Читать книгу: «Chambers's Edinburgh Journal, No. 426», страница 6
Another noteworthy subject, is Dr W.J. Burnett's paper to the American Association, 'On the Relation of the Distribution of Lice to the Different Faunas,' in which he endeavours to demonstrate, that the creation of animals was a multiplied operation, carried on in several localities, and that they do not derive from one original parent stock. Different animals have different parasites; but, as he shews, the same species of animal has the same parasite, wherever it may be found. According to Latreille, the pediculus found in the woolly heads of African negroes 'is sufficiently distinct from that of the Circassian to entitle it to the rank of a distinct species;' from which, and similar instances, the doctor concludes: 'Whatever may be urged in behalf of the hypothesis of the unity of the animal creation, based upon the alleged metamorphosic changes of types, it is my opinion that the relations of their parasites, and especially the lice which are distributed over nearly all of them, must be considered as fair and full an argument as can be advanced against such hypothesis, for it is taking up the very premises of the hypothesis in opposition.' Dr Burnett will perhaps find Sir Charles Lyell ready to break a lance with him on the point at issue.
Something interesting to workers in metal has been brought before the Franklin Institute at Philadelphia—it is a method of giving to iron the appearance of copper, contrived by Mr Pomeroy of Cincinnati, who thus describes it—rather laboriously, by the way:—
'Immerse the iron in dilute sulphuric acid, for the purpose of cleansing the surface of the article which is to be coated; and thus cleansed, submit the iron to a brisk heat to dry it; when dry, immerse the article in a mixture of clay and water, and again dry it so as to leave a thin coating of the clay on its surface: it is then to be immersed in a bath of melted copper, and the length of time requisite for the iron and copper to form a union, will depend on the thickness of the article under operation. The object of the clay is to protect the copper from oxidation during the process of alloying or coating, and to reduce it to the required thickness it is passed between rollers. The result of this annealing process will be a smooth surface, fully equal to the brightness of pure copper.' Let me add to this, as a finish to transatlantic matters, that a Mr Allan, at St Louis, having observed that in washing-machines only the linen on the outside of the heap was perfectly cleansed, has patented a new machine, which comprises a chamber or tub with a narrowed neck, in which a plunger is inserted; and this, 'with the clothes wrapped around it, passes through the narrowed neck of the chamber, and pressing forcibly on the water confined within, drives it violently through the body of the clothes, carrying the dirt with it.'
Science is not idle in France, notwithstanding the social perturbations: some of our engineers are talking about the trials of electro-magnetic locomotives recently made on one of the railways in that country, and are rather curious as to what may be the result. To travel without the whiz and roar of steam would be a consummation devoutly desired by thousands of travellers. And among the topics from the Académie, there is one important to the naval service—M. Normandy's apparatus for converting sea-water into fresh water. Briefly described, it is a series of disks, placed one above the other, communicating by concentric galleries, and placed in a vapour-bath at a pressure a little above that of the atmosphere. 'The sea-water,' says the inventor, 'circulating in the galleries heated by the surrounding vapour, gives off a certain quantity of vapour, which, mingling with the atmospheric air, introduced by a tube from the outside, finally condenses as perfectly aërated fresh water in a refrigerator, which is also in communication with the atmosphere. No other means of agitation or percolation is so efficacious or economical.' The apparatus, which is free from the defect of depositing salt while distillation is going on, is rather more than three feet in height, and eighteen inches diameter. It will yield two pints of water per minute, at an expenditure of about 2¼ lbs. of coal for each 45 lbs. of water.
Next, Monsieur Rochas proposes a method for preserving limestone monuments and sculptures for an indefinite period. This material, as is well known, is very liable to disintegrate, and the remedy is to silicify it. Specimens of limestone so prepared were exhibited to the Académie, but without any explanation of the process. We know that brick and stone have been coated with glass in a few instances, to insure their preservation; and that at Professor Owen's suggestion, some decomposing ivory ornaments, sent over by Mr Layard, were restored by boiling in gelatine; but M. Rochas aims at something still greater—nothing less than the silicifying of a number of crumbling limestone statues which have been lately discovered by a Frenchman who is exploring the temple of Serapis at Memphis. They will then be strong enough to bear removal.
