spheroid—of its surface, oceans, continents, seas, lakes and rivers,
hills, mountains, valleys and plains; of soils made from previously
existing organic or inorganic substances, the detritus of rocks
containing various minerals and small particles of decomposed vegetable
matter. The materials of this outer covering of the earth are from many
different sources, and variously constituted. From the finest grains of
sand, clay, and loam, to pebbles, boulders, and fragments of enormous
dimensions, they are mingled apparently without any fixed order or
proportions; sometimes but slightly covering the solid rock, at others
piling it up in ridges and hills of considerable height. In this surface
formation are included ancient sea-beaches, lake and river terraces,
deltas, deposits of sand and clay, with vast beds of marls, peat and
calcareous tufa,[1] all the progressive accumulations since the present
order of things began. In some of these deposits, more recent than the
Drift[2] period, fossils are abundant and very full of interest. In New
Zealand the bones of a bird[3] were found which exceed in bulk those of
the largest horse, and are now in the museum of the College of Surgeons,
London. The bird when alive was eleven or twelve feet high.
Less than a century ago what might have been a fossil elephant was found
imbedded in ice on the coast of Siberia, and in such a perfect state of
preservation that the people fed their dogs on its flesh. The animal was
well covered with hair, and adapted to a cool climate, a representative
of an extinct race. How it was imbedded, or how long it had been
preserved in that condition, no one knows.
In Great Britain are found fossils of the rhinoceros and hippopotamus,
of elephants, tigers, hyenas and giant elks, all of which are extinct
species. The United States is especially prolific in the remains of huge
mammals. The mastodon and megatherium were doubtless indigenous to this
country. The latter had a thigh bone three times as large as the largest
elephant, and the cavity through which it passed, indicates a spinal cord
an inch in diameter. These largest skeletons were found in Georgia and
South Carolina. Those of the mastodon are numerous, and found in many
different places. Physiographic geology is a study intensely interesting,
and of great practical importance, as it bears directly on many of the
industries of life; but this general notice is sufficient.
LITHOGRAPHIC GEOLOGY.
The ultimate particles of material bodies, of which we know but little,
exert such force or influence on each other as to decide the character of
the mass; even if the atoms are identically the same in substance they
may come together in a way to secure different results. The bulk of the
solid part of the earth is rock, but all rock is not the same. We find
several species of granite, of limestone, and sandstone, a long list. But
the whole may be divided into two classes, stratified and unstratified.
Whatever the two classes seem to have in common, they are not of the same
origin. The first occur in layers or strata, others are crystalline and
massive. The loose materials, such as sand, clay and gravel, that have
accumulated at the bottom of the pond or lake, are found arranged in beds
or parallel layers. The streams carry the materials from the highlands,
and they are at length deposited in the basin, and when hardened become
stratified rocks. As this process is still going on, and recently
formed strata are found approaching the consistency of stone, it is but
reasonable to conclude that all rocks of this class, being formed in like
manner under the water, are of aqueous origin. They are further classed
according to certain peculiarities, either of material or formation.
_Gneiss_, abundant in all parts of New England, is a kind of stratified
granite, of about the same materials, but splits readily into slabs that
are used both for building purposes and flagging stones.
_Mica slate_ resembles gneiss, has the same minerals, but more mica, and
is of a more slaty structure, and the glistening particles of mica abound
in it.
There are several other kinds of slate, named from the minerals that
predominate in them, or the purposes for which they are mostly used.
Roofing slate of excellent quality is extensively quarried in Maine,
Vermont and Massachusetts.
_Quartz_ rock consists mainly of quartz, but often has more or less mica.
_Sandstone_ is of kindred formation, the principal part of which is
quartz, reduced to sand, and the grains more or less firmly united. In
both the colors are various.
_Conglomerate_ consists of water-worn pebbles of various kinds and sizes
cemented together, and sometimes making a strong, compact rock.
_The limestone formations_ are extensive in nearly all countries. In
their structure some are very compact and break with a smooth surface.
Those capable of a fine polish are called marble, the more common uses
of which are well known. The purest crystalline limestone is used in
sculpture; the best quality being obtained from Carrara, Italy, and that
called Parian from the island Paros.
_Chalk_, a useful formation, is a carbonate of lime. In some caves the
dropping of calcareous water forms stalactites, which hang from the
roof like immense icicles, and are often extended till they meet the
accumulations below, called stalagmites, and form beautiful columns. Of
the more than seven hundred crystals from this source alone, and of the
many other varieties of minerals having much in common, and yet enough
that is peculiar to distinguish them, no mention can be made. A careful
reader and close observer will gather from familiar objects a fund of
information of great value.
The parallel strata mentioned are not always horizontal, but sometimes
nearly, if not quite perpendicular. Occasionally a ledge broken quite
through separates, and the rock on one side of the fissure is either
elevated or depressed, making what is called a fault.
The fissures crossing a bed of rock are often filled with a mineral
entirely different from the rock itself. In some cases where the vein is
small the foreign substance may have come in from above or laterally,
deposited from water as in the case of stalactites. The larger fissures
were evidently filled with the melted material thrust up from beneath.
The unstratified rocks are in masses, without fossils of animals or
plants, and of igneous origin. Some of this class were probably formed
later, and by the melting of secondary rocks, but most of them by the
gradual cooling of the central mass containing the melted minerals
embodied in them.
DYNAMIC GEOLOGY
Treats of the forces that move things on or beneath the earth’s surface.
The Drift shows not a little confusion. Things are evidently in an
abnormal condition, and strangely mixed. Some of the disturbing causes
are obvious. Currents of the atmosphere and ocean have done much, but are
not sufficient to account for all the phenomena. Boulders brought from
ledges north of the great western lakes, are found scattered over all the
western states, some much battered on the passage, others bearing only
marks of long exposure to the elements. Deep furrows have been plowed
in the rocks and hill tops over which they passed, at an elevation of
thousands of feet above the level of the sea. Currents of water could
never have lifted such huge masses from the lower to higher levels, or
transported them any such distances. Icebergs or glaciers have evidently
moved over the whole Drift region with fragments of rocks and pebbles
frozen into their lower surface, that, like huge rasps, both cut away and
polished the hardest rocks, at the same time bearing forward the boulders
and whatever else chanced to be held in their cold embrace. There are
other footprints of many and very great changes that have been wrought.
