dead, relics connected with the arts or pursuits of the deceased.

A Canadian correspondent of _Nature_ gives a curious and interesting account of a phenomenon often to be seen on Lake Ontario during the prevalence of cold and stormy weather, such as the past season has afforded. ‘Ice volcanoes,’ as they are aptly named, are formed by an uneven strip of ice accumulating along the shore, on which appear mounds twenty or thirty feet in height. Many of these mounds are conical in form, and often have a crater-like opening, communicating with the water beneath. In stormy weather, every wave dashes spray and fragments of ice through this opening, which congeal upon the sides of the cone and add to its height; just in the same way that the fragments of pumice and other material ejected from a fiery volcano gradually build it up into a mountain. But the ice volcano soon becomes extinct, for the crater is gradually clogged up with ice, and the irruption can no longer find a vent.

M. Trouvelet, who for the last nine years has been engaged in studying and mapping the configuration of the planet Mars, which, although not our nearest neighbour in the solar system, is that most conveniently situated for telescopic observation, has just presented a Report of his labours to the French Academy of Sciences. Sir W. Herschel long ago discovered that the polar patches of white on Mars increased and decreased in size in the winter and summer seasons of the planet, in the same manner as is experienced in the like regions of our own earth. Other observers have also mapped out the distant orb into regions of supposed land and sea, sometimes obscured by belts of cloud; moreover, the spectroscope has revealed to us, in its own wonderful way, the undoubted presence of water upon the planet. What are believed to be the continents of Mars are covered with faint grayish spots; and as these spots change their form and volume with the changes of the Martial seasons, M. Trouvelet supposes them to represent masses of vegetation which grow and die under the same solar influences which affect our own globe. Every contribution towards our knowledge of distant worlds—many of them proved to be so much greater than our own globe—must always have a fascinating interest for us.

The ingenious individual who lately accounted for the possession of a suspicious amount of dynamite by the statement that he used it as a remedy for chapped hands, may be congratulated upon pointing out a legitimate use for that commodity, although we trust that the majority of sufferers from injured cuticle will be content with glycerine in an uncombined form. Hitherto, almost the only legally recognised use for the explosive has been for mining operations, and without doubt it has in this connection been of immense service. Attempts to use dynamite for firearms or artillery have hitherto failed because the explosive action is so rapid that the strongest barrel is shattered. Indeed, dynamite was employed by our naval brigade at the late bombardment of Alexandria for destroying the guns of a deserted fort. For such purposes, and for torpedo warfare, dynamite is invaluable; but hitherto it has been found impossible to use it in gunnery. An entirely new form of weapon has, however, recently been tried with success in the United States, in which dynamite, although not representing the propelling force, plays an important part. The new form of gun consists of a tube forty feet in length, made rigid by being fixed to a steel girder. By means of compressed air, a dart-like projectile charged with dynamite is propelled with great force from the tube. The weapon already tried has only a two-inch bore; but with an air-pressure of four hundred and twenty pounds on the square inch, a range of a mile and a quarter is attained. With the four and six inch weapons now in course of construction, it is believed that, with increased pressure, a range of three miles will be possible. The guns can be cheaply made, and are free from smoke or noise; while their destructive power must be far greater than those heavy guns whose shells can only be charged with gunpowder.

In our own navy, a new form of machine-gun will be probably supplied to the various ships, more especially for boat-service. For some time the Nordenfelt gun has been a service-fitting; but it is now proposed to introduce a Nordenfelt of larger calibre, which will fire explosive shells instead of solid bullets. From recent experiments at Portsmouth, the new weapon seems to be wonderfully efficient. For instance, a gun firing a shell weighing only two pounds was able to send its projectile through a solid steel plate two inches thick at a range of three hundred yards. It was shown, too, that a far larger Nordenfelt, a six-pounder, could be fired from a boat without straining it. These destructive weapons can be fired so rapidly as to deliver from eighteen to twenty-five shots per minute.

