Chambers's Edinburgh Journal, No. 448

The laying down of an under-sea telegraph wire across the Irish Channel, may be taken as a new instance of the indifference consequent on familiarity. When the line was laid from Dover to Calais, the whole land rang with the fact; but now the sinking of a wire three times the length, in a channel three times the width, excites scarcely a remark, and seems to be looked on as a matter of course. The wire, which is eighty miles in length, is said to weigh eighty tons. It was payed out and sunk from the deck of the Britannia, at the rate of from three to five miles an hour, and was successfully laid, from Holyhead to Howth, in from twelve to fifteen hours; and now a message may be flashed from Trieste to Galway in a period brief enough to satisfy the most impatient. The means of travel to the East, too, are becoming tangible in the Egyptian railway, of which some thirty miles are in a state of forwardness, besides which a hotel is to be built at Thebes; so that travellers, no longer compelled to bivouac in the desert, will find a teeming larder and well-aired beds in the land of the Sphinxes. And, better still, among a host of beneficial reforms to take place in our Customs' administration, there is one which provides that the baggage of travellers arriving in the port of London shall be examined as they come up the river, instead of being sent to the Custom-house.

By a report of the Astronomer-royal to the Board of Visitors, who have lately made their annual inspection of the Greenwich Observatory, we are informed, of a singular fact, that observations of the pole-star shew that its position varies some three or four seconds on repeating the observations at intervals of a few months, and this notwithstanding the extreme accuracy of the transit circle. The only explanation which can as yet be given for this phenomenon is, that the earth, solid as it appears, is liable to slight occasional movements or oscillations.

We shall know, in a few weeks, the result of the telegraphic correspondence with the Observatory at Paris—one interesting point being, as to whether the respective longitudes, as at present determined, will be verified by the galvanic test. Besides which, Greenwich time is to be sent every day to London, where a pole, with a huge sliding-ball, has been fixed on the top of the Telegraph Office, near Charing Cross. This ball is to be made to descend at one o'clock simultaneously with the well-known ball which surmounts the Observatory; and thus scientific inquirers—to say nothing of the crowds who will daily throng the footways of the Strand to witness the downcome—will be informed of the true time, while, by means of the wires, it may be flashed to all parts of the kingdom.

The lecture with which Professor Faraday wound up the course at the Royal Institution may be mentioned here, seeing that it adds somewhat to our knowledge of the theory and phenomena of magnetism. As usual, the lecture-room was crowded; and those who could not understand, had at least the satisfaction of being able to say they were present. Mr Faraday, who, enlarging upon his view, announced, a short time since, that there are such things as magnetic lines of force, now contends that these lines have a 'physical character'—a point most satisfactorily proved by sundry experiments during the lecture. The inquiry is one, as Mr Faraday observes, on the 'very edge of science,' trenching on the bounds of speculation; but such as eminently to provoke research. The phenomena, he says, 'lead on, by deduction and correction, to the discovery of new phenomena; and so cause an increase and advancement of real physical truth, which, unlike the hypothesis that led to it, becomes fundamental knowledge, not subject to change.' A chief point of discussion to which the investigations have led is: Whether the phenomena of what we call gravity may not be resolvable into those of magnetism—a force acting at a distance, or by lines of power. 'There is one question,' continues Mr Faraday, 'in relation to gravity, which, if we could ascertain or touch it, would greatly enlighten us. It is, whether gravitation requires time. If it did, it would shew undeniably that a physical agency existed in the course of the line of force. It seems equally impossible to prove or disprove this point; since there is no capability of suspending, changing, or annihilating the power (gravity), or annihilating the matter in which the power resides.' The lines of magnetic force may have 'a separate existence,' but as yet we are unable to tell whether these lines 'are analogous to those of gravitation, acting at a distance; or whether, having a physical existence, they are more like in their nature to those of electric induction or the electric current.' Mr Faraday inclines at present to the latter view. He 'affirms' the lines of magnetic force from actual experiment, and 'advocates' their physical nature 'chiefly with a view of stating the question of their existence; and though,' he adds, 'I should not have raised the argument unless I had thought it both important and likely to be answered ultimately in the affirmative, I still hold the opinion with some hesitation, with as much, indeed, as accompanies any conclusion I endeavour to draw respecting points in the very depths of science—as, for instance, one, two, or no electric fluids; or the real nature of a ray of light; or the nature of attraction, even that of gravity itself; or the general nature of matter.' These are profound views; but we may reasonably conclude, that, however obscure they may at present appear, they will in time be cleared up and further developed by the gifted philosopher from whom they emanate.