Though many persons have erroneous impressions of the inequalities on the
earth’s surface, the height of the loftiest mountains being but little
when compared with the earth’s diameter, yet there is evidence that the
normal condition has not been preserved. Large districts have, even
within the historic period, been lifted far above their former level,
and others sunk as much below. New islands have appeared in the midst
of the sea, while others have sunk out of sight. Multitudes now live on
what was once the bed of the sea, “in which were things innumerable,
great and small beasts;” and ships sail over territory once covered with
the habitations of living men. Rocks of immense thickness have been
broken and the parts lifted into a vertical position, and many such great
changes have taken place. What wrought them? It is safe to say that
at least two forces have been operating, the one more gradual than the
other. The cooling of the internal mass must cause contraction, which, in
a globe of such dimensions, would be sufficient to break the strongest
rocks constituting its shell. This force, when properly directed, might
lift the rocks, and even throw them back on other strata of more recent
formation. Then the expansive force of the gases within, when raised to
their highest tension, is enough to cause earthquakes, and pour through
the partially opened craters, or where the barriers are made less secure,
floods of lava that are in time changed into rocks of that peculiar
class. The vent will be found where the crust above the struggling giant
is weakest, whether that be on the mountain top where the rocks had been
shoved up into a vertical position, or at the bottom of the sea.
The dynamics of geology suggest problems of no ordinary interest, but our
narrow limits forbid even a statement of them.
MINERALOGY
Is that branch of geology that treats of mineral substances, and teaches
how to distinguish and classify them according to their properties. This
is a wide field for investigation, and so fruitful that the temptation to
linger in it is strong. Mining and work with the products of the mines
engage the industry of so many that it would be especially pleasant to
study with them a subject of such general interest. We relinquish that
privilege, in order to state two or three things that seem thoroughly
established by what is found written in the book of nature, and are in
perfect accord with God’s later scriptures, the Bible, when rightly
interpreted.
1. The first fact is the great age of the earth. Processes are plainly
indicated that must have required not only thousands, but millions of
years for our planet, before man, made in the image of God, entered
it as the theater of his responsible activities. The facts of the
carboniferous[4] period alone discredit, and utterly overthrow the theory
which limits the days of creation to six of twenty-four hours each. The
Bible gives the order of the successive creations, but does not fix the
age of the things created. The word translated day often means an _age_
or an indefinite number of years, as is seen by referring to the places
where it is found. Give it this well established meaning in the first
chapter of Genesis, and all is plain. There was time for millions of
races of inferior creatures to live and die before the divine plans and
works were consummated, and the earth became a suitable abode for the
human race.
2. The second great fact is that all things were made on a plan, and in
some connection. There are no isolated objects or superfluous parts in
the physical world. The number may be countless, and the forms given them
reveal an endless variety, but each has its connections, and all the
parts are necessary to a perfect whole.
3. Another lesson is learned from the mute witnesses, which is that,
while a long succession of races of animals, for which the earth,
in its different stages of progress was a fit abode, existed, each
higher in rank than its predecessor, the several races had distinctive
characteristics, as the _radiates_, _mollusks_, _articulates_, and
_vertebrates_. A lower species, when its purpose is served, becomes
extinct, and is succeeded by a higher.
CHEMISTRY,
By analyzing compound and compounding simple substances, discovers their
elementary properties, the forces that are resident in matter, and the
laws that govern them. It demonstrates by experiments the affinity of
ultimate particles, and of gases of unlike kinds for each other, an
affinity which produces homogeneous compounds, often very unlike the
elements that unite in forming them. The chemist has much to do with
physical objects, but in handling them his appropriate business is to
consider the changes produced by chemical attraction in all bodies,
whether solid, liquid, or gaseous.
GEOGRAPHY
Is an ancient science, suitable for schools of all grades, and not for
primary and intermediate departments alone. The child can treasure many
of the facts that, if held in the memory, will be of use to him as he
advances in years and knowledge, but his geography will benefit him
little unless it is studied when his faculties are more mature. One who
despises this study as beneath him, knows nothing yet of the important
science as he ought.
PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY
Has many things in common with both astronomy and geology, as it
discusses the physical condition of the earth and its relations as a
member of the solar system; describes its great natural divisions of
land and water; and takes account of dynamic forces, such as aerial and
oceanic currents, that are constantly causing important changes. The
whole exterior structure of the earth, the phenomena of rain and dew,
fog, frost, and snow, are geographical questions, to be discussed with
special reference to the general laws or principles involved. It shows
unity in the midst of diversity, and constancy of phenomena in the midst
of apparent changes.
MATHEMATICAL GEOGRAPHY
Treats of the form and size of the earth, of the construction of globes
to represent it; determines the latitude and longitude of places on its
surface, and all geographical problems pertaining to numbers, distances,
and magnitudes.
POLITICAL GEOGRAPHY
Describes, in a general way, the countries and nations of men as they
are politically divided, defines their boundaries, and to some extent
characterizes their social and civil institutions. A great advance has
been made in this branch during the present century. People respecting
whom little was known, have come into the family of nations. The maps
have been changed, and generally in a way that indicates the rapid
progress of civilization. Asia has been so thoroughly explored that our
general knowledge of the country may be regarded as nearly complete. No
great _terra incognita_ remains in that quarter, though fuller and more
precise knowledge respecting the people in some parts is yet much to be
desired. The interior of Africa is still but partially known, though the
work of discovery has been pushed forward with considerable enterprise,
and a host of explorers have struggled to penetrate the mystery that
enveloped, for ages, that great division of the globe. The Upper Nile
country has been explored far beyond the region assigned on the maps to
the “Mountains of the Moon,” and all know the intense anxiety that is
to-day felt for the safety of General Gordon and his little garrison,
still shut up in Khartoum.
The study of geography, rightly pursued, is remunerative, full of
inspiration, and as intensely interesting as any in the whole circle of
physical sciences.
BIOLOGY
Is scientific discourse about life and vital forces. We give it a high
position in the circle, since vitality is superior to either chemical
or mechanical laws, suspending or modifying them for the production of
organized structures of plants and animals. Even _vegetable biology_
confronts us with that mystery of mysteries, life, which is quite
inexplicable. We can only say it is a peculiar, indefinable something,
necessary to the existence of such organisms, and without which they soon
sink in ruinous decay.
The living germ is the determining power that shapes the organic body,
and every germ will have its own body. Under no possible culture can the
acorn develop into an animal. It will produce an oak, a tree of its own
species, and nothing else can grow from it. So also of the animal germ.
The form or kind is as determinate while the embryo is yet in the egg, as
it will ever be. The life once begun in everything that lives and grows,
there is a power that takes hold of the elements nature has in store for
it, and, by a most wonderful transformation, works them up into its own
body; and this power of assimilation must forever distinguish it from all
lifeless inorganic matter.
The mystery deepens when we notice that living things exist in
generations. The plant has seed in itself for the production of another
plant. It has life in itself, and power to vitalize its successors. The
products of the field and the forest grow and mature, then wither and
decay; but they have successors of the same kind.
So human beings exist in successive generations. One generation passeth
away, and another cometh, and so the race lives on. While alike in their
power of assimilation and reproduction, there is a wide difference
between the vegetable and the animal. They have not the same organs,
and do not subsist on the same food. The plant is constantly consuming
carbonic acid, and giving out oxygen, while animals consume the oxygen,
and restore to the atmosphere carbonic acid. The difference of their
physical structure, and their different relations to inorganic matter,
suggest a wide difference in the “bios” or life, that animates them.