Naturalists may learn something from Monsieur Falcony, who states that a solution of sulphate of zinc is an effectual preservative of animals or animal substances, intended for anatomical examination—it may be used to inject veins, and the effects last a considerable time. Another consideration is, that it is harmless: dissecting-instruments left in the solution for twenty-four hours were not at all injured.
A WORD TO GENTEEL EMIGRANTS
The tide of emigration is rushing so powerfully through the land, that not only labourers and artisans are swept away in its stream, but many of the gentry of the country are beginning to join in the movement, and wonder what they are to do with their young 'olive branches,' 'unless they emigrate to Australia, and found a new home and plant a new family there.' Many of the class have taken this step, and many more are lingering on the brink; and endless and anxious are the inquiries constantly made for the reports transmitted by those adventurous spirits who have led the way to new worlds of enterprise. For the working-classes, all has hitherto been favourable; but for the class above them—the professional man, and the small capitalist—the accounts are not, on the whole, encouraging. 'The labour-market is never overstocked; but,' says a correspondent of a later date, 'I pity the professional men, the doctors and lawyers, who come out, and the clerks, few of whom are wanted, and who find provisions and house-rent much dearer than at home, and to whom the privations they undergo must be great hardships. Men used to the everyday luxuries of a London life, delicate women bred up in habits of expense and idleness, have a severe ordeal to go through on their arrival in that land of work.' The change of climate, and the discomfort of their hastily-raised log-cabin, often entered upon when not half dried, frequently produce fevers, which, at home, would require a long succession of nursing, medical attendance, and afterwards change of air; but with only a help, absent whenever it pleases her, often with no medical advice within reach, a damp and cold house half furnished, an uncertain supply of even common necessaries, and a total absence of all luxuries, it is really surprising that recovery takes place at all. Now, it unfortunately happens, that the previous education of all these emigrants has been directly adverse to that which would have been desirable for such an after-life. Young ladies and gentlemen are taught dependence as a duty of civilised life. Children are naturally independent and active, and would gladly use their activity in helping themselves. How proud is a child to be allowed to do any of the servant's work! and how awful the rebuke that follows the attempt; till at last, poor human nature is cramped, shackled, and gagged.
Hard, then, seems the destiny that removes these pampered children of European society from their luxurious necessaries—the valet, the lady's-maid, and all the other appendages—and leaves them wholly to their own resources, with their self-inflicted ignorance, and their blundering attempts to remedy it.
I have, therefore, to propose to all who intend to emigrate, that they should—before taking a step involving so great an outlay, and the breaking-up of their life here—submit themselves to an ordeal of six or twelve months, in order to ascertain whether, in truth, their bodies and minds are fitted for the situation they are entering upon. Let any gentleman who is thinking of settling in Canada or Australia, take a labourer's cottage in a distant county—a few pounds will supply one infinitely superior in comfort and healthfulness to the log-cabin of the bush that is to be his ultimate destination—let him take a little land and a bit of garden in a good farming county; engage one farm-servant (unless he has sons able to take his place), and a rough country-girl to do the coarse work of the house. The ladies of the family must, of course, perform all the rest: wash all the fine linen, iron, make the beds, sweep the rooms, superintend and assist in the cooking, the dairy, care of the poultry and the pigs; for, of course, such appendages must be indispensable in such an establishment. The gentlemen will work on the farm, cultivate the garden, and gain all the experience they can in manual trades, carpentering and cabinet-making; and thus by degrees the whole family will have their bodies and minds strengthened, and their habits formed for their new work; or they will discover, as many have done when too late to draw back, that the effort is beyond their powers—that the tastes and habits of social life are too closely entwined with their whole being, to leave them the power to withdraw from them at will.