Of minor matters which have been more or less talked about, there is the Library for the Working-Classes, just opened in the parish of St Martin-in-the-Fields—a praiseworthy example for other parishes, but not to be followed unless the readers actually exist, and manifest the sort of want which books alone can satisfy. A suggestion has been made, to use for books in hot climates, where paper is liable to rapid decay, the sheet-iron exhibited at Breslau, which is as thin and pliant as paper, and can be produced at the rate of more than 7000 feet to the hundredweight. This would be something new in the application of metal. Metallurgy generally is being further investigated by Leonhard of Heidelberg, who has just called on manufacturers to aid him in his researches, by sending him specimens of scoriæ, particularly of those which are crystallised. Then there is Mr Hesketh's communication to the Institute of British Architects, 'On the Admission of Daylight into Buildings, particularly in the Narrow and Confined Localities of Towns;' in which, after shewing that the proportion of light admitted to buildings is generally inadequate to their cubical contents, and means for estimating the numerical value of that which really does enter, he states that the defect may be remedied by the use of reflectors, contrived so as to be 'neither obstructive nor unsightly.' He explains, that 'a single reflector may generally be placed on either the outside or inside of a window or skylight, so as to throw the light from the (perhaps small) portion of sky which remains unobscured overhead, to any part in which more light is required.' Such difficulties of position or construction as present themselves, 'may be overcome in almost every case, by, as it were, cutting up the single reflector into strips, and arranging them one above the other, either in the reveal of the window, or in some other part where it will not interfere with ventilation, or the action of the sashes.' This is adopting the principle on which improved lighthouse reflectors are constructed; and we are told, that 'the combinations may be arranged horizontally, vertically, or obliquely, according to the positions of the centre of the unobscured portion of sky, and of the part into which the light is to be thrown, and according to the shape of the opening in which the combination is to be placed.' As a case in point, it was mentioned that a reflector 'had been fitted to a vault (at the Depôt Wharf, in the Borough) ninety-six feet in depth from front to back. The area into which the window opens is a semicircle, with a heavy iron-grating over it; and the result is, that small print can be easily read at the far end of the vault.' It is a fact worth knowing, that reflectors may be so constructed as to throw all the available daylight into any required direction; and in one instance the reflector may be made to serve at the same time as a dwarf venetian window-blind. Instead of wooden splats or laths, flat glass tubes or prisms are used, fitted into the usual framework, and these being silvered on the inside, throw all the light that falls on them into the room, when placed at the proper angle.