Just what that difference is, no one can tell. It is a question for
which science furnishes no answer. In his physical organization man
differs but little from the lower animals. In this he is brother to the
beasts that perish, having the same nature, needs, and liabilities. If
he is “fearfully and wonderfully made,” so are they; in agility and
strength many of them far surpass him. His peculiarities of form and
structure do not secure, and, it may be safely said, were not intended
to secure physical superiority, but rather to fit the organization
for the indwelling of the rational soul, that is his distinguishing
characteristic.
PHYSICAL ASTRONOMY
Has been made the subject of much diligent research and study. Some facts
respecting the physical elements and structure of the sun and planets
have been ascertained with reasonable certainty, but much is still in
doubt. Assuming that the essential properties of matter are the same
everywhere, we may tell with assurance of what the sun and stars are
made, provided all solar and stellar phenomena are explained by physical
laws that are understood, and in operation around us. This has been done
in part, but not so as to harmonize the views of all astronomers. Since
the use of the spectroscope[5] results have been more satisfactory, and
on some questions of much interest, conjecture and theory have given
place to certainty. By the decomposition of sunbeams or pencils of solar
light, the refracted rays show the presence of several distinct chemical
elements. Finding by a qualitative analysis that there is iron, copper,
zinc, nickel, sodium, and other terrestrial substances in the solar and
stellar spectra, we know that they enter into the composition of those
celestial bodies. But in what proportions or combinations they exist is
not known.
METEOROLOGY AND AEROLITES.
Who has not seen a shooting star? For a moment the bright objects dart
through greater or less spaces in the heavens, and then disappear. Those
of inferior size give but little light, and are seldom seen unless
the eye is, at the time, directed toward the space they traverse.
Occasionally one flames out with such brilliancy as to light up, for a
moment, the whole heavens. These are called meteors—a name quite proper
for both classes, and only the very ignorant suppose any of them to be
real stars. They come singly, two or three in an hour, or in showers,
such as were witnessed in 1833. When of such size that they strike the
earth before being consumed by their intense heat, they are aerolites,
or meteoric stones. Great masses of these are found in different places,
and show such a peculiar combination of their chemical elements as to
distinguish them from all other stones; and mineralogists generally
conclude they were not formed on the earth. Whence they come is not
certainly known. That they were formed by an aggregation of their
materials in our atmosphere seems incredible. Nor were they thrown off
by some great convulsion, from the moon, with force sufficient to carry
them beyond the attraction of that body. Perhaps most astronomers now
believe, on what they think sufficient evidence, that the celestial
spaces are occupied by innumerable small bodies moving round the sun,
of whose nature and orbits nothing is certainly known. The earth,
it is supposed, while making its annual circuit, must be constantly
encountering them, and, as in passing rapidly through the upper region
of the atmosphere they take fire and burn, the shooting star or meteor
is simply the light of that flame. The mechanical production of heat,
now well understood, shows why they burn. The rapid motion of the earth,
especially if it be duplicated by that of the minute body striking
through its atmosphere, would generate heat sufficient to quite consume
the meteoroids; so that generally their solid substance is dissipated
before they reach the ground. Sometimes the heated aerolite explodes when
in such proximity to the earth that the fragments fall before they are
consumed.
THE AURORA.
That most interesting atmospheric phenomena, the Aurora Borealis, though
so familiar, has never been fully explained. It is rarely seen in
equatorial latitudes, but increases in frequency and brightness as we go
north, even to the arctic circle.
In this latitude all observers may at times notice two distinct forms of
the aurora. The one, as we often see it, has a cloud-like appearance,
with a soft radiance permeating it, and seems a vast, irregular patch
of mellow light, ever changing, and at times showing a slightly reddish
or purple tinge. It is more frequently seen near the northern horizon,
having the form of a beautiful arch, the ends of the segment apparently
resting on the horizon, and the middle, or crown, a few degrees above
it. The other takes the form of streamers, reaching far up toward the
zenith. Gently curved, like the celestial sphere on which they are
projected, they are not stationary, but almost constantly in motion,
but soon resuming their former position, spreading themselves out like
immense flags, with their numerous silken folds, ever dancing, quivering,
undulating, as if stirred by some gentle breeze, though all else seems in
calm repose. To say that the phenomena are electrical, would, probably,
not be the whole truth, though evidence is not wanting that the aurora
is in some way connected with the electricity and magnetism of the
earth and its atmosphere. Practical telegraphists testify that during a
brilliant display of “northern lights” such strong, irregular currents of
electricity pass along the wires that it is difficult to send a dispatch;
at other times the currents are so strong that they can communicate
without the battery.
There is, perhaps, about as much against the theory of a purely
electrical origin, as in its favor, and, on the whole, we conclude
that the Aurora Borealis is one of the things respecting which modern
observations have suggested more difficulties than modern science is yet
able to explain.
HOME STUDIES IN CHEMISTRY AND PHYSICS.
BY PROF. J. T. EDWARDS, D. D.
Director of the Chautauqua School of Experimental Science.
FIRE.—PHYSICAL PROPERTIES.
Clearness, accuracy, and brevity are the essentials of good definition.
That it is no easy task to combine these, every teacher realizes.
Perhaps it is near the truth to say that fire is that operation in
nature which at the same time evolves heat and light. The _operation_
is, at the present time, supposed to be a certain vibration of ethereal
or more solid substances. All matter is in motion. Whence this motion
was first derived no philosopher can tell, unless he goes back to that
primal source of both matter and motion, which in the beginning created
the heavens and the earth, and said, “Let there be light, and there was
light.”
Prof. James Dwight Dana[1] declares that the first act of creative power
must have been heralded throughout the universe by a flash of light. Thus
the geologist unites with the scriptural narrator, in the statement that
light and heat belonged to the first day of creation, although scoffers
for a long time ridiculed the idea that light could exist without the sun.
All space is supposed to be filled with a substance called ether, and
that it permeates even solid material. When, for any reason, the natural
motion of the molecules of matter is much increased, these molecules
have the power of imparting their vibration to the ether in contact with
them, and that in turn may produce vibrations in other substances, and if
these vibrations come in contact with the nerves of touch, there follows
the sensation of warmth or heat. If the vibrations of the ether are
still more rapid, when they fall upon the retina, we have the sensation
of sight, and we call the agent light. Heat and light, then, are the
same. In one instance the vibration is capable of affecting one set of
nerves, and in the other, two sets of nerves. The heat-vibration can be
discovered by the sense of touch alone, but the light-vibration may be
detected both by the eye and the touch.
This variation in sensations, when produced by the same cause, may be
illustrated as follows: Apply some salt to the tongue, and place some
also in a wound, the two sensations are entirely unlike. Again, the
vibrations of a body may be so slow that we can discover them by touch,
as showing resistance, or so rapid that they are reported to the ear
as a shrill sound, or they may be increased so intensely as to evolve
heat, and if still more increased in rapidity, affect the eye as light.
