Chambers's Journal of Popular Literature, Science, and Art, No. 730

'In the place where the observations were made, there are a large number of wires, travelling under the floor, through the test-box, along passages to the battery-room and to a pole on the outside, whence they radiate, or out to a pipe underground, where many gutta-percha-covered wires lie side by side. On applying the ear to a telephone joined into a circuit working in such an office a curious sound is heard, comparable most nearly to the sound of a pot boiling. But the practised ear could soon separate the boiling into distinct sounds. There was one masterful Morse instrument – probably on the wire lying nearest the one on which we were joined up – whose peremptory "click, cli-i-i-ck, click," representing "dot, dash, dot" on the printed slip we read from, could be heard over all. Then there was the rapid whir of a Wheatstone fast-speed transmitter, sending dots and dashes at express speed by mechanical means; the sharp well-pronounced rattle in sounds of equal length of a needle instrument; and most curious of all, the "rrrrr-op, rr-op, rrrrrrrrrrrrr-op, rrrrr-op, rr-op" of the A B C, the deadliest foe to the telephone in its endeavours to gain admission into the family of telegraph instruments. There may be reason in this, for as the Wheatstone A B C is the instrument used for private telegraphy, or for the least important public offices, because it requires no "code" to be learned by the manipulator, so it would likely be the first to be displaced if an acoustic telegraph permanently took the field. So the sentient little A B C opens its mitrailleuse fire on the intruder, on whose delicate currents, in the words of an accomplished electrician, it plays "old harry." The peculiar character of the sounds we borrow on the telephone from this instrument arises from the fact that as the needle flies round the dial, a distinct current or pulsation passes for each letter, and the final "op" we have tried to represent shews the stoppage of the needle at the letters as words were spelled out.

'It must not be understood that the sounds of those various instruments are actually heard in the telephone. What happens is, that the currents stealing along the telephone wire by induction produce vibrations in the diaphragm of that instrument, the little metal membrane working on the magnet in ready response to every current set up in the latter. When it is remembered that the principle of the telephone is that the sound-caused vibrations in the filmy diaphragm at one end create similar but magnetically-caused vibrations in the diaphragm at the other end, and so reproduce the sound, it will be obvious why the rapid roll of the A B C currents, or the swift sending of the fast-speed transmitter, when brought by induction into the telephone wire, cause disturbances in the sound vibrations, and thereby cripple the instrument. One instrument of either kind named would have a certain effect, but one Morse or single needle would not have any greatly prejudicial effect. But a number of Morses or needles going together, such as were heard in our experiments, would combine to be nearly as bad as one A B C or fast-speed Morse. So delicate is the diaphragm to sound (and necessarily so), that in all experiments with the telephone itself, such as those with "resistance," or those made at home to test the instrument apart from telegraphic considerations, every sound from without broke in, giving an effect like the well-known "murmur of the shell."

'Joining up our wire now to a more distant station at some miles along the railway, and having on its poles a number of what are known as "heavy" circuits, the pot-boiling sound assumed even more marked characteristics. The A B C no longer affected us; but a number of Morse instruments were in full gear, and the fast-speed transmitter was also at work. While we were listening, the circuit to which we were joined began to work, and the effect was literally electrical. Hitherto we had only borrowed currents – or, seeing they were so unwelcome, we might call them currents thrust upon us – and the sounds, though sharp and incessant, were gentle and rather low. But when the strong current was set up in the wire itself, the listener who held one of our telephones nearly jumped from the floor when an angry "pit-pat, pit-pat, pit-pat-pit" assailed his ear, causing him to drop the instrument as if he had been shot! It was a result none of us had expected, for it did not seem possible that the delicate metal diaphragm and the little magnet of the telephone could produce a sound so intense. Of course it was only intense when the ear was held close to the orifice of the instrument. Held in the hand away from the ear, the telephone now made a first-rate "sounder," and we could tell without difficulty not only the signals that were passing, but found in it a more comfortable tone than that given by the Morse sounder in common use.