This may seem a forbidding picture, but I can assure them it is very far superior in comfort to the realities they will find in the bush. It is true, that this retirement will effectually withdraw them from their magic circle of friends and luxuries; but let us for a moment compare the two steps, migration and emigration, and ask ourselves if the experiment above mentioned be not worth the trial. In the one, we give up, probably for life, our country, our friends, and generally a part of our family, with all the comforts of a state of law and civilisation; we enter upon a certain and constant life of labour, after a long, tedious voyage; and, if in mature age, bear about with us a never-ceasing yearning for home, which retains its place in our hearts with all the heightened colours with which memory invests it. In the other, we must, it is true, separate ourselves from our long list of acquaintances, and be absent from the dinner-party and the ball; but all our interest in social life will be kept up: we can see at least a weekly newspaper; and although we may have descended a few steps in the social scale, we shall not be obliged to make the acquaintance of convicted felons.
Another view of this plan may be taken. Suppose ten, or twenty, or thirty persons of narrow means were to associate for the purpose of taking some large, old-fashioned house in the country—many such may be found—and agree upon a joint scheme of cheap living and independent labour, plain and economical dress, plain furniture, and a simple but wholesome table: would not this be better than all the risks and privations of expatriation? The Americans do not emigrate—they migrate; and there are spots in any of these three kingdoms, as wild, as solitary, and as healthful, as can be found in the regions of the Far West. But we do not, however, suggest migration as a substitute for genteel emigration—although we suspect it would in many cases prove so—but merely as a step towards it—a school of trial, or training, or both.
COLOURS IN LADIES' DRESS
Incongruity may be frequently observed in the adoption of colours without reference to their accordance with the complexion or stature of the wearer. We continually see a light-blue bonnet and flowers surrounding a sallow countenance, or a pink opposed to one of a glowing red; a pale complexion associated with a canary or lemon yellow, or one of delicate red and white rendered almost colourless by the vicinity of deep red. Now, if the lady with the sallow complexion had worn a transparent white bonnet; or if the lady with the glowing red complexion had lowered it by means of a bonnet of a deeper red colour; if the pale lady had improved the cadaverous hue of her countenance by surrounding it with pale-green, which, by contrast, would have suffused it with a delicate pink hue; or had the face
'Whose red and white,
Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on,'
been arrayed in a light-blue, or light-green, or in a transparent white bonnet, with blue or pink flowers on the inside—how different, and how much more agreeable, would have been the impression on the spectator! How frequently, again, do we see the dimensions of a tall and embonpoint figure magnified to almost Brobdignagian proportions by a white dress, or a small woman reduced to Lilliputian size by a black dress! Now, as the optical effect of white is to enlarge objects, and that of black to diminish them, if the large woman had been dressed in black, and the small woman in white, the apparent size of each would have approached the ordinary stature, and the former would not have appeared a giantess, or the latter a dwarf.—Mrs Merrifield in Art-Journal.
SITTING ON THE SHORE
The tide has ebbed away;
No more wild surgings 'gainst the adamant rocks,
No swayings of the sea-weed false that mocks
The hues of gardens gay:
No laugh of little wavelets at their play;
No lucid pools reflecting heaven's broad brow—
Both storm and calm alike are ended now.
The bare gray rocks sit lone;
The shifting sand lies spread so smooth and dry
That not a wave might ever have swept by
To vex it with loud moan;
Only some weedy fragments blackening thrown
To rot beneath the sky, tell what has been,
But Desolation's self is grown serene.
Afar the mountains rise,
And the broad estuary widens out,
All sunshine; wheeling round and round about
Seaward, a white bird flies;
A bird? Nay, seems it rather in these eyes
An angel; o'er Eternity's dim sea,
Beckoning—'Come thou where all we glad souls be.'
O life! O silent shore
Where we sit patient! O great Sea beyond,
To which we look with solemn hope and fond,
But sorrowful no more!—
Would we were disembodied souls, to soar,
And like white sea-birds wing the Infinite Deep!—
Till then, Thou, Just One, wilt our spirits keep.