The spectrum affords us still another illustration of this truth. Pass
through a prism a single ray of light, lo, it appears on the screen in
all the colors of the rainbow. Nor is this all; _between_ the bright
colors, and _beyond_ the violet and the red are invisible lines, and the
various parts of the spectrum, although all are produced by the one ray,
are capable of creating quite different results. If one should place
a delicate thermopile below the red color, it at once reports heat,
although the eye sees nothing there. The beautiful colors of the spectrum
flash their light into the eye, raise the temperature of the thermometer
and affect chemical transformations, while, still more wonderful, the
dark lines above the violet, though unseen and not indicated by the
thermopile, act upon the sensitized plate of the photographer with
decided chemical force. Thus changes in vibrations as to rapidity, length
and direction make changes in the resulting sensations.
Light-waves are always heat-waves, and heat-waves may, by increasing the
rapidity of the vibrations, become light-waves. It will be observed that
three of our senses are close akin. Hearing, feeling (as regards warmth)
and seeing are all produced by vibrations. It is quite in accord with the
doctrine of modern science to believe that the morning stars did “sing
together,” for light is essentially rhythmic, and to senses adapted to
the perception of their harmonies, the sunbeams would make music. The
various colors of the spectrum differ solely in the wave-lengths of their
vibrations. The red corresponds to low pitch in music and the violet to
high pitch. As the vibrations of air striking upon the ear increase in
rapidity, the sound rises in the scale. There is this difference between
the ear and the eye—the former, if trained, can detect all the tones in a
chord of music, while the latter, however cultivated, can not discern the
varied colors blended in white light.
There must be sixteen vibrations in a second to produce a continuous
sound. When these vibrations reach thirty-eight thousand in a second they
become inaudible.
Eisenlohr[2] informs us that the red color in the spectrum has four
hundred and fifty-eight trillion vibrations in a second, and extreme
violet seven hundred and twenty-seven trillions. The former yields 37,640
waves in an inch, and the latter 59,750 waves in the same space. Now
mark another beautiful analogy between sound and sight. In looking at
the spectrum we can not discern the light or heat below the red color,
because the waves are so slow. Ascending the gamut of color, the rapidity
of the vibrations increases, until just _beyond_ the violet it becomes so
great that the eye can detect no color.
[Illustration: MECHANICAL ENERGY TRANSFORMED INTO ELECTRICITY.
_Ex._—The boy on the insulated stool is repeatedly struck with some furry
substance, like a tiger skin. He becomes highly electrical and capable of
emitting sparks.]
The same fact is discovered in the world of sound—beginning with
vibrations which are too slow to be heard at all, we ascend the scale
eleven octaves, when the vibrations become so rapid as to be inaudible.
Complete darkness may be caused by either too slow or too rapid
vibrations of light and heat, and utter silence by the same conditions in
the sound waves.
SOURCES OF LIGHT AND HEAT.
These are five in number: The sun and stars, chemical action, percussion,
friction and electricity. Stars are suns, but at a vast distance from our
earth, the nearest being twenty trillions of miles away. To other systems
they doubtless perform the offices of suns. Being so remote, however,
although of myriad number, their influence upon our earth is hardly
appreciable, and will not, therefore, be here considered.
[Illustration: GEISSLER’S TUBES.[3]
_Ex._—This tube is filled with rarefied gases. Platinum wires convey the
electric current through the tube, revealing curious striated sections of
brilliant light, varying in shape and color, with the variety of gas and
the degree of rarefaction.]
Our sun is an immense reservoir of energy. It is difficult to conceive
its size. It would require twelve hundred thousand of our globes to
equal it in volume. More than one hundred such worlds as ours might be
strung upon the line forming its diameter. The sun has been for ages
throwing off its vibrations of heat and light. Thousands of years before
fires were kindled on hearthstones this form of energy, according to
the modern doctrine of the correlation of forces, was locked up in the
tropical vegetation of the coal periods, and in the great deposits of
coal preserved for future use. The same anticipatory benevolence which
projects on its journey the friendly ray of the north star, forty-three
years before the mariner’s eye can see it, provided fuel for man
thousands of years before it was needed.
This energy of the sunbeam reappears in the summer warmth of our
dwellings in winter, in the expansion of steam, in the blow of the trip
hammer, and throbs even in the pulsations of the human heart.
The cells of all plants need the force of the sun’s rays to separate the
carbon from the oxygen contained in the carbonic di-oxide absorbed by
the rootlets and stomata of the leaves. Thus the great luminary builds
the forests and clothes the earth with verdure. “All flesh is grass,”
and therefore to the forces of the sun’s vibrations we must trace not a
little of animal growth and strength. The sun gives out more heat than it
would if six tons of coal were burnt on every square yard of its surface
every hour. Sir John Herschel[4] declares that its light is equal to that
of one hundred and forty-six calcium lights, each one formed of a ball
of lime equal to the sun in bulk; yet even a small calcium light is so
dazzling that the eye can not look steadily at it.
The careless expression sometimes heard when the moon shines brightly,
“It is as light as day,” is a striking hyperbole, for it would require
eight hundred full moons to equal the brightness of daylight.
[Illustration: ELECTRIC MOTION CONVERTED INTO SPARKS.
_Ex._—A file is made part of the circuit, and as the wire conducting the
electricity is rubbed along the file, the circuit is alternately formed
and broken, and sparks follow each breaking of the circuit.]
Of all forms of paganism, that of the Fire Worshipers[5] seems least
unreasonable, for the sun is even now, to us, the best symbol of
beneficence and unfailing energy. After thousands of years it shows
no diminution of power, and although the imagination can conceive the
possibility of its destruction, the most accurate scientific observations
have not discovered the slightest indications of its lessening influence.
“His going forth is from the end of the heaven, and his circuit unto the
ends of it; there is nothing hid from the heat thereof.”
CHEMICAL ACTION.
In a preceding article the chemistry of fire has been considered at
some length. It only remains to mention briefly a few of the physical
phenomena attending it. When elements unite by the force of affinity,
it is supposed that their atoms rush together, and that their motion is
converted into heat.
In the case of the galvanic battery the impetuous movement of the atoms
toward the poles becomes electricity. We have constantly recurring
instances in nature of that great truth that energy, though constantly
disappearing is never lost, but reappears under new manifestations and a
new name. It may for a time remain dormant, and anon become perceptible,
as in the case of latent heat. For example, in mixing five pounds of
water at a temperature of 212° Fahrenheit, and five pounds of ice, seven
hundred and fifteen units of heat disappear in melting the ice, and the
aggregate temperature of the mass is proportionally lower than that of
the substances united. But upon their returning to their former state,
this latent heat reappears as sensible heat.
In chemical action producing fire, the uniting materials are usually
converted, first, into a gaseous form, but there are some exceptions.