'Other experiments of a like character led to results so similar, that they may be left unnoticed; and we proceed now to describe one of a different character, designed to test the telephone itself. At a distance of about half a mile, access was obtained to a Morse instrument in private use, and joined to the office by "overhouse" wire. Dividing our party and arranging a programme of operations, two remained with a telephone in the office, while other two, of whom the writer was one, proceeded with the second telephone to the distant instrument. By an arrangement which a practical telegraphist will understand, the key of the Morse was kept in circuit, so that signals could be exchanged in that way. It may be noticed, however, that this was hardly necessary, as the diaphragm of the telephone can be used as a key, with the finger or a blunt point, so that dot and dash signals are interchangeable, should the voice fail to be heard. As the wire in this instance travelled almost alone over part of its course, we were in hopes that induced currents would be conspicuous by their absence. In this we were, however, disappointed, for the pot was boiling away, rather more faintly, but with the "plop-plop-plop" distinctly audible, and once more a sharp masterful Morse click was heard coming in now and again. The deadly A B C was, however, absent, so that our experiment proved highly successful. For some reason or another – probably an imperfect condition of the wire, or the effects of "induction" over and above what made itself audible to us – the spoken sounds were deficient in distinctness; but songs sung at either end were very beautifully heard, and indeed the sustained note of sung words had always a better carrying-power than rapidly spoken words. Every syllable, and every turn of melody of such a song as My Mother bids me bind my Hair, sung by a lady at one end, or When the Heart of a Man, sung at the other, could be distinctly heard, but with the effect before noticed, that the voice was muffled or shut in, as if the singer were in a cellar, while it was not always possible to say at once whether the voice was that of a man or a woman.

'In the course of some domestic experiments, it was remarked that in playing the scale downwards from C in alt. on the piano, the result to the listener was a "tit" only for the four upper notes, although all below that had a clear "ting," and the octaves below were mostly distinct, although at the low notes of the piano the sound was again lost. The ringing notes of a musical box were not so successful, but with close attention, its rapid execution of Tommy Dodd could be well enough made out. An endeavour was made to catch the ticking of a watch, but this was not successful, and the experiment is not recommended, as the near presence of a watch to a magnet is not desirable; and the watch exposed to it in this instance was, it is thought, affected for a short time thereafter, although it received no permanent damage.

'The observations made in the course of these experiments convinced those present that the telephone presents facilities for the dangerous practice of "tapping the wires," which may make it useful or dangerous, according as it is used for proper or improper purposes. It might be an important addition for a military commander to make to his flying cavalry; as an expert sound-reader, accompanying a column sent to cut off the enemy's telegraph connections, might precede the act of destruction by robbing him of some of his secrets. The rapidity and simplicity of the means by which a wire could be "milked," without being cut or put out of circuit, struck the whole of the party engaged in the various trials that are described above. Of course the process of tapping by telephone could not be carried out if the instrument in use was an A B C or single needle, or if the wire was being worked duplex or with a fast-speed Morse, for in these cases the sounds are too rapid or too indefinite to be read by ear. The danger is thus limited to ordinary sounder or Morse telegraphs; but these still form the mainstay of every public system.

'Since the trials above described were made, the newspapers have recorded a beautiful application by Sir William Thomson, of the electric part of the telephone to exhibit at a distance the motions of an anemometer; the object being to shew the force of air-currents in coal-mines. This is a useful application of an electric fact, and doubtless points the way to further discoveries. But it is to be noticed that the experiment, interesting as it is, hardly comes under the head of a telephone, what is reproduced at a distance being not sound but motion.

'Obviously the invention cannot rest where it is; and no one more readily than the practical telegraphist will welcome an instrument at once simple, direct, and reliable. Even in its present form the telephone may be successfully used where its wire is absolutely isolated from all other telegraph wires. But the general impression is that its power of reproducing the sound must be intensified before its use can become general even as a substitute in works or offices for the speaking-tube.'

SINGING MICE

These interesting animals are said to be smaller than ordinary mice, to be usually of a brownish colour, and to have long ears. Naturalists have not come to any exact reason as to why they sing. Some persons impute the singing to disease, as in the wheezing of any one from a cold. Others attribute it to an internal parasite. But these seem unsatisfactory explanations; for when the little creatures sing they are as lively as common domestic mice. The faculty of singing in a small way with various modulations appears to be quite natural to the animals. It has been noticed that during their musical performances there is a throbbing in the throat, and that the snout is elevated in giving play to the voice, as in the warbling of birds. The song or warble of these mice is said to be sweet and varied. Hitherto not much attention has been given by zoologists to the phenomenon; but we observe by various notices in Land and Water and in Nature, two periodicals devoted to pleasant discussions on subjects of natural history, &c., that singing mice are becoming objects of careful investigation.

An amusing account of a singing mouse appears in Nature, Nov. 9, from the pen of Mr Joseph Sidebotham, dating from Menton, south of France.

