in a French technical journal. The process consists of two distinct
operations, and is based on the well-known fact, that when two copper
plates are hung in a bath of sulphate of copper and connected with
the opposite poles of a battery, a transfer of metal from one to the
other will take place. In the case before us, a copper plate is covered
with a thin layer of insulating material, as in the etching process,
and this is drawn upon with an etching needle so as to lay bare the
metal beneath. This is now submitted to the action of the electric
current, so that the metal is eaten away to a certain depth in the
exposed parts. The plate is next washed with acid, to remove all traces
of oxide of copper in the bitten-in lines, and is then transferred
to another bath by which metallic silver or nickel is deposited in
the etched parts, with the result that the sunk lines are ultimately
completely filled with the new metal. When the plate is relieved of
its waxy coating and is polished, it is impossible to say whether or
not the beautiful inlaid appearance has been produced by a mechanical
process or by skilled handiwork.
Two remarkable finds of old coins have lately occurred—one at
Milverton, a suburb of Leamington; and the other at Aberdeen. In
the first case, some labourers were digging foundations, when they
found a Roman amphora, which they immediately smashed to ascertain
its contents. It contained nearly three hundred coins in silver and
copper. These were of very early date, and in a state of excellent
preservation. The Aberdeen treasure trove came to light in excavating
Ross’s Court, one of the oldest parts of the city. Here the labourers
found a bronze urn filled with a large number of silver coins. These
coins also are well preserved. They are all English, and are mostly
of the reigns of Edward I. and Edward II. Some of these coins are of
extreme rarity, and the discovery has great antiquarian interest.
The largest installation of the electric light, worked from a central
point, which this country has yet seen has been recently completed at
the Paddington terminus of the Great Western Railway. The lights, which
are equivalent to thirty thousand ordinary gas jets, are distributed
between the Paddington passenger and goods stations, the ‘Royal Oak,’
and Westbourne Park Stations, the terminus hotel, and all the various
offices, yards, and approaches to the railway Company’s premises. The
district covers no fewer than sixty-seven acres of ground, and is
one mile and a half long. The two Gordon dynamos which are used to
generate the current weigh forty-five tons each, and give sufficient
power to serve four thousand one hundred and fifteen Swan glow lamps,
each of twenty-five candle-power; ninety-eight arc lamps, each of
three thousand five hundred candle-power; and two of twelve thousand
candle-power each. The current is kept on day and night, except for a
few hours on Sunday morning, and each individual lamp is under separate
control by a switch, so that it can be turned off and on just like a
gas jet. Every detail has been well thought out, and the vast scheme
is a success in every way. We understand that the contractors, the
Telegraph Maintenance and Construction Company, have undertaken to
supply the light at the same price as would have been charged for gas
lamps giving the same light-value.
From a paper read by Mr C. Harding before the Royal Meteorological
Society on ‘The Severe Weather of the Past Winter,’ we learn that the
cold lately experienced has been of the most exceptional character.
The persistency with which frost continued for long periods was quite
remarkable. In south-west England, there was not a single week from
October to the end of March in which the temperature did not fall below
the freezing-point; and in one town in Hertfordshire, frost occurred on
the grass on seventy-three consecutive nights. Since the formation of
the London Skating Club, nearly sixty years ago, the past season has
been the only one in which skating has been possible in each of the
four months December to March. We therefore must note that we have just
passed through an unusually severe season.
Fresh fruit from the antipodes, of which two large consignments have
recently reached London, is now being daily sold to eager purchasers
in the Australian fruit-market at the Indian and Colonial Exhibition.
Grapes, apples, pears, and other fruits, in splendid condition, and
with their flavour unaltered by their long separation from their parent
stems, can now be conveyed by the shipload, packed in cool chambers,
in the same way that meat is imported from the same distant lands. The
success of the enterprise opens up a wide field of promise to those in
temperate lands who have been dazzled by the reports of travellers as
to the luscious nature of foreign fruits, which hitherto have been
quite out of reach of stay-at-home Britons. We seem to be fast coming
to the time when fairy tales will be considered tame and uninteresting,
from being so far eclipsed by current events.