The most interesting is the following: When a few flakes of iodine are
placed upon a fragment of phosphorus, the atoms of the two elements
rush together with great energy, producing spontaneous combustion, and
liberating sufficient heat to burn the superfluous iodine, with the
evolution of beautiful violet fumes.
The mechanical action in flame is full of interest. Its brightness always
seems to depend upon the incandescence of solid particles. This can
easily be seen in an ordinary lamp. A piece of cold porcelain inserted in
a flame will cool the incandescent carbon, and it will be deposited as
soot.
The Bunsen[6] burner clearly proves that the brilliancy of our lights
depends upon the incandescence of the carbon. This is a contrivance for
passing jets of air through a flame, so that the intimate mixing of the
oxygen of the air with the carbon will cause the immediate combustion
of the latter. This results in converting it instantly to invisible gas
(CO₂) before incandescence, and consequently the Bunsen flame, while it
is intensely hot, emits but a feeble light.
Any _physical_ change that facilitates the movement of atoms seems to
increase the intensity of chemical action.
[Illustration: SHOWING THE PRODUCTION OF ELECTRIC LIGHT FROM CARBON
POINTS.
_Ex._—The rods are first placed near together, then as the circuit is
formed they are drawn apart, and the electric light is formed between
them.]
An instructive experiment illustrating the characteristics of different
kinds of flame may be performed as follows: Place near each other a small
alcohol lamp and a piece of paraffine candle; when lighted observe the
two flames. The three cones in each can be easily discerned, the _candle_
burns with a much brighter light, showing it to be richer in incandescent
carbon. Insert in each flame a piece of fine wire or narrow strip of
glass, either of these will be much more quickly heated by the alcohol
lamp, because its flame is richer in hydrogen. If a glass jar which is
cold be placed over each, a film of vapor (H₂O) will gather on that
covering the alcohol lamp with greater rapidity than on the other. If the
jars remain over the flames until they are extinguished by the lack of
oxygen, more carbonic anhydride (CO₂) will be formed from the combustion
of the alcohol.
PERCUSSION.
When a blow is arrested by an object, the _motion_ is converted into
heat. The ancient flint-lock gun and the percussion-cap fire-arm both
illustrate this fact. In the former, the descending flint struck out the
spark, and in the latter the cap is exploded by the arrested hammer.
The stroke of a cannon ball is attended with a flash. If the world were
suddenly stopped in its course, heat enough would be generated to set
it on fire. Nitro-glycerine and dynamite are exploded by percussion.
Familiar illustrations of this scientific truth meet us in everyday life.
It has even passed into a proverb with a moral application, that “hard
cracks make the sparks fly.” A novel effect of percussion may have been
noticed when a fall upon the ice has resulted in a mechanical disturbance
of the optic nerve which revealed whole constellations of stars never yet
catalogued.
FRICTION.
It is a spirited sight to watch the operation of sharpening tools upon a
grindstone or emery wheel run by steam. Showers of sparks are produced by
the friction. We often observe the same phenomenon when the brakes are
applied to rapidly revolving car wheels. Rails are heated by the friction
of the passing train. You may have had the misfortune, while riding, to
have one of your carriage wheels become set, caused by the box of the
hub, and the axle becoming so heated by friction as to “unite” their
surfaces. All machinery requires constant watching and lubrication to
prevent undue friction and serious wearing.
Mills have not unfrequently been set on fire by rapidly revolving belts
coming in contact with the woodwork. When the whale, frantic with the
pain of the harpoon, darts away with lightning speed, the sailors are
compelled to dash water over the spinning wheel on which the rope is
wound.
In all these instances motion is transformed into heat.
ELECTRICITY.
Galvanic, frictional, magnetic, thermal and animal electricity are all
capable of producing heat. The first also produces an intensely brilliant
light. We have long been acquainted with the “Voltaic arc”[7] of the
galvanic battery, but less familiar are the magnificent manifestations
of frictional electricity. Dynamo-electric machines are of comparatively
recent construction, and their object is to convert mechanical energy
into that of electric currents, and vice versa.
A striking application of galvanic electricity is frequently seen in
the discharge of gunpowder and other explosives, by making the electric
current pass through a small platinum wire which is in close contact with
them.
Electric energy is propagated in waves, and this wire, being so small, is
incapable of transmitting them all at once, so they beat upon it until
their repeated blows cause it to become red hot, and the material in
contact is thus ignited.
Perhaps the grandest illustration of this action was seen in blowing up
the rocks of Hell Gate[8] in the East River, and thus opening a safe
passage for the commerce of the world. The tiny finger of a little child,
the daughter of the engineer, at a given signal, pressed the key that
closed the circuit, and, like Æolus,[9] when he struck the rock, set free
the mighty elements of destruction.
This same principle, viz.: that resisted motion becomes heat and light,
is seen in both the Brush and the Edison electric lights. In the former,
electric currents pass along wires to carbon points, shaped like a
crayon, and covered by a film of copper, and separated by a distance
of about one half inch. The air between is a non-conductor, and here
the flame is formed. In the Edison light, however, the two conducting
wires enter a glass globe, from which the air is excluded. Here they are
connected with a spiral wire about as large as a knitting needle, and
three-quarters of an inch in length. When the electricity is turned on,
this spiral glows with an intensely brilliant white light.
[Illustration: SOLIDS DIFFER AS TO CONDUCTING POWER.
_Ex._—If we hold a pipe stem or rod of glass in one hand and a copper
wire in the other, and apply the ends of these to a flame, the wire will
convey the sensation much more quickly to the hand than the other. This
shows that solids differ as to conducting power.]
A marvelous illustration of the relation between electric and sound
vibrations is found in the telephone and microphone. The former is
becoming a household necessity; the latter, though not so well known, is
not less wonderful. It brings to our ear the tick of a watch miles away,
and through it the walking of a fly sounds like the tramp of a horse.
DISTRIBUTION OF HEAT.
Heat is distributed by radiation, conduction, and convection. By the
first we mean that heated bodies have the power of projecting from
themselves, by means of the ether, their own vibrations. Thus the sun is
constantly distributing its light and heat in all directions. Conduction
takes place where the molecules of a substance nearest a fire first
become heated and then impart their motion to the remainder of the mass,
somewhat as in a row of suspended ivory balls, the first of which, when
struck, transmits its motion from ball to ball, the last one flying off.
Convection takes place in liquids and gases. Here the particles in
contact with the heated body becoming lighter by expansion, rise, and are
followed by others, thus forming a current.
[Illustration: WATER A POOR CONDUCTOR.
_Ex._—Fill a tube nearly full of water, applying a flame to the upper
part of the tube. The water at this point will readily boil, while that
in the lower part of the tube remains cool, showing that water is a poor
conductor, and that liquids must be heated by convection.]
The process of warming a room illustrates the three methods of heat
distribution. The heat passes through the stove by conduction, away from
it by radiation, and to the remote parts of the room by convection.