Again, the possibility of locomotion without the aid of steam is talked about, and the New Yorkers are said to be about to send over a large ship driven by Ericsson's caloric engine, which is to prove as powerful as vapour at one-half of the cost—a fact of which we shall be better able to judge when the vessel really arrives. Then, looking across the Channel, we find the Abbé Moigno proposing to construct and establish a relief model of Europe in the Bois de Boulogne at Paris, of a size to cover several acres, and with the railways of iron, and the rivers of water, by which means one of the most interesting and instructive of sights would be produced, and the attractions of the Trench capital greatly increased. A desirable project—but the cost! The Montyon prize of 2000 francs has been awarded to M. Mosson, for his method of drying and preserving vegetables for long sea voyages, as published a few months ago. M. Naudin states, that a certain kind of furze or thistle, of which cattle are very fond, may be made to grow without thorns—an important consideration, seeing that at present, before it can be used as food, it has to undergo a laborious beating, to crush and break the prickles with which it is covered. As the plant thrives best on poor soils, which might otherwise lie useless, the saving of this labour will be a great benefit to the French peasantry; and the more so, as it appears the plant will grow in its new state from seed. M. Naudin believes, that the condition of other vegetable productions may be varied at pleasure, and promises to lay his views shortly before the Académie. M. Lecoq, director of the Botanical Garden at Claremont, informs the same body of something still more extraordinary, in a communication, entitled 'Two Hundred, Five Hundred, or even a Thousand new Vegetables, created ad libitum.' Having been struck by the fact, that the ass so often feeds upon the thistle, he took some specimens of that plant, and, by careful experiment, has succeeded in producing for the table 'a savoury vegetable, with thorns of the most inoffensive and flexible sort.' Whatever be the kind of thistle, however hard and sharp its thorns, he has tamed and softened them all, his method of transformation being, as he says, none other than exposing the plants to different influences of light. Those which grew unsheltered, he places in the dark, and vice versâ. Familiar examples are given in the celery, of which the acrid qualities are removed by keeping off the light; while the pungency of cress, parsley, &c., is increased by exposure to the sun. M. Lecoq has not yet detailed all his experiments; but he asserts that, before long, some of our commonest weeds, owing to his modifications, will become as highly esteemed as peas or asparagus. Let him shew that his process is one that admits of being applied cheaply and on a large scale, and he will not fail of his reward.

A QUALIFIED INSTRUCTOR

It will be found that the ripest knowledge is best qualified to instruct the most complete ignorance. It is a common mistake to suppose that those who know little suffice to inform those who know less; that the master who is but a stage before the pupil can, as well as another, shew him the way; nay, that there may even be an advantage in this near approach between the minds of teacher and of taught; since the recollection of recent difficulties, and the vividness of fresh acquisition, give to the one a more living interest in the progress of the other. Of all educational errors, this is one of the gravest. The approximation required between the mind of teacher and of taught is not that of a common ignorance, but of mutual sympathy; not a partnership in narrowness of understanding, but that thorough insight of the one into the other, that orderly analysis of the tangled skein of thought; that patient and masterly skill in developing conception after conception, with a constant view to a remote result, which can only belong to comprehensive knowledge and prompt affections. With whatever accuracy the recently initiated may give out his new stores, he will rigidly follow the precise method by which he made them his own; and will want that variety and fertility of resource, that command of the several paths of access to a truth, which are given by thorough survey of the whole field on which he stands. The instructor needs to have a full perception, not merely of the internal contents, but also of the external relations, of that which he unfolds; as the astronomer knows but little, if, ignorant of the place and laws of moon and sun, he has examined only their mountains and their spots. The sense of proportion between the different parts and stages of a subject; the appreciation of the size and value of every step; the foresight of the direction and magnitude of the section that remains, are qualities so essential to the teacher, that without them all instruction is but an insult to the learner's understanding. And in virtue of these it is that the most cultivated minds are usually the most patient, most clear, most rationally progressive; most studious of accuracy in details, because not impatiently shut up within them as absolutely limiting the view, but quietly contemplating them from without in their relation to the whole. Neglect and depreciation of intellectual minutiæ are characteristics of the ill-informed; and where the granular parts of study are thrown away or loosely held, will be found no compact mass of knowledge, solid and clear as crystal, but a sandy accumulation, bound together by no cohesion, and transmitting no light. And above and beyond all the advantages which a higher culture gives in the mere system of communicating knowledge, must be placed that indefinable and mysterious power which a superior mind always puts forth upon an inferior; that living and life-giving action, by which the mental forces are strengthened and developed, and a spirit of intelligence is produced, far transcending in excellence the acquisition of any special ideas. In the task of instruction, so lightly assumed, so unworthily esteemed, no amount of wisdom would be superfluous and lost; and even the child's elementary teaching would be best conducted, were it possible, by Omniscience itself. The more comprehensive the range of intellectual view, and the more minute the perception of its parts, the greater will be the simplicity of conception, the aptitude for exposition, and the directness of access to the open and expectant mind. This adaptation to the humblest wants is the peculiar triumph of the highest spirit of knowledge.—Martineau's Discourses.