A correspondent of the _Times_ notes a most important means of escape
from suffocation by smoke, a fatality by which many lives are lost
annually. He points out that if a handkerchief be placed beneath the
pillow on retiring to rest so as to be within easy reach of the hand,
it can, in case of an alarm of fire, be readily dipped in water and
tied over the mouth and nostrils. As an amateur fireman, he has gone
through the densest smoke protected in that manner, and he alleges
that such a respirator will enable its wearer to breathe freely in an
otherwise irrespirable atmosphere.
Professor Dewar lately exhibited at the Royal Institution, London, the
apparatus he employs for the production of solid oxygen. If we refer
to the physical text-books of only three or four years back, we find
oxygen, hydrogen, and nitrogen described as permanent gases, for no
one had ever produced either in any other form. At length all three
had to give way before scientific research, and they were by special
appliances reduced to the liquid state. Professor Dewar is the first
experimenter who has taken the further step of producing one of these
gases in a solid form. His method consists in allowing liquid oxygen
to expand into a partial vacuum, when the great absorption of heat
which accompanies the operation causes the liquid to assume a solid
state. It is said to resemble snow in appearance, with a temperature
greatly below the freezing-point of water. It is believed that a
means of producing such a degree of cold will be of great service to
experimental chemistry.
Mr W. Thomson, F.R.S.E., has devised a new process for determining the
calorific power of fuel by direct combustion in oxygen, which promises
to supersede, by reason of its greater accuracy, the methods hitherto
in use. The process consists in placing a gramme of the coal or fuel to
be tested in a platinum crucible covered with an inverted glass vessel.
The whole arrangement is placed under water in a suitable receptacle;
and the fuel, burnt in oxygen, burns away in a very few minutes, giving
off much heated gas, which escapes through the water. The temperature
of the water, compared with its temperature before the operation, gives
the data upon which the heating power of the coal can be calculated.
The question of heat-value in fuel is of course one of first importance
to railway Companies and other large consumers of coal. It is, too, in
a minor way of importance to householders, who often find, by painful
experience, the little heat-value of the fuel which has been shot into
their cellars. If coal-merchants were to furnish some guarantee based
on a scientific test as above described, they would find it to their
own profit, as well as to the advantage of their customers.
We do not hear very much in these days of mummy wheat and barley, but
many people firmly believe that the seeds of both plants found with
Egyptian mummies, and supposed to be three or four thousand years
old, will sprout if put in the ground. A few years ago, such wheat
was commonly sold as a curiosity; and we believe that many purchasers
succeeded in raising a small crop from it. Professor Bentley, who has
recently commenced a series of lectures on the Physiology of Plants,
asserts most emphatically that no grains which with certainty have been
identified as contemporaneous with the deposit of the mummified corpse,
have ever come to life. In cases where the so-called mummy wheat has
germinated, it has been introduced into the coffin shortly before, or
at the time of discovery of the body. Professor Bentley does not name a
limit to the time during which seeds retain their vitality, but he says
that very few will germinate after being three years old.
Dr Kosmann of Breslau has designed a safety cartridge for use in fiery
mines, but it has not yet passed the ordeal of practical employment. It
depends for its efficiency upon the sudden evolution of a large volume
of hydrogen gas, which is brought about by the action of dilute acid
upon finely divided zinc. The ‘cartridge’ consists of a glass cylinder
pinched into a narrow tube at the centre, so that interiorly it is
divided into two compartments. One of these contains the powdered zinc,
and the other the dilute acid, the passage between them being closed
by a rubber cork. The borehole into which it is inserted is first of
all made gas-tight by a lining of clay; then the cartridge is put in
position, with an iron rod in connection with it so placed that, when
struck with a hammer from the outside of the hole, it will drive in the
rubber cork, and so bring the acid into contact with the zinc. We shall
be interested to hear how the method answers in practice.
JACK, THE BUSHRANGER.
AN AUSTRALIAN REMINISCENCE.
Reading in your _Journal_ (writes a correspondent) an article headed,
‘A Bushranger Interviewed,’ recalls to my memory a strange incident
which occurred some years ago to my own brother, when on his way from
Sydney to the gold-fields, and for the accuracy of which I can vouch.