EFFECTS OF HEAT.
They are four in number. Rise of temperature, expansion, liquefaction,
evaporation. The first indication of the presence of heat is discovered
by an elevation in temperature. Though man is not a reliable thermometer,
he would be able, ordinarily, even if blind, to chronicle the progress
of the sun, from horizon to horizon, by the increasing and decreasing
warmth. The little thermometer placed beneath the tongue of the invalid
gives reliable report of the combustion going on within his system. We
see a thousand illustrations of the expansive effects of heat, many of
which are familiar to all. The exceptions are more interesting than the
rule, and less known, the ordinary rule being that heat expands and cold
(absence of heat) contracts. Water _contracts_ by cold until it reaches
the temperature of 39°, and then _expands_ with great violence until
congelation is completed, at 32°. A British officer in Quebec filled a
twelve inch shell with water, and closed the fuse hole with a wooden plug
securely driven in with a mallet. Upon being exposed to intense cold the
plug was projected a distance of several hundred feet, and a long tongue
of ice was found protruding from the opening.
It is supposed that sufficient heat would convert all solids first into
liquids, and then into gases. In the process of distillation, if we wish
to retain its products, we combine both heating and cooling.
The knowledge of the melting and vaporizing point of substances is of
immense value. We are enabled thus to drive off and secure the various
ingredients entering into many complex substances. A notable instance
is seen in the means used to secure the rich and varied products of
petroleum.
THERMOMETERS.
These are not the only measurers of heat. We have the pyrometers, used
for ascertaining the temperature of extremely hot bodies, and the
thermo-electric pile, an apparatus which constitutes the most delicate
test for heat which has been devised. It will detect heat in the body of
a fly walking near it.
[Illustration: SHOWING DISTILLATION.
_Ex._—Place a small amount of water, colored with ink, in a flask, and
apply heat. The water will be vaporized, and in passing through the
tube, which is surrounded by another tube containing cold water, it is
condensed as a colorless liquid.]
Thermometers are of three kinds, as to the materials used. They are air,
alcohol, and mercurial. In each case the contraction and expansion of
these respective substances are made to register variations of heat and
cold. They are of three kinds, as to their system of grading—Réaumur’s,
the Centigrade, and Fahrenheit’s. The first two make zero the freezing
point; the last makes 32°. The boiling point of Réaumur’s is 80°, the
Centigrade 100°, and Fahrenheit’s 212°. Once more changing the basis of
classification, we find thermometers divided into three classes, with
reference to the purposes they serve. The ordinary thermometer records
the degree of heat or cold at the moment of observation. The differential
thermometers can be made of two ordinary thermometers, by wrapping a
piece of cloth around the bulb of one; these would show at any given
moment whether it was growing warmer or colder. If it is growing warm,
the column of mercury in the thermometer with the covered bulb will
stand lower than the other, as the cloth prevents the heat reaching the
quicksilver as readily as in the other. If it is higher than in the
other, the weather is growing colder, as the cover prevents the heat from
going off as rapidly as from the other. The third class, the registering
thermometer, is so called because it marks the extremes of temperature.
Without going into detail, it is perhaps sufficient to say that a minute
bar of steel is placed on top of the column of mercury, and remains at
any point to which it is pushed, thus recording the greatest degree of
heat during any given interval of time. Somewhat similar in arrangement
is the alcohol thermometer, marking the greatest degree of cold. It will,
of course, be understood that almost all apparatus is greatly varied to
serve special purposes. The limits of our article will preclude further
discussion of fire in relation to light, although the subject of both
physical and physiological topics is full of fascination and value.
_End of Required Reading for March._
The most important question for the good student and reader is not,
amidst this multitude of books which no man can number, how much he shall
read. The really important questions are, first, what is the quality of
what he does read; and, second, what is his manner of reading it. There
is an analogy which is more than accidental between physical and mental
assimilation and digestion; and, homely as the illustration may seem,
it is the most forcible I can use. Let two sit down to a table spread
with food; one possessed of a healthy appetite, and knowing something
of the nutritious qualities of the various dishes before him; the other
cursed with a pampered and capricious appetite, and knowing nothing
of the results of chemical and physiological investigation. One shall
make a better meal, and go away stronger and better fed, on a dish of
oatmeal, than the other on a dinner that has half emptied his pockets.
Shall we study physiological chemistry and know all about what is food
for the body, and neglect mental chemistry, and be utterly careless as
to what nutriment is contained in the food we give our minds? Who can
over-estimate the value of good books, those ships of thought, as Bacon
so finely calls them, voyaging through the sea of time, and carrying
their precious freight so safely!—_Prof. W. P. Atkinson._
THE MOHAMMEDAN UNIVERSITY OF CAIRO.
BY BISHOP JOHN F. HURST, D. D., LL.D.
Years ago I had taken pains to gain all accessible information concerning
the most celebrated, and certainly also the largest, university in the
entire Mohammedan world. In 1871 when in Cairo a number of days, through
lack of a proper guide and full knowledge of this important institution,
I left the city without seeing it. I was determined this time, therefore,
to make sure of a visit to it, and to see carefully, with my own
eyes, this marvel of the Mohammedan faith. The University is located
in a mosque, and is, in fact, the one chief business of the mosque
itself. Religion—such as it is—is the fundamental feature of all Moslem
education. Not a science is taught in any school of Mohammedanism which
does not begin with the Koran, and again come back to it. Whether law
or medicine or geometry—in fact, whatever is communicated to the young,
the first and ever predominant lesson imparted with it and through it
is, that the Koran is the fountain of all science. Very naturally, then,
the school is a part of the service of the mosque. This idea is not new.
It is an oriental habit. We find proofs even in the Scriptures that the
church was God’s first school. In ancient Egypt the temple, the palace,
and the school were the perfected trinity in every city, and often the
temple and the school were so closely enclosed that no careful observer
could tell where one began and the other ended. The same idea re-appears
in the arrangements which Charlemagne made for the higher education of
the Frankish empire. The school was often located under the palace and in
close connection with the chapel roof, and was called _scholia palatina_,
or the school of the palace. At first the object seems to have been that
the emperor’s children and other children of the court might have the
best opportunity for learning; but very soon the limits became broader,
and all who wanted to learn could have every advantage, within close
distance of both church and palace.
The approach to the University of Cairo is a narrow street, with
open booths on either side, where the artisans ply their crafts in
full view of every passer-by. Three industries take the lead of all
others—book-selling, book-binding, and hair-shaving. The nearest street
to the University bears the name of the Street of the B, and such it
may well be called. The Mohammedan has always a shaven head. He wears a
great turban, of white or some other color. Green is the most infrequent
shade, for that indicates that the wearer is a descendant of the prophet
Mohammed. Not one hair is allowed under that turban. When it gets a
little long the barber must shave the pate as clean as an ostrich egg.