AN AMERICAN RIVER

The picturesque banks of the river Connecticut are dotted with charming little villages, that break here and there upon the sight like feathers of light, dancing among the willow leaves; there is such a dazzling irregularity of house and hill—so much fairy-like confusion of vista, landscape, and settlement. Now we pass a tiny white and vine-clad cottage, that looks as if it had been set down yesterday; now we sweep majestically by an ambitious young town, with its two, three, or half-a-dozen church-spires, sending back the lines of narrow light into the water; anon we glide past a forest of majestic old trees, that seem to press their topmost buds against the fleecy clouds floating in the blue sky; and through these forests we catch glimpses of the oriole, dashing through the boughs like a flake of fire.—Yankee Stories, by Howard Paul.

CHOOSE THE SUNNY SIDE OF THE STREET

The sunny side of the street should always be chosen as a residence, for its superior healthfulness. In some barracks in Russia, it was found that in a wing where no sun penetrated, there occurred three cases of sickness for every single case which occurred on that side of the building exposed to the sun's rays. All other circumstances were equal—such as ventilation, size of apartments, &c., so that no other cause for this disproportion seemed to exist. In the Italian cities, this practical hint is well known. Malaria seldom attacks the set of apartments or houses which are freely open to the sun; while, on the opposite side of the street, the summer and autumn are very unhealthful, and even dangerous.

A DREAM OF DEATH

'Where shall we sail to-day?'Thus said, methought,A Voice—that could be only heard in dreams:And on we glided without mast or oars,A fair strange boat upon a wondrous sea.Sudden the land curved inward, to a bayBroad, calm; with gorgeous sea-flowers waving slowBeneath the surface—like rich thoughts that moveIn the mysterious deep of human hearts.But towards the rounded shore's embracing arm,The little waves leaped, singing, to their death;And shadowy trees drooped pensive over them,Like long-fringed lashes over sparkling eyes.So still, so fair, so rosy in the dawnLay that bright bay: yet something seemed to breathe,Or in the air, or trees, or lisping waves,Or from the Voice, ay near as one's own soul—'There was a wreck last night!'A wreck?—and whereThe ship, the crew?—All gone. The monumentOn which is writ no name, no chronicle,Laid itself o'er them with smooth crystal smile.'Yet was the wreck last night!'And, gazing down,Deep down beneath the surface, we were 'wareOf cold dead faces, with their stony eyesUplooking to the dawn they could not see.One stirred with stirring sea-weeds: one lay prone,The tinted fishes glancing o'er his breast:One, caught by floating hair, rocked daintilyOn the reed-cradle woven by kind Death.'The wreck has been,' then said the deep low Voice,(Than which not Gabriel's did diviner sound,Or sweeter—when the stern, meek angel spake:'See that thou worship not! Not me, but God!')'The wreck has been, yet all things are at peace,Earth, sea, and sky. The dead, that while we sleptStruggled for life, now sleep and fear no storm:O'er them let us not weep when God's heaven smiles.'So we sailed on above the diamond sands,Bright sea-flowers, and dead faces white and calm,Till the waves rocked us in the open sea,And the great sun arose upon the world.

THE EXECUTIONER IN ALGERIA

Every day, morning and evening, says our widow, 'I see a Moor pass along the street; all his features beam with kindness and serenity. A sword, or rather a long yataghan, is slung in his girdle; all the Arabs salute him with respect, and press forward to kiss his hand. This man is a chaouch or executioner—an office considered so honourable in this country, that the person invested with it is regarded as a special favourite of Heaven, intrusted with the care of facilitating the path of the true believer from this lower world to the seventh heaven of Mohammed.—A Residence in Algeria, by Madame Prus.

Just Published, Price 6d. Paper Cover,

CHAMBERS'S POCKET MISCELLANY: forming a Literary Companion for the Railway, the Fireside, or the Bush.

VOLUME VIIITo be continued in Monthly Volumes

1

Japan and the Japanese. By Captain Golownin. London: Colburn & Co. 1852.

2

Sagi is the strong drink of Japan, distilled from rice.