At the time of his arrival in Australia, the country was in a state
of panic: a reign of terror existed, caused by the daring outrages
committed on parties on the journey to and from the diggings. Robbery
with violence, escorts shot down, and large consignments of gold
carried off, were of daily occurrence. The bush was infested by a gang
of desperate bushrangers, whose leader, under the cognomen of ‘Jack,’
seemed to bear a charmed life. For years he had evaded all the efforts
made to capture him, though the military scoured the bush. No sooner
was an outrage perpetrated, than all trace of the perpetrators was
lost, as if the ground had swallowed them. He had a perfect knowledge
of the most secret movements of the parties he attacked. He seemed
ubiquitous, outrages occurring in such rapid succession and far apart.
Such an air of mystery hung about him, that a superstitious feeling
mingled with the moral terror he inspired. He was represented by some
persons who had seen him, as a fine powerful-looking man, with nothing
forbidding in his appearance.
Even the mad thirst for gold could not induce the bravest persons
to undertake the journey alone. The gold-seekers travelled in large
cavalcades, well armed, and determined to fight for their lives and
property; one of these parties my brother joined. He was a fine
handsome young fellow, all fun and love of adventure, and he soon
became a general favourite. The ‘track’—for there were no roads at that
time—ran for the greater distance through the bush, some parts of which
were so dense as scarcely to admit daylight. Every man was well armed.
My brother had brought with him a first-class revolver, purchased in
London. This he kept with other valuables carefully hidden on his
person, his other belongings being stowed away in one of the wagons.
When they bivouacked for the night, care was taken that it should be
in an open space, where a good look-out could be kept, to make sure
against a sudden surprise. The wagons were placed in the middle,
sentries posted, and scouts placed so that the flight of a bird or the
fall of a leaf could not pass unnoticed. All were on the _qui vive_.
For some days all went well, nothing unusual or alarming occurring.
They were then well into the bush, and consequently, if possible more
vigilant, believing that even a mouse could not intrude itself amongst
them.
One morning it was found that, during the night, they had been, spite
of all their vigilance, mysteriously and unaccountably joined by a
stranger, who stood in their midst as if one of themselves. No one
could imagine how or whence he came, and utter astonishment prevailed.
He was a fine portly man, from thirty-five to forty years of age, with
an open, prepossessing countenance and good address—one who, under
other circumstances, would have been looked upon as an acquisition to
the party. Not in the least taken aback or abashed by the scant welcome
he received or the undisguised surprise his presence created, he came
forward boldly, and told a most plausible story, to the effect that he
was a stranger making his way to the gold-fields, that, notwithstanding
the stories he had heard in Sydney of ‘Jack’ and his comrades, he had
ventured so far alone; but as he got farther into the bush he lost
heart, and determined to join the first party he met.
It looked strange that he had no luggage of any kind, not even
provisions, or anything to indicate that he was bound for a long
journey. He made no attempt to account for his mysterious appearance,
entered into the arrangements of the cavalcade, and made himself quite
at home. Every man amongst them, with the exception of my brother,
believed that no one but ‘Jack’ himself could have so taken them by
surprise, the general belief being, that it could only be from personal
experience the terrible bushranger derived the perfect knowledge he
displayed when making his raids.
The party agreed that the wisest course would be to await the progress
of events, watch his every movement, and let him see that they were
prepared to sell their lives dearly, if driven to do so.
The stranger seemed to have an unlimited supply of money, and to
be generous about it, paying his way freely. He took at once to my
brother, and the liking was mutual; in diggers’ parlance, they became
mates, chummed, walked, and smoked together. My brother found him a
well-informed, agreeable companion, a vast improvement on their rough
associates; and he seemed thoroughly to enjoy the society of the jovial
young Irish gentleman. A sincere friendship sprung up between them,
notwithstanding the disparity in years.
The other members of the party became very anxious, fearing the man
would take advantage of my brother’s unsuspicious, trusting nature
to obtain information that would be useful to him when forming his
plans for the attack which was hourly expected, in fact looked upon as
imminent. Nor were their fears allayed when, after a little, he would
leave the beaten track and walk into the bush, remaining away for
hours, and returning at the most unexpected times and places; showing a
thorough knowledge of the bush and all its intricacies and short-cuts,
quite inconsistent with the story he had told on joining.