'Last winter we occupied the rooms we now do at Menton. Early in February we heard as we thought the song of a canary, and fancied it was outside our balcony; however, we soon discovered that the singing was in our salon, and that the songster was a mouse. At that time the weather was rather cold, and we had a little fire, and the mouse spent most of the day under the fender, where we kept it supplied with bits of biscuit. In a few days it became quite tame, and would come on the hearth in an evening and sing for several hours. Sometimes it would climb up the chiffonier and ascend a vase of flowers to drink at the water, and then sit and sing on the edge of the table and allow us to go quite near to it without ceasing its warble. One of its favourite haunts was the wood-basket, and it would often sit and sing on the edge of it. On February 12, the last night of the Carnival, we had a number of friends in our salon, and the little mouse sang most vigorously, much to their delight and astonishment, and was not in the least disturbed by the talking. In the evening the mouse would often run about the room and under the door into the corridor and adjoining rooms, and then return to its own hearth. After amusing us for nearly a month, it disappeared; and we suspect it was caught in a trap set in one of the rooms beyond. The mouse was small and had very large ears, which it moved about much whilst singing. The song was not unlike that of the canary in many of its trills, and it sang quite as beautifully as any canary, but it had more variety, and some of its notes were much lower, more like those of the bullfinch. One great peculiarity was a sort of double song, which we had now and then – an air with an accompaniment. The air was loud and full, the notes being low and the accompaniment quite subdued. Some of our party were sure that there was more than one mouse, until we had the performance from the edge of the wood-basket and were within a yard or two of it. My son has suggested that many or all mice may have the same power, but that the notes are usually so much higher in the scale that, like the cry of the dormouse and the bat, they are at the verge of the pitch to which the human ear is sensitive. This may be so; but the notes of our mouse were so low, and even the highest so far within the limits of the human ear, that I am inclined to think the gift of singing in mice is but of very rare occurrence.'

In the same periodical, the following additional particulars as regards singing mice are presented by Mr George J. Romanes, Regent's Park.

'Several years ago I received some of these animals from a friend, and kept them in confinement for one or two months. The description which your correspondent gives of their performance leaves very little to be added by me, as in all respects this description agrees perfectly with my own observations. I write, however, to remark one curious fact about the singing of these mice, namely, that it seemed to be evoked by two very opposite sets of conditions. When undisturbed, the little animals used for the most part to remain quiet during the day, and begin to sing at night; but if at any time they were alarmed, by handling them or otherwise, whether during the day or night, they were sure to sing vigorously. Thus the action seemed to be occasioned either by contentment or by fear. The character of the song, however, was slightly different in the two cases.

'That these mice did not learn this art from singing birds there can be no doubt, for they were captured in a house where no such birds were kept. It may be worth while to add that this house (a London one) seemed to have been suddenly invaded, so to speak, by a number of these animals, for although my friend has lived in this house since the year 1862, it was only during a few months that singing mice were heard in it, and during these few months they were heard in considerable numbers.'

As corroborative of the foregoing notices, we give the following very interesting account of a singing mouse, obligingly sent to us by a correspondent, Mr Alfred Wright.

'In the early spring of last year I was invited by an old widow lady to see a singing mouse, which she had at night heard singing and scratching beneath the floor of her bed, and been so fortunate as to catch in a trap. I went, and found the little animal in a cage with a revolving wheel, similar to that in which a squirrel is usually confined. Whether the mouse was shy at the presence of a stranger, I do not know. It remained silent; but at length, after my patience had been nearly exhausted, it began to sing in clear warbling notes like those of a bird. When I called the next evening to hear the mouse again, I heard him to perfection; and was so filled with interest in the novelty, that I begged permission to bring any friend who was a sceptic of the fact, or who might desire to see the phenomenon. My request was readily granted. One friend of course had heard of a singing mouse, but he certainly would not allow that a prolonged squeak was a song – not he! Another friend of course had heard a mouse sing when he was a boy; but he was told, he perfectly well remembered, that the noise produced by the mouse was the result of some internal disease. Well, both of these went with me to hear the little creature. Unfortunately, at first it was again shy; but after an interval of silence it commenced to sing – sweetly, like the low notes, the jug, of the nightingale. My friends had come, had heard, and were conquered! The one acknowledged it was really a song and not a squeak; the other, that the noise was certainly dulcet; but still he thought it possibly might be the result of disease, and not natural to the little animal. We suggested that this wonderful natural curiosity (as we deemed it) should be sent to an eminent naturalist who resided near. Great, therefore, was my astonishment and pleasure when it was presented to me, who could only treat it like a schoolboy would his white mouse – as a pet. And truly it became a great pet to both my wife and myself.

'In form, the singing mouse did not differ from his humbler brethren; but in colour he was of a darkish brown, and had very bright eyes. It soon became used to the presence of my wife, and sang constantly while revolving the wheel of his cage. The notes proceeded from the throat. He became exceedingly gentle, and was pleased at being caressed.

'I deemed him so rare a curiosity that I ventured to offer to exhibit him to the distinguished naturalist referred to above, and in my letter described the little creature and its peculiarities, as I have done here. The naturalist most courteously replied: "The case of the singing mouse is very extraordinary, but the fact is now well established… The best account which has ever been published is by an American naturalist, and I have given an abstract of his account in my Descent of Man.