All along a part of the street leading to the University the barbers sit
on the floors their shops, and shave the heads of their customers. The
one to be shaved does not sit in a chair, but simply stretches out full
length on the floor and puts his head in the lap of the barber, who also
sits on the floor, with his feet doubled up under him. Then begins the
process of shaving. It is a most lowly operation. No paper is used during
the process, the barber getting rid of the shaved hair and soap by wiping
the razor on his customer’s face until the entire tonsorial feat is
finished and an ablution of cranium and face is in order. In addition to
the barber shops there are probably not less than twenty-five book shops,
as many binderies, and a good number of stationery stalls. These are all
of modest dimensions, but are well stocked with everything that a student
needs that is to say, a student of the Mohammedan order.
Between the point where the street ends and the University enclosure
proper, there is a large fore-court. Here one sees such a medley of all
forms of life and strange habits, in connection with study, that he can
never forget it. It is the place where no serious study goes on, but
where the news is discussed and conversation enjoyed. Even the barbers
have spilled over into this court, for I saw a number of them busily
shaving the heads of outstretched students. One of them, seeing a Frank
scanning his work, stopped a moment, and holding up his razor from the
pate which he had nearly made bald again, asked me if I did not want
to be shaved too. I thanked him—but had not time. Imagine a half-dozen
students lying about in Mead Hall, in Drew Seminary, near the doors of
Drs. Butts, or Strong, or Miley, or Crooks, or Upham, and having their
heads shaved by busy barbers, who sit flat on the marble floor and
relieve the crania of their theological patrons of their last capillary
endowment! Then think of students munching at a crust of dark bread or a
pomegranate, or some edible, good or poor, according to his resources.
Some students have families, and here the children come and play about
them, at times when their fathers are not busy with their books. So far
as I could see, there was no formal studying in this great fore-court.
Perhaps there were a hundred persons in it, lying, sitting, walking.
Some alone with their meditations, others entertaining a group of eager
listeners, and gesticulating with oriental realism. Only one class had
the appearance of any work, a group of boys. One of the number displeased
his teacher, whereupon the latter beat him smartly with his fist until
the little fellow’s eyes swam in tears; my blood fairly boiled at the
teacher’s cruelty. I thought I was already in the University proper, but
this was a serious error. The institution was yet to come; I was only
approaching the great establishment.
I had no sooner touched the threshold of the great central hall than
a man met me, and, with a most polite salaam, informed me that I must
now put on slippers. He was a magnificent specimen of a well developed
Egyptian—tall, muscular, grave, yet pleasant, and only answering such
questions as were put to him. Unlike the European guides in blue and
brass, those of Africa have no stereotype speeches which they hurl
at you, as they have done at the thousands before you. In a moment
four pairs of soft slippers, of yellow sheepskin, were brought to my
companions and myself, and the wary hands which brought them slipped
them on over our boots and tied them on with red strings. We were now to
enter upon the holy stone floor of the great hall of Mohammedan learning,
and only holy dust must fall upon that tessellated floor, and then only
with softest touch. Here was a scene which baffles all description. The
hall was about two hundred and fifty feet long and two hundred wide.
All the classes were reciting, engaged in work, or listening to the
professor. Every one who recited did it loudly. I stood beside one of
the theological professors and watched his method. His class numbered
forty students, whose various physiognomies showed that they had come
from every part of the broad Mohammedan world. The professor sat squat
on the floor, with his bare feet doubled up about him. There is no craze
as yet among Mohammedans for only young teachers. This man, like many
others, had long since passed beyond middle life. His heavy gray beard
and very dark face were lighted up by as keen a pair of black eyes as
ever became diamonds, when they saw in his young days the prophet’s torch
in Mecca, or in vision beheld the curtain drawn aside which hides the
Moslem paradise from human sight. The forty students sat about him in a
circle, yet in such way that all were before him at once. He was one of
the circle, in fact, and as he taught he swayed to and fro, and looked
off into the distance as if in reverie, and then again at his class, and,
with an intensity that only an Arab possesses, he burned his ideas into
the very brain of the students. He sat at the foot of a stone pillar, and
leaned against it at intervals, when his weary form needed a little rest.
This theological professor had the method of all. He held a thin book in
his hand which seemed to be his own brief, and, after reading snatches
from it, he gave a comment or explanation of it, and then had one student
and then another repeat what he had said. Our American infant class
method of teaching verses, and having them committed to memory while the
class are together, and then repeating them, so that the teacher can
see that the work is well and surely done, is precisely the method of
both elementary and advanced education in this greatest university of
the Mohammedan world. The brief of this theological professor was merely
his collection of definitions, and these were committed to memory on the
spot. Some of the students had sheets of tin, something smaller than the
sheets of roofing tin with which we are familiar in the United States. On
these they wrote in ink, with reed styles, and with such dexterity that a
whole page was filled in a very short time. What was written on these tin
slates was taken away, and designed to be committed to memory, when that
process was not finished during the session of the class.
Now the entire floor of this immense hall was covered with classes
at work. No teacher or student sat in a chair. There was not even a
footstool in the entire University. The professors and students formed
little or large groups all over the immense space, no class interfering
with another, and each going on with its work as if alone, and yet not a
partition or a curtain dividing the groups at study. I saw only a little
eating here, an occasional student slily making a lunch of new dates, the
fruit with “gold dust” on it, now just in from the country.
I could not help noticing the various ages of the students. Some were
really very advanced in years. They were waked up very late in life.
Something had broken loose under their twenty-five yards of cotton cloth
which they call a turban, and they had come down the Nile with the rise,
or had been wafted from the Darfur sands, and were going to study. They
could do more, and be more, when they went back again. Here, too, was
the old-time idea. The notion that a university is a thing for the young
alone is a modern affair. The old conception was, it was everybody’s
place—the _universum_ of men as well as studies. In Mohammedanism, as in
Christianity, when once the passion for learning strikes one, the years
count nothing. The person in the fifties or even in sixties is just as
apt to be overwhelmed, swept on, by the learning frenzy as though he were
only eighteen and smitten by other inspirations.
The entire number in attendance at this greatest University of the
Mohammedans is about thirteen thousand. Some calculations place it at
fifteen thousand. They come from every part of the world where the
cimetar of Mohammed and his successors has drawn blood, and where the
crescent now floats. Each part of the large hall has its nation, where
the students are grouped territorially. Here, in one place, are the
Benguelese, from southwestern Africa; in another place are the Algerines,
from the sound of the Mediterranean surf. Yonder are only Thracians, from
south of the Balkans. This group, as black as your hat, consists entirely
of Nubians. Another is made up solely of natives of Zanzibar. These
divisions reach into nearly all the Asiatic and African lands. There are
Afghanistaneze and others from still farther east, from the very heart of
India, and even from the far Pacific islands. One has only to see these
collections of students, massed around a teacher of their own language
and nationality, to become convinced of the broad field of Mohammedanism
and the mightiness of the effort needful to uproot it.