One thing struck my brother as strange, but without exciting any
suspicion on his part. When walking together, he would suddenly stand,
become quite excited, and say: ‘Oh, it was here such an outrage
occurred.’ ‘It was on the spot on which we are standing that the escort
was shot down and a large consignment of gold carried off. They did
fight like demons.’ He seemed to take the greatest pleasure in giving
minute details of the different outrages as they had occurred, and
always spoke as if he had been an eye-witness. But so thorough was my
brother’s belief in his new friend, that even this did not shake his
faith.
When within a few days of the journey’s end, the stranger suddenly
and quite unexpectedly declared his intention of parting company.
He offered no explanation as to his reason for doing so, though all
through he had seemed anxious to impress it on them that he intended to
go the entire way to the diggings with them. No questions were asked.
After a general and hearty leave-taking, which, however, did not
inspire much confidence, as they were still within range of a possible
attack, he asked my brother to take a last walk with him, and led the
way into the bush farther than he had ever brought him before, and a
long distance from the beaten track. The first words the stranger said
were: ‘Mate, don’t you carry a revolver?’
The answer was: ‘Yes, and a first-class one. Not such as is got out
here. I brought it from home.’
‘Show it to me,’ said the stranger; ‘I love a real good weapon;’ and
without the slightest hesitation, my brother handed him the revolver,
which he examined carefully, and saw that the chambers were loaded. He
remarked that it was the ‘prettiest weapon’ he had handled for a long
time.
He walked a few steps in advance, and turning round suddenly, he
presented the revolver at my brother’s head, calling out in a
commanding tone, ‘Stand!’ his countenance so changed as scarcely to be
recognised.
At last my brother felt that he stood face to face with the terrible
bushranger, but did not lose his presence of mind.
For a moment there was a profound silence, first broken by the stranger
saying: ‘Is there anything on earth to prevent my blowing out your
brains with your own weapon, placed in my hands of your own free-will?
The wild bush round us, I know its every twist and turn. The man is not
living who could track my footsteps through its depths, where I alone
am lord and master. Speak, man! What is there to prevent me?’
With a throbbing heart and a quickened pulse my brother answered:
‘Nothing but your sense of honour.’
The man’s face brightened, and his voice resumed its friendly tone, and
handing back the revolver, he said; ‘We stand now on equal footing. You
hold my life in your hands, as I held yours a moment ago. Yes, boy; and
your own fortune too. But I trust you, as you trusted me. I would not
hurt a hair of your head, and I have spared others for your sake. How,
you will never know; but they owe you a deep debt of gratitude. You are
a noble-hearted fellow; and through the rest of my stormy life, I will
look back with pleasure on the time we have passed together. But, mate,
you are the greatest fool I ever met. I brought you here to-day to give
you a lesson, which I hope you will bear in mind. You are going amongst
a rough, lawless crew; never, as long as you live, trust any man as you
have trusted me to-day. Where you are bound for, your revolver will be
your only true friend; never let it out of your own keeping, to friend
or foe. You are far too trusting. There was not a man but yourself
amongst those from whom I have just parted who did not believe from the
moment I joined that I was Jack the bushranger. Well, mate, I am not
going to tell you who or what I am, or how or why I came amongst you;
but of this rest assured, that you have no truer friend. You will never
know what I have done for your sake.—Now, mate, good-bye for ever. We
will never meet again in this world, and it is best for you it should
be so.’ Then leading him back to the track by which he could rejoin his
party, he wrung my brother’s hand, turned and walked quickly into the
bush, leaving no doubt upon my brother’s mind that the friend he had so
loved and trusted was indeed the dreaded bushranger.
They never did meet again. My brother came home to die; and unless my
memory deceives me, Jack was shot dead in a skirmish with the military.
THE BIRDS AT SOUTH KENSINGTON.
South Kensington has of late years been so inseparably identified with
Art, that it will seem natural to the readers of this article for Art
to form its subject; but it will probably surprise the frequenters of
these buildings to be asked to bend their steps towards the Natural
History Department—which one naturally supposes devoted to scientific
objects—to examine works of art quite equal in their way to any to be
found in the building devoted ostensibly to that purpose.
