It's a science methinks—though La Fontaine may brag,
That, in language of slang, sir, is not worth a _mag_;
And, although men some mighty phenomenon see,
When it loosens the elbow or stiffens the _knee_,
Yet they get to no end, and are still plunged in schism,
While the world's looking on, and exclaiming that _'tis hum-_
_Bug_ every bit—and as much waste of time
As thus cramming _mag-knee-'tis-hum_ into rhyme.
[Illustration:
The Ups and Downs of Life
]
THE UPS AND DOWNS OF LIFE;
_Or, Polytechnic Pond-erings Elaborated in the Bell_.
Mr. Green is, with all deference to the gentleman of another colour who
generally assumes that title, the real Prince of the Air. He rides upon
the whirlwind where he lists: the atmosphere welcomes him with _hail_!
and the bridled tempest offers him its _rains_. If the perfection of the
science of aërostation be so perfectly within his grasp, it is plain the
_elements_ must long since have yielded: he knows all their economies,
and regards the zephyrs as familiar airs. The mischievous wind, so often
presuming on its intangibility, by committing all sorts of depredations,
and then scudding off, is compelled to confess its inability to cope
with him, and to own the presence of "Green in its eye." Hecate is,
compared to him, a dull, powerless agent; for his spirits do not wait
for him on the rather uncertain tenement of a foggy cloud—which, from
its surchargement with aqueous vapour in suspension, stands a chance of
converting them into weak grog—but lie neck and heels at the bottom of
his car, assimilating, in their nature, to bottle imps. When other
people call a coach he unconcernedly takes a fly, and floats up like
down. Other blessings attend his aërial wanderings. His champagne and
stout are sure to be _up_; his cold pheasant is palatably _high_; and
his other refreshments range far _above_ all imitations. He takes leave
of the world, not as an anchorite, but to enter a livelier grade of
superior society, moving in an elevated position; and bears with
philosophical indifference the wide reverses of his existence, from the
most rapid rise to a subsequent decline and fall; although, at the same
time, no man has more uniformly good prospects. We only wonder how he
can tolerate our dull earth, and wager he never feels so secure with the
flags of the pavement as he does with those of his own balloon. His very
nature must have been reduced to what it works in—the atmosphere: and
those who may eventually succeed to his possessions can be no other than
the Airshire legatees. The rise and fall of the stocks affect him not—
his own keep pace with his situation; and the glance of his eye sweeps
the whole range beneath him with _a bird's-eye wipe_. There are but few
difficulties on earth that he cannot grapple with. His balloon is his
substantial and impregnable castle in the air, which he has built
himself: and he always has his wits about him cool and collected,
though, like a wool-gathering ruminator, he is constantly in the clouds.
Although Mr. Green was long connected with the Polytechnic Institution,
where his aëronautic whirligigs used to demonstrate the power he had
acquired in guiding balloons, we are convinced he never went down in a
diving-bell, for he would have been literally out of his element; unless
the galvanic experiments at the same time could have chemically
decomposed the water around it into its constituent gases, and he would
then have gone aloft with his darling hydrogen. We once saw him
contemplating the diving-bell; but it was with the air of an eagle of
the sun gazing at a dabchick, apparently lost in wonder, not at the
machine, but at the eagerness of the visitors to descend in it, to the
chilly depths of the tank. It was evident that he no more regarded them
as of his own species than the brilliant _libellula_, rising in the
sunshine, owns the immature chrysalis lying at the bottom of the pool.
We ourselves, who are not a prey to such flights of ambition, hold the
Polytechnic Institution, and its million wonders, in especial reverence
from beginning to end, and think it fortunate that its professors live
in enlightened times, or they would be assuredly burnt for necromancers,
and form their own fire-clouds; producing photographic shadows of
themselves, by the glare of their own faggots. Not being inclined to
soar aloft, we rather approve of the diving-bell, and often pay it a
visit. It affords matter of gratification to everybody. The scientific
man goes down to measure the pressure of the atmosphere upon the drums
of his ears, and see the displacement of water by air; the sightseer and
curiosity-hunter, to experience a novel sensation; the hair-brained
lounger, fresh from Regent-street, with his little stick and
blotting-paper-coloured Chesterfield, to "put up a lark," although the
bottom of a tank of water is certainly rather an unlikely place to find
such a creation; and the lover of display, to gratify a trifle of
ambition in becoming the _pro-tempore_ lion of the place, as he emerges
from the bell on its emersion from the water, in the bright eyes of the
pretty girls who are looking down on his sub-aqueous venture from the
galleries above.
The diving-bell, in the present era of compound-progressive science, is
only in its infancy—its tinkle will, ere long, be changed to a toll: we
speak metaphorically, and do not allude to the shilling paid for
entrance. We have passed the adventures in the picture which illustrate
the article "BELL-Diving," in the Encyclopædias, representing two
gentlemen, who have secured places inside, holding air-tubes, and one,
more venturesome, who has strolled to take a _cold without_, carrying a
small bell on his head, and a boat-hook in his hand, amidst rocks and
sea-weeds. Bolder schemes are in progress. The bell will open a new line
for travellers to the Antipodes, by going right through the sea at once,
and thus curtailing the journey by the geometrical relation which the
diameter bears to half the circumference. Neither should we be surprised
if people, addicted to go down to watering-places, go down at once to
the very bottom, and choose waterproof summer villas on the beds of our
lakes and rivers, exempt from land-tax and ground-rent; when, stationed
in the water, they fling defiance at the law of the land. Such a
position would be a fitting site whereon Father Mathew and his
proselytes could erect a temple to the Genius of Teetotalism.
We need not add, it will take some time to bring the public mind to an
idea of the security of these abodes. The shilling'sworth of flurry and
ear-ache which the adventurers purchase so readily, still, however,
finds a rapid sale. We descended the other day with a lady who had a
great deal of the former commodity for her money. Her fright was
extreme, when the huge monster that contained us first swung off its
perch; and, when its mouth touched the water, she gave way to the
wildest despair, even to attempt breaking the windows with her parasol.
The only moment of security she experienced was when she reached the
bottom. Here she fairly jumped down off her seat, on which it had
required great exertion to retain her, and begged to be left where she
was, now she had once reached the ground again, observing, we might go
back in the bell if we chose, but, for her part, she preferred
substantial footing to again trusting herself in such a crack-me-crazy
vehicle.
[Illustration]
[Illustration:
Black Eyes and Blue Jackets.
]
[Illustration:
Tremendous charge of the Blues.
]