"The American referred to is the Rev. S. Lockwood, author of The American Naturalist, and he gives an account of his observations of the Hesperomys cognatus, an American species, belonging to a genus distinct from that of the English mouse. This little animal gave two chief songs. Mr Lockwood gives both songs in musical notation; and adds, that though this mouse 'had no ear for time,' yet she would keep to the key of B (two flats) and strictly in the major key… Her soft clear voice falls an octave with all the precision possible; then at the wind up it rises again into a very quick trill in C sharp and D." I have made this quotation, as it far better describes the peculiar qualifications of a singing mouse, than my inexperienced observations could announce.

'My mouse remained in contented confinement upwards of a year, feeding upon a little sopped bread and canary-seed; and great was the grief of my wife (who was his keeper) and myself when he was found dead in his little nest. During the previous evening he had been heard singing with more than usual ardour.'

We shall probably return to this interesting subject.

USING UP WASTE SUBSTANCES

The subject denoted by the above title, more than once treated in the Journal, is adverted to by an obliging Lancashire correspondent who, surrounded by one of the busiest and most ingenious clusters of townsmen in England, has had his attention drawn to various substances waiting (as it were), for application to useful purposes. His suggestions are not wholly new, having to some extent been already anticipated; but they are sufficiently valuable to call for notice here.

One relates to the waste that presents itself in the processes of manufacturing cotton. A residue known technically as willowings, that falls into a receptacle during the preparatory beating and disentangling of raw cotton-wool, consists of a dusty heap of seed-husks and short broken fibres. It is used by farmers to absorb the liquid manure of their cowsheds and middens or dung-heaps. Although some of the cottony fibre may be separated through a sieve, so much adheres to the seed-husk as to render it unsuitable for paper-making, for which it has often been tried. The suggestion now made is, that though unfitted for paper, this refuse may possibly be found useful in the manufacture of millboard. Large quantities of this tough and durable product are employed for bookbinding, for making the discs of railway wheels, &c.; and as colour is not a matter of moment, the idea is that the mingled residue of cottony fibre and seed-husk might be rendered available. It is known that millboard made from wood-pulp is imported to a considerable extent from abroad; and we are told that 'a large portion of the private income of the great German Chancellor Prince Bismarck is derived from the manufacture of wood-millboard on his Varzin estate.' Many hundred tons of willowings could be obtained in Lancashire at a very cheap rate, even as low as two shillings per hundredweight.

Another suggestion bears relation to the utilisation of refuse from the manufacture of prussiate of potash, a most valuable product in the hands of the manufacturing chemist. The prussiate is obtained in large ratio from woollen rags, after the separation of all the pieces that can be worked up into shoddy for cheap cloth. The refuse is calcined in cast-iron retorts, lixiviated with water, and drained off for subsequent treatment: leaving behind it a thick black sediment of impure animal charcoal. The suggestion relates to the application of this residue to the manufacture of blacking – a humble but valuable agent for those who appreciate tidiness in the appearance of boots and shoes and economy in the preservation of leather. If useful for this purpose, it might be found advantageous and economical as an ingredient in printers' ink. Whether this carbon residue is at present applied to any other useful purpose, we are not fully informed.

A third suggestion relates to the preparation of animal size for the carpet-manufacture and for that of many kinds of woollen and worsted goods. This size is made from the clippings and scrapings of skins and hides, from rejected scraps of parchment and vellum, and from the worn-out buffalo skin pickers and skips largely used in textile manufactures; also from the pith of cattle-horns, which contain a large amount of valuable gelatine. The suggestion is, to utilise the refuse left after making this size. One large carpet factory in Yorkshire rejects as utterly useless a ton or more of this refuse every week. The horn-pith contains as one of its components phosphate of lime, and is on that account recommended to the notice of the manufacturers of chemical manures on a large scale.

One more suggestion comes from our ingenious correspondent. Old corks are applicable to a greater number of purposes than we are generally in the habit of supposing. That many of them are ground up to make cork-stuffing for cushions, padding, &c. is well known; but there are other uses for them as corks or half corks, besides making floating buoys and life-preservers. A taverner in a Lancashire town covered the floor of his lobby and bar with very open rope-matting, and filled up the openings with old corks cut down to the level of the surface of the mats. This combination is found to be almost indestructible under the feet; while it gives a good grip or foothold. As the making of rope-mats is one of the trades carried on in reformatories and some other large establishments, it is suggested that the managers should take into consideration the feasibility of adding old corks to their store of manufacturing materials.

As this Journal finds its way into every corner of the busy hives of industry, it may possibly be that some of our readers are already acquainted with such applications of waste refuse to useful purposes as those which our esteemed correspondent suggests. But this is a point of minor importance. The primary question is, not whether an idea is absolutely new, but whether it is practicably susceptible of useful application. The history of manufactures teaches us that apparently humble trifles like these have proved to be worth millions sterling to the country.

LET BYGONES BE BYGONES