The _Telegraphist_ newspaper publishes an account of what must be regarded as a truly marvellous triumph of electrical communication, before which Puck’s proposal to ‘put a girdle round the earth in forty minutes’ seems to be quite a second-rate achievement. A correspondent of the paper in question visited the office of the Indo-European Telegraph Company by invitation, in order to note how good signalling could be maintained over thousands of miles of wire. First, a few words of conversation were exchanged with the telegraphist of a German town. The wire was next connected with Odessa, and next with the Persian capital (Teheran). In a few more minutes the experimenters in London were talking with the clerk in charge at Kurrachee; next they had a chat with a gentleman at Agra; and as a final triumph of science, the line was made direct between London and Calcutta, a distance of seven thousand miles. It is said that the signals were excellent, and the speed attained about thirteen words per minute.

In a recent lecture upon gas-lighting, Mr Thomas Fletcher pointed out that blackened ceilings and darkened picture-frames are not due to smoke from the gas-burners, but are caused by floating particles of dust being caught in the flame and thrown against the ceiling. It is easily proved, by holding a glass tumbler for a few seconds over a flame, that water is one of the products of combustion of gas. This water condenses upon a cold ceiling when the gas in a room is first lighted, so that the burnt particles of dust readily adhere to the flat surface. The servant who lights the gas on a dark morning before she proceeds to sweep and dust the room does practically all the smoking of the ceiling that takes place.

That unfortunate commercial experiment, but marvellous triumph of engineering skill, the _Great Eastern_ steamship, will shortly proceed to Gibraltar to take up her position in the harbour as a coal-hulk. The gigantic paddles with their engines will be removed, leaving the screw propeller only to carry the ship to her last berth. The Admiralty authorities look with much favour upon the scheme, for the immense ship will supersede a number of small coal-hulks which now encumber the harbour, and are a source of much inconvenience to other vessels. We are glad that a use has been found for the unwieldy vessel, whose only serviceable work has been as the layer of the first Atlantic cables. She was far too big to be profitably worked, and has for many years been lying idle. Her new vocation, although of a lowly kind, is at anyrate better than pauperism.

A new motor, called a ‘Triple Thermic Motor,’ has, it is said, been in use in New York for the past seven months driving a sixty horse-power engine. Heat is generated by a fifteen horse-power boiler, and the steam thus raised is carried to a receptacle containing carbon disulphide, which passes into vapour at one hundred and eighteen degrees Fahrenheit. An engineer, in reporting upon this new contrivance, says that the fifteen horse-power boiler with very little fire under it generates steam, which operates the motor, which in turn runs the sixty horse-power engine. These seem to be all the particulars published; and it would be interesting to have details of the motor, if it be really as successful as reported. There are one or two difficulties to surmount in the employment of carbon disulphide. It has a most disagreeable and penetrating odour; its vapour is highly inflammable; and lastly, it is by no means cheap.

Some interesting particulars of the American lead-pencil trade have recently been published. With the improved machinery now in use, it is possible for ten men to turn out four thousand pencils a day. The cedar comes from Florida in slabs cut to pencil-length. Four parallel grooves are sawn in each little slab, each groove being destined to hold the lead, or rather graphite. The so-called leads are kept in hot glue, and after being inserted in the grooves, are covered over with a thin slab of cedar, also glued; then the whole is passed through a moulding-machine, and comes out at the other side in the form of four finished pencils. The graphite is mixed with a variable amount of white clay—the greater the proportion of clay the harder the pencil—and is ground with moisture into a paste. The paste is pressed into dies, and is baked at a high temperature.

The recent outbreak of smallpox in London reminds us that we have not yet succeeded in stamping out this loathsome disease, although the practice of vaccination has checked it to a wonderful extent. Anti-vaccination agitators are very fond of pointing to the circumstance that many persons who have been apparently successfully vaccinated in childhood are in after-years attacked with smallpox. This is perfectly true; and statistics are available which show that in the years between 1871 and 1881 nearly eighteen thousand such cases were treated in the London hospitals. But the popular agitator abstains from pointing out that in ninety per cent. of these cases the sufferers were above ten years of age. These figures prove, in fact, what has been long ago acknowledged, that vaccination does not afford permanent protection. When a child reaches adult age, revaccination should take place. In our smallpox hospitals, the nurses and attendants enjoy complete immunity from infection by taking care to adopt this precaution; and all persons, for the general good of the community at large, would do well to submit to the trifling inconvenience which the operation entails.