Poverty! That is no name for the condition of the students. They come to
Cairo from the far-off regions, impelled by some passion bordering on
that for learning, living on a little crust and fruit, having no sleeping
place at night save the space of the sacred mosque which serves as a
university, never paying a piastre for all the instruction of years, and
looking forward with earnest longing to the time when they can leave
again and impart to their native villages, or the very desert wastes, the
wisdom which they have gained in the shades of the great hall of learning
in the Cairo of the caliphs. There is a dash of self-seeking in their
coming hither. When the tocsin of war is sounded, there is no exemption
from conscription save learning. He who has once entered the doorway is
safe from the conscription list. Were an attack made on the very citadel
where Mohammed Ali put to death every plotting Mameluke—except one, who
leaped upon his faithful Arab steed and plunged safely into the depths
below—nothing could touch him. He has come to the fountain of knowledge,
and Mars has no claim upon him. At the present time the number of
students is not so large as usual, for there is no fear of a war, except
such as the English are fighting and holding themselves responsible for.
I looked carefully at the kind of food which these students ate, and in
all cases it was of the simplest quality. Some were taking their solid
dinner, and it was nothing more than a rude bowl of lentil soup or a flat
cake of pounded grain. The clothing in most cases betokened the same
poverty. The slippers were of rude construction, such as fifteen cents
would buy, and even these are to be worn at the general prayer, which
begins the day for all the students, only to be laid aside during the
later hours. The habit is a loose black, or other colored robe, which
has become threadbare by long usage. I am sure I saw many students, and
professors as well, whose entire dress could not have cost five francs
apiece. This dress they have on, moreover, is the whole scope of their
wardrobe. When they get another suit it will probably be when they reach
home again, and enter upon their calling for life.
The professors get no salary. They have passed through various stages
of learning, and when once they have committed every word of the Koran,
and perhaps some of the more noted commentaries on it to memory, and
have given other proofs of aptness at teaching, they are declared able
to instruct. But they get no pay for teaching. Neither the University
treasury pays them, nor does the student do it. Their instruction is
positively gratuitous. Now, if by copying the Koran or other book, or
by private teaching in families, or by doing some outside manual work,
they can be supported, well and good. But for sitting squat on the sacred
marble floor and teaching students the holy laws, and all the holy
sciences that come from them, there must be no itching palm. This is the
one place, and only one, so far as I can recall, where I have been where
there has been no call for backsheesh.
How, then, is this immense establishment supported? I answer, that many
students are sustained, and so permitted to remain at the University,
by the funds of the institution. The treasury, instead of taking care
of the professor, goes rather to keeping the student from starvation.
There are many endowments which have fallen into the hands of the state
which constitute a large part of this treasury. Education has always been
an attractive investment, and many Mohammedans have left sums of money
for this purpose, and so the University of Cairo owes a good part of
its wealth to this source. Again, when funds fall from certain causes,
into the treasury of the state—perhaps property for which there are no
heirs—it is devoted to this purpose. The building and all its belongings,
and all really needy students are thus provided for. Out of the three
hundred professors and other teachers, only one is paid a salary. He
is the general director, or rector, and his salary amounts to 10,000
piastres, or about five hundred dollars of our money.
Of one thing I was very careful to make inquiry. I mean as to the bearing
of this institution on the propagation of Mohammedan ideas. In all
descriptions I had become familiar with concerning the great purpose
of the students, the thought was made predominant that the students
went away with a missionary zeal, and became intense propagators of
the faith throughout their lives. The Rev. Mr. Harvey, of that noble
cause and magnificent institution for Egypt, the United Presbyterian
Mission, from the United States, was a very kind escort during my visit.
He has been many years a resident of Cairo, and is very familiar with
every form of Mohammedan life, and he informs me that this zeal for the
Moslem faith does not exist, that the students do not go away with it,
and never exhibit it, except in rare cases, in later life. Their stay
in the University may be long. They may be three or four or five years,
and if no way to work opens they may spend most of their life there,
but whenever they do leave, sooner or later, they go off not simply as
teachers of theology, but as jurists, mathematicians, or professional
men of other callings, and religion is less in mind than secular work.
Even when they go out as imams, or priests, that profession carries
with it certain functions which belong both to the town clerk or the
district judge, and hence the priesthood is absorbed in certain legal and
administrative functions which eclipse the sacred office altogether. As
to a burning zeal to disseminate Mohammedanism, it does not exist. It has
no unquenchable love for itself, and is only continuing its own means of
propagation because of something better. That something better is at its
doors, and is beginning to thread the labyrinths of the Dark Continent.
In due time Christianity will do for Africa what it has done for Europe,
and is this day doing for the half of Asia.
The darkest feature of my visit to the University was the absence of
women. Alas! you never see the Mohammedan woman in these oriental
lands, save with veiled face and hesitant step. Only yesterday I saw
a handsome carriage being driven along one of the principal Cairene
streets, preceded by a gaily dressed herald, who cried, “Make way, make
way,” as is the fashion here still. The silken curtains were drawn,
but the occupants were two ladies. They must live in the dark. In the
mosque they must sit in the lofty spaces, far back behind the wooden
screen work, and even then be veiled. The very small girls, who trip
about with little rattling and tinkling bells around their ankles, are
hardly old enough to learn the way to the next street before the veil is
drawn over their face, and only their little eyes are permitted to look
out. In the multitudes which I saw at the University, both as students
and teachers, there was but one woman. She was probably the wife of a
professor, and had come merely to bring the learned man his dinner, and
then slip back again to the dark rear room of the house misnamed a home,
and await his coming, and be the menial still to prepare his evening
meal. Mohammedanism has no place for woman in its educational system. Its
best interpretation of her office is that she is simply man’s slave. But
the better day is coming, and may it soon be here, when the right of all
women, in all these oriental countries, to the highest and the largest
knowledge, shall be recognized as equal to that of any men beneath the
shining sun.
AS SEEING THE INVISIBLE.
BY MRS. EMILY J. BUGBEE.
To stand at the post of duty
Whether we rise or fall,
If this be a place of beauty,
Or the homeliest lot of all.
To walk with a soul undaunted
In the God appointed way,
Whether with praise enchanted,
Or in shadow land it lay.
The good of the world’s bestowing
Is vanishing as the air,
And its loftiest honors throwing
A burden of ceaseless care.
But to live as always seeing
The invisible source of things
Is the blessedest state of being,
In the quietude it brings.
For in all of the strife and clamor,
And the evil that is done,
We know that the Lord will finish
The good that he hath begun.
And we need not grope in blindness
Because of the dreadful days,
But sure of the Infinite kindness
May stand in the certain ways.
Oh! for a strong uplifting
And a courage that will stand
While the Judge of the earth is sifting
The peoples of every land.
Oh! Earth so full of the glory
Reflected from above,
We wait for your finished story,
In the faith of a deathless love.
NATIONAL AID TO EDUCATION.