Many must have been struck by the artistic and natural grouping of the
birds, with their nests and young, in imitation of the surroundings
they frequent while living. How much more one is impressed with the
beauty of the creatures, when one sees them arranged in the positions
they assume in a state of nature, than when placed in the old-fashioned
style, mounted on boards or badly imitated stumps of trees! Justly,
this admirable grouping calls forth exclamations of delight from the
beholder; yet there is a fact connected with this artistic grouping
that is as well worthy of the admiration of the visitor as the
scientific facts here intended to be represented.
The surrounding of each of these nests is a work of art in itself,
constructed, with the most painstaking regard to accuracy of detail, by
a lady, whose name, though not appearing in this _connection_, is not
unknown to fame. The sods—if the bird be a ground-builder—are dug up
with the nest and surroundings as they are found, and are submitted at
once for the modeller to copy the various weeds and flowers exactly as
they grow. The sods are then dried and cleaned, and the modeller fixes
into them the flowers and weeds she has constructed, and paints up the
grass, to restore it to its original colour. They are then deposited in
the places they are destined to occupy in the Museum.
The material employed for making these artificial flowers and weeds
has been called by the inventor, who is also the modeller, the ‘New
Kensington Art Material.’ Boughs of trees, the minutest flowers and
weeds, even the hair-like filaments that many flower-stems possess
as a protection against the ravages of insects, are copied with such
scrupulous accuracy as to defy detection by ordinary means; and
the union between the real wood and its artificial representation
is concealed with the same regard to reality. The secret of the
manufacture of the material is strictly preserved.
At the International Exhibition of 1851, Mrs Mogridge—then Miss
Mintorn—in conjunction with others of her family, took the first prize
for models of wax-flowers; notably a model of ‘Victoria Regia’ lilies,
taken from the first to bloom in England, by permission of Her Grace
the Duchess of Northumberland. Of late years, Mrs Mogridge has used the
new Art Material in place of wax, on account of its superior strength,
and indestructibility, it being unaffected by heat, the great enemy
to all work in wax. Moreover, it admits of more perfect colouring; no
shade being unattainable in this composition, and permitting of the
most brilliant effects of pigmentation.
It is adaptable to all artistic decorations on account of its greater
strength; and flowers made in it can be mixed with living foliage so
as to be a perfect deception, when the real flowers are unattainable.
It may be interesting to notice that naturalists will find a ready
means of enhancing the value of their collections, not only of birds,
as before noticed, but of insects. Lord Walsingham, we are told, has
a large collection of butterflies and moths which are mounted in this
way, surrounded by the smallest weeds and plants on which they feed.
Botanical specimens for all purposes, particularly in schools, &c.,
where botany is taught, may be made of this material with advantage,
as the natural specimens are so easily destroyed with handling. Its
value for designs for china-painting, where the choice flowers, such as
orchids, &c., cannot be procured in their natural state, will be easily
appreciated; and models made of it are, in fact, already used by the
artists at the Royal Porcelain Works at Worcester for this purpose, as
all the detail is faithfully carried out, from the flower of the common
nettle to the large oak-bough.
THE LINDSAY’S BRIDAL.
[The first marriage of Colin, Earl of Lindsay and Balcarres, to
Maurizia de Nassau, took place in extreme youth, at the court of
James II., under the circumstances and with the result narrated.]
In blithe London Town
Ne’er such bridal was known
As this of Earl Colin the Lindsay so gay:
O’er the Border, in sooth,
Never came bonnier youth,
And the king’s self shall give the fair lady away.
The bridemaids and bride
Are here in their pride,
But why ere the rite this long pause and delay?
’Tis for Colin they wait—
The ‘Light Lindsay’ is late:
The bridegroom forgetteth his own marriage-day!
The envoy was meet,
And the bridegroom is fleet,
He stands at the altar in bridal array:
But what lacks he now?
Why this cloud on his brow?—
The ring that should make her his countess for aye!
Oh, a ring’s easy found
’Mid the guests standing round!
And a borrowed ring served on that strange marriage-day:
But when spoke was the oath
That united them both,
She looked on the ring, and she fainted away.