The Isthmus of Corinth Canal, a scheme which was promoted originally so far back as the time of the emperor Nero, is now almost an accomplished fact. The dredging operations at the approaches to the canal proceed very rapidly, for about five thousand cubic metres of soil and sand are removed every twenty-four hours. There are large numbers of workmen employed also on the central portions of the channel, and they have the help of railway and plant for the conveyance of material. A new town, called Isthmia, has sprung into being, and it contains some two hundred houses and stores.

‘The Rivers Congo and Niger viewed as Entrances for the Introduction of Civilisation into Mid-Africa,’ was the title of a paper lately read before the Society of Arts by Mr R. Capper, Lloyd’s agent for the district of the Congo. The lecturer stated that within the past five years, the western African trade has quadrupled in value. Twelve years ago there were but four English houses, one French, and one Dutch, trading up the Congo. There are now upon the river’s banks forty-nine European factories, and the imports and exports are valued at two millions sterling. Mr Capper pointed out that the great value of these rivers lies in the possibility of connecting them with future railways. Such railways could be easily laid, for the interior of Africa is one vast tableland. A railway across the Desert of Sahara would turn a perilous journey of four months into one of twenty-four hours. By such means the interior slave-trade would be annihilated.

Boring in the earth for water is an operation often attended by great uncertainty. Some few years ago in the heart of London a firm of brewers bored to a depth of several hundred yards without tapping the precious fluid, and the expensive well had to be abandoned. Quite recently, at Burton-on-Trent a similar failure occurred upon a far smaller scale. When the operators had pierced to a depth of one hundred and seventy-six feet without finding water, they called in the advice of some experienced artesian-well engineers, who recommended the abandonment of the works, and the commencement of a fresh bore upon a site which they selected two hundred yards away. At a depth of only one hundred and fourteen feet, a copious supply of water was found, yielding, in fact, between five and six thousand gallons per hour. It is remarkable that the sites of both bores were at the same level.

OCCASIONAL NOTES.

THE RECENT EARTHQUAKE IN ENGLAND.

During the past few years, there have been recorded, unhappily, an unusual number of earthquakes in various parts of the world; and many thousands of lives have been lost by those terrible convulsions of nature. Inhabitants of Britain, although constant in their complaints of fog, inclement seasons, and other meteorological inconveniences, have hitherto congratulated themselves upon living in a country which is exempt from volcanic phenomena, and in which earthquakes seemed to be things of a past era. These comfortable reflections were suddenly dispelled on the morning of the 22d of April, when over a large tract of country in Southern England a shock of great severity occurred. In the town of Colchester, and many villages eastward of it, the destruction of houses was very great. Many were entirely unroofed; and in some villages, as the writer can testify from personal observation, it was the exception to note a dwelling in which the chimney-stacks had not been demolished. Providentially, no lives were lost, although several narrow escapes have been recorded. The damage is estimated to amount to several thousand pounds, and unfortunately the sufferers are as a rule very poor cottagers, who are unable to bear the expense of the necessary repairs. For their relief, a subscription has been set on foot under the auspices of the Lord Mayor, and there is little doubt that sufficient money will be readily forthcoming for their needs.

The occurrence of such a rare phenomenon in the British Isles—not quite so rare, by the way, as some people imagine, for nearly three hundred shocks have been actually recorded—has caused an immense amount of earthquake lore to be unearthed and published in the various newspapers. From _Iron_ we have an interesting account of the way in which luminous paint is utilised in connection with earthquake alarms in countries where such visitations are prevalent. We are informed that large consignments of the paint are sent to such places, and that the material is employed in the following manner. Small metallic plates covered with the paint are fixed on the doorposts of the different rooms, so that at the first alarm—and happily there is often a premonitory warning of something more serious to follow—the inmates of the houses can readily find their way outside. In Manila, the paint is laid in patches about the staircases, door-handles, and various points of egress. A light which gives off neither fire nor heat is of the greatest value in such situations, where any other form of light would be apt to add its quota of disaster to the dangers to life, already too prominent.

IMPROVED ELECTRIC LIGHTING FOR SHIPS.

Mr J. D. F. Andrews, Woodside Electric Works, Glasgow, has lighted with electricity, after a new fashion, the North German Lloyd S.S. _Ems_. The system, which includes over three hundred and twenty incandescent lamps and a masthead arc lamp, presents some features of a novel and important character. In the case of the small lights, Swan’s lamps and Siemen’s machines are employed. The wires are all completely hidden, but they are nevertheless arranged in such a way that they can be easily reached when necessary. For these lamps there is provided a new style of holder, which is at once simple and efficient. Each lamp has its own switch, which is entirely of metal; and it is provided with a lead-wire, which fuses in the event of the current being too strong. In the case of every set of about twenty lamps there is another switch, so that the lights can be turned on and off in groups as well as individually; and another lead-wire, so that the leading wires may be protected from too strong a current. The whole system is such as to preclude the possibility of fire. Duplicate machines are fitted up to guard against any breakdown, and either of them can be started or stopped without interfering with the engine which drives them. The masthead arc lamp, of which Mr Andrews is the inventor, is here brought into requisition for the first time. It has about five thousand candle-power concentrated in a single beam of light, that can be moved in any direction forward of the ship. In construction it is extremely simple, consisting merely of a cylinder and piston, the former being an electrical coil of wire. The illuminating power of the lamp is so great that by means of it an object half a mile away can be clearly distinguished by the naked eye on a dark night.

DUTCH RUSH.

‘Many years ago,’ says Mr W. Mathieu Williams, in the _Gentleman’s Magazine_ for March, ‘when the electrotype process was a novelty, I devoted a considerable amount of time and attention to the reproduction of medallions and other plaster-casts in copper by electro deposition. This brought me in contact with many of those worthy and industrious immigrants from Bagni di Lucca (between Lucca and Pisa), who form a large section of the Italian colony of Leather Lane and its surroundings. These Lucchesi are the image-makers and image-sellers, and general workers in plaster of Paris. Among other useful lessons I learned from them was the use of the so-called Dutch rushes, which are the dried stems of one of the most abundant species of the equisetum (_Equisetum hyemale_) or “horse-tail,” which grows on wet ground in this country and Holland. It is well known to practical agriculturists as a tell-tale, indicating want of drainage.

‘Plaster-casts are made by pouring plaster of Paris, mixed to a creamy consistence with water, into a mould made of many pieces, which pieces are again held together in an outer or “case-mould” of two or three pieces. When the mould is removed piece by piece, fine ridges stand up on the cast where the plaster has flowed between these pieces. These ridges are removed by rubbing them obliquely with the surface of the stem of the dried equisetum. It cuts away the plaster as rapidly as a file, but without leaving any visible file-marks. The surface left is much smoother than from fine emery or glass-paper, and the rush does not clog nearly so fast as the paper.

‘In order to find the explanation of this, I carefully burned some small pieces of the equisetum stem, mounted the unbroken ash on microscope slides with Canada balsam, and examined its structure. This displayed a flinty cuticle, a scale-armour made up of plates of silica, each plate interlocking with its neighbours by means of beautifully regular angular teeth, forming myriads of microscopic saw-blades, which become loosened from each other and crumpled up in drying, and thus present their teeth obliquely to the surface. These teeth supply the image-maker with a file of exquisite fineness, and harder than the best Sheffield steel. Their comparative freedom from clogging I think must be due to their loose aggregation while held by the dried and shrivelled woody tissue of the sub-cuticle.

‘This natural file is used for other purposes, such as the polishing of ivory, hard woods, and metal, but is only understood in certain obscure industrial corners. I here commend it to the attention of my readers, because I have just discovered a new use for it. Like many others, I have been occasionally troubled by minute irregularities of the teeth, lacerating the tongue, and producing small ulcerations, which, I am told, are dangerous to those who have passed middle age, being provocative of cancer. A friendly dentist has ground down the offending projections with his emery-wheel, and thus supplied relief. But in course of time other sharp angles have stood forth, but so trivial that I felt ashamed of visiting the torture-chamber for their removal. I tried emery paper; but it was ineffectual and unpleasant, as the emery rubbed off. Then I tried the Dutch rush, rubbing its surface crosswise and obliquely against the offending angles. The success was complete, both grinding down and smoothing being effected by one and the same operation.’

LIGHTNING-STROKES IN FRANCE.

M. Cochery, the French Minister of Posts and Telegraphs, has presented to the French Academy of Sciences a Report on the lightning-strokes in France during the last half of 1883. During the month of July there were no fewer than one hundred and forty-three strokes in France, thirty of these occurring on the 10th, and thirty-two on the 3d. Seven men, four women, a young girl, and a child were killed by these strokes, and over forty persons were injured, including ten men who were affected by the same flash, which struck a plane-tree in their neighbourhood. Nine horses were also injured by the flash in question, which happened at Castres, in the department of Tarn, at 9.15 A.M. on July 4. The same storm also killed a woman at Castres, three-quarters of an hour earlier. The total number of animals killed during July was fifty-seven, including a calf, two horses, three sheep, one goat, one dog, and one chicken; while fourteen cows, eleven horses, one dog, and a goose were injured. In general, the strokes were attracted by poplar-trees, or masts, chimneys, and steeples, as well as elm, oak, and fir trees. The stems and points of lightning-rods have also been struck, the latter being fused, and the former heated red-hot. The wire used to support vines has also drawn the stroke. In the majority of cases, rain, often abundant, attended the discharge. In August there were only nine strokes, as compared with one hundred and forty-three in July; six persons were killed, and two bulls were injured. In September there were fourteen strokes, killing four persons and six animals, and injuring ten persons in all. In October there was only one stroke, on the 16th (4 P.M.), at Castellane, in the Basses-Alpes. In November and December there are no strokes recorded.

‘ONLY COUSINS, DON’T YOU SEE?’

Charming cousin, tell me where
Shall I find one half so fair?
Let me, as I taste thy lip,
Swear how sweet is cousinship.
Like a sister? Yes, no doubt;
Still, not sister out and out.
Who that ever had a sister,
Felt his heart beat when he kissed her?
Who by looking ever knew
That his sister’s eyes were blue?
Who in name of all the loves
Bets his sister pairs of gloves?

Charming cousin, still are you
Sister in a measure too.
We can act as pleases us,
No one thinks it dangerous;
Talk of love or of the weather,
Row or ride or read together,
Wander where we will alone,
Careless of a chaperon.
You may dance with none but me—
‘Only cousins, don’t you see?’
Cousins safely may forget
All the laws of etiquette.

Charming cousin, in your eyes
I can read a faint surprise;
Most bewitchingly they glisten
To my nonsense as they listen;
‘What can Harry mean to say?’
You may come to know some day.
Just one word, sweet cousin mine,
Ere we go to dress and dine:
If I ever chance to woo,
Cousin, she must be like you,
And the one who comes the nearest
To yourself will be the dearest;
Type of what my love must be,
Cousin, what if you are she?

J. WILLIAMS.

* * * * *

The Conductor of CHAMBERS’S JOURNAL begs to direct the attention of CONTRIBUTORS to the following notice:

_1st._ All communications should be addressed to the ‘Editor, 339
High Street, Edinburgh.’

_2d._ For its return in case of ineligibility, postage-stamps
should accompany every manuscript.

_3d._ MANUSCRIPTS should bear the author’s full _Christian_ name,
Surname, and Address, legibly written; and should be written on
white (not blue) paper, and on one side of the leaf only.

_4th._ Offerings of Verse should invariably be accompanied by a
stamped and directed envelope.

_If the above rules are complied with, the Editor will do his best to insure the safe return of ineligible papers._

* * * * *

Printed and Published by W. & R. CHAMBERS, 47 Paternoster Row, LONDON, and 339 High Street, EDINBURGH.

* * * * *

_All Rights